Page 4

S omeone was following him. Leo didn’t know who they were, and they clearly had no idea who the fuck he was.

When he first noticed them, he was alarmed.

He had inevitably rubbed many people the wrong way either by virtue of his work or his race and disposition.

Sometimes it was all three, but he made no apologies for any of them.

If his calculations were correct, they’d picked him up shortly after he’d left Sir Archibald Cox’s residence, reward in hand.

Were they thieves? The pay was substantial enough to warrant it, but it would also require them to know the amount in question.

They also would have to know his business with Sir Archibald.

Business that he had been very clear about keeping private, lest anyone associate the gentleman with the likes of Leo or become aware that he had been the victim of a criminal.

An inside job then. Perhaps Sir Archibald was thinking twice about having to pay a black man two hundred pounds to do what Scotland Yard hadn’t managed.

It wouldn’t be the first time a former client had tried to double cross him after he’d collected his fee.

Normally they waited a few days before trying it knowing he had the capability to link it to them.

Sir Archibald was prejudiced enough, but was he stupid enough?

Leo wasn’t certain. Could it be a connection to Roger Henry perhaps?

It had taken a day or so to find the stolen jewels and connect them to Henry.

Were these men connected to the buyers Henry intended to sell the loot to?

Angry associates now looking for their pound of flesh where they could find it?

Or were they closer to home? Leo had managed to find a connection between Donald Trent and Richard’s uncle, Simon Thornfield.

The man hadn’t tried anything else since that audacious scheme, but perhaps he’d only just realized his part in Richard’s escape. Perhaps he’d grown tired of waiting.

Leo was more annoyed than anything. He wanted his supper and his bed.

He wanted to get home so his mother could stop worrying.

The last thing he needed was two idiots testing his patience after nightfall.

As it was, he would need to lose them or risk leading them back to his home.

He didn’t go out of his way to cause trouble, but life experience had taught him that changing course didn’t mean he could avoid it indefinitely.

Especially when the trouble had made a point of coming to him. Again.

He cut down a short alley and increased his pace until he cleared the corner.

Then he waited for the hurried footsteps of the two jackasses who were now making him late for dinner.

Within minutes he heard them, hurried but undecided the cadence swift and yet faltering every few paces.

They were searching the alley for him. He pulled his pen knife from his coat pocket and waited, his hand steady on the ivory handle.

As soon as the first one came around the corner, he struck.

He slammed the heel of his hand into the man’s sternum sending him to his knees gasping before delivering a swift kick to his face.

Then, dodging a fist, he turned to the next assailant.

He saw the glint of the pistol just in time to grab the man’s wrist and twist it behind his back, slamming him face first into the filthy stone wall.

The pistol clattered to the ground, and he kicked it away from the man currently heaving, curled up like an infant.

He pressed the blade to the neck of the man he had pinned.

“It’s rude to follow people without a proper introduction,” he said noting the weight of the broadcloth coat the man wore, the smell of lavender soap. Whoever these men were, they weren’t exactly working class. Which meant that whoever had hired them was decidedly above them.

“Wait, you don’t understand,” the man said raising his free hand in supplication. Definitely not a threat.

“No, you don’t. That’s your first problem.”

“We mean you no harm.”

“Who are ‘we’ precisely?” he asked.

“John and Patrick Locke.”

“Which one are you?” he asked.

“John.”

Which made the one crawling to his feet Patrick. Easy enough.

“We are private investigators like yourself.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I swear we are,” he insisted trying to turn around.

Leo tightened his grip on the man’s wrist and leaned in, keeping him pinned in place. “You aren’t like me. You’ve been following me since I caught a hackney in Mayfair.”

“No, we weren’t,” Patrick gasped rubbing his chest where Leo knew a bruise was forming.

“Did you even notice I’ve been leading you in circles on foot for twenty minutes now?”

John sighed in defeat. “Let me reach into my pocket.”

“Do you want me to break your arm?”

“Don’t,” Patrick wheezed holding out a card to Leo.

Leo stared at him for a long moment before lowering his knife and taking the card.

