Page 3 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel
“I’m not sure we’re any the wiser now,” Daisy said with a snort. “TheComte de Carabas? Wasn’t that the name invented by the cat in the fairy tale ‘Puss in Boots,’ for his master?”
“It was!” Ellie gasped. “Although I think it was theMarquisof Carabas, in the tale. And ‘bonheur’ means ‘good time’ or ‘lucky’ in French. Henry Goodtime?” She gave an outraged huff. “That charlatan! He gave us a fake name!”
Daisy gave a delighted laugh. “How marvelous. I do love a handsome rogue. Butwhy? Is he playing a game, to try to intrigue us? Or is he actually here under false pretenses? Maybe he’s about to commit a crime!”
Professionally, Ellie and Daisy were two-thirds of the force behind King & Company, London’s most discreet private investigation agency. Along with their friend Tess, Duchess of Wansford, they dealt with “sensitive problems” for clients, under the guise of assisting their fictional employer, Charles King.
“If he’s a jewel thief, he’ll have plenty of opportunities here tonight.” Ellie tilted her head toward the glittering array of wealth clustered beneath the chandeliers: necklaces and tiaras on the women, pocket watches and tiepins on the men.
“He could be a card sharp,” Daisy opined. “Maybe he’s here to fleece the gentlemen at vingt-et-un or dice.”
“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. If there’s an outcry from the cardroom, or someone comes to King and Company tomorrow to report the loss of their favorite bracelet, at least we’ll have a potential suspect.”
Daisy gave a bawdy chuckle. “I volunteer to give him a thorough pat down to look for hidden loot.”
“Very selfless,” Ellie said drily. “It’s a shame Tess isn’t here. She might have recognized him.”
“Speaking of potential new cases,” Daisy said, “I was approached by a man named Bullock earlier. He said he’d heard that I knew Charles King, and asked for an introduction.”
“Did you tell him to come to Lincoln’s Inn Fields?”
“I did, but he insisted that he would only speak with Mr. King himself.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. Some of the male clients requesting “Mr. King’s” services had been extremely dismissivetoward his “assistants,” Ellie, Daisy, and Tess. A few had even refused to confide their business with an underling, especially if they were female.
“Then we’ll have to tell him that Mr. King is too busy to accept any new clients,” Ellie said firmly.
“Indeed. Life’s too short to deal with ‘gentlemen’ who think we’re inferior, overly excitable, and too feebleminded to grasp the complexities of a criminal investigation.”
Daisy’s diatribe tailed off as a viscount approached, eager to accompany her in the next reel. She accepted with a smile, and Ellie glanced around to see if anyone was going to askherto dance. Generally, she preferred to stay on the outskirts of the ballroom, happy to observe the dancing rather than take part, but “Henri Bonheur’s” kiss had filled her with a strange, restless energy.
Her spirits lifted as a rather stocky, older man approached her, but they fell again when he introduced himself.
“Miss Law? I’m William Bullock, owner of the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
Ellie shook his offered hand. “Indeed, I have, Mr. Bullock. I went there to see Bonaparte’s carriage when it first went on display, a few months ago.”
“You and half of London.” Bullock gave a contented chuckle. “That’s been my most popular display to date. It’s about to go on a tour of the country, so those in the provinces can see it too.” His chest puffed out with pride, reminding her of a portly pigeon ruffling its feathers.
He pulled a large gold-cased pocket watch from his pocket, checked the time, then tucked it away again. “I hear you’re acquainted with the investigator, Charles King?”
“That’s true. I work as his legal researcher and amanuensis. He’s a friend of my father’s,” she added, with blithe disregard for the truth. Her father had never met her “employer,” for the simple reason that the latter was entirely fictional. Still, she’d long ago learned that any mention of her father inferred a measure of gravitas to the situation, and impressed men like Bullock no end.
“Ah. Good. Quite so. In that case, I was wondering of you could make an introduction between Mr. King and myself. I’d like to engage his services for a sensitive matter.”
“I’m afraid Mr. King prefers to keep himselfextremelyprivate.” Ellie leaned a little closer, as if to impart a great secret. “I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you, Mr. Bullock, that Mr. King is, in fact, apseudonymto conceal his real identity.”
Bullock’s eyes widened.
Ellie nodded solemnly. “That’s how he’s achieved such great success. His anonymity is one of his greatest assets. He’s free to move through society, unremarked, without people clamming up around him.”
Bullock nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he hoped to decipher which earl, duke, or viscount might be the infamous investigator. “Of course! That makes perfect sense.”
Ellie silently congratulated herself on her brilliance.
“I’d be willing to pay handsomely for his assistance, of course,” Bullock murmured. “Money is no object. I’ll give five hundred pounds.”
Ellie bit back a groan of disappointment. All the income from King & Co. was split evenly between herself, Daisy, and Tess. But whereas Daisy and Tess both had additional funds of their own, thanks to being the daughter of a duke, and a duchess, respectively, every penny Ellieearned was going toward her own independence. With enough money, the choice of whether she married or not would be hers, to be made for love and not for financial necessity.