Page 19 of Scoundrel Take Me Away (Dukes in Disguise #3)

“But surely she still needs to use the necessary upon occasion,” Lucy argued, undaunted. “As must the other women here. Whatever their profession.”

Struck by the practicality of this, Thorne reflected. “I suppose you must be right, although I couldn’t say for certain.”

Lucy brightened. “Well, I shall find out! Surely Mrs. Forrest will be able to point me in the right direction. No, no, I’ll only be a moment!”

And with that, she had whisked away from him, intent on introducing herself the most infamous courtesan of the Season.

Thorne watched her go, her slim, upright figure marching determinedly across the card room, and felt…something. He hardly knew what. But he didn’t like it.

This was the next step in his campaign of seduction, he reminded himself.

Another opportunity to rewrite her opinion of him.

He would watch from a distance—though not too far—until Lucy was inevitably approached by some drunken lout or other, then Thorne would swoop in and save her. It was a simple plan.

Except