“Why are you following me?” he asked sliding it into his pocket. Reading it now was a fool’s errand.

“We only meant to verify your identity.”

“My identity? You need a pistol for that?”

“You attacked my colleague.”

“You and your colleague have been following me all evening without attempting to disclose yourself or your business.”

“I conceded the point. Now will you please release my arm.”

He had half a mind to break his arm anyway, but he was curious. And he already knew he could take both of them without trouble. “Anything funny and you get what you get.”

“Understood.”

Leo released his hold on John’s arm and took a step back, looking him up and down. Honestly it was embarrassing. The man had followed him to a wrong side of town looking like he’d just come from his club. Didn’t they know how to blend into their surroundings at all?

“Thank you,” he turned around and rubbed his wrist. “Now are you Leopold Kingston, son of William and Naomi Kingston?”

“I am.”

He nodded. “Your presence has been requested by our employer. Be at this location on Thursday for tea.” He handed Leo a neatly folded envelope. “That’s at four—”

“I know what time tea is,” Leo said pocketing the envelope and calling card before walking away. He didn’t head home directly. No matter what they said, he wouldn’t head that way until he was certain he wasn’t being followed.

Ten minutes later, with no tail in sight, he turned his path two blocks down to the modest three-bedroom house he shared with his mother.

It had been his home his entire life, had passed from father to son for at least three generations in the Kingston family.

The outside was stark grey stone, and the sidewalk wasn’t perfectly even, but Leo knew that inside would be warm and redolent of whatever meal his mother had pulled together with their cook. Maybe a stew.

She’d never trusted anyone but herself to feed her family. The fact that she had taken a step back to supervising only was a miracle in itself.

He had barely managed to get his key in the lock before the door swung open to reveal his mother, glowering at him. He took a deep breath and smiled. “Good evening, mother.”

“So, you still know to come home?”

“I am late tonight. I’m sorry. I was unavoidably detained.”

She squinted at him, no doubt weighing whether she was going to believe him.

“Am I still welcome here, or shall I rely on the kindness of strangers?”

She pursed her lips in annoyance and stepped back allowing him to enter. He tucked his key into his trouser pocket, and shut the door firmly behind him, flipping the deadbolt.

“When was the last time you heard from Richard?”

“A few days ago. I even have an invitation from him to the theatre in a week or so. He’s fine.”

She huffed but said nothing more. She didn’t need to, Leo already knew.

That boy worries me. It was as if she was half expecting him to go missing again.

It was a long-standing joke that she enjoyed Richard more than he or Basil.

Leo was her son, but Richard was her baby.

He was obnoxiously charming when he wanted to be, all deference, wit and consideration.

“Have you already eaten?” he asked, hoping to distract her from her worries.

“It would serve you right if I had,” she snapped with a half-hearted glare.

“Mother.” He took her hand as she passed him, halting her progress until she turned to look at him. “I was detained. I knew you were waiting. I wouldn’t have delayed without a good reason.”

She nodded. “That gentleman kept you?”

“No. Two others. They were tailing me. I couldn’t come straight home as I planned.”

“Why were they following you?”

“No idea. They asked about father.”

She turned to him fully now, suspicion and alarm in her eyes. “What did they want with him?”

“Nothing. It appears they were trying to verify my parentage.”

“To what purpose?”

“I do not know. I have an appointment to find out in a few days.”

She nodded again and rubbed his arm. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

She gave him a small smile. “Come eat then. I told them to keep it for you.” She wasn’t meeting his eyes now. She was nervous. He shouldn’t have said anything until he knew the truth.

*

Number 12, Mayfair, London

Dead .

It had been two days since that ball. Two days since she’d realized that her fiancé had again been called to his maker.

Regina didn’t know how to feel about the fact that she was yet again left twisting in the wind by fate.

When she was eighteen it had felt like a stay of execution.

When she had turned twenty it had been a deferment.

Now, it just felt like a waste of her time.

Whenever this happened, she never knew what to do. This time was no exception. Her parents never knew what to say to her, and she could never quite manage to control her face in their presence. So, she’d elected to stay in her room for the time being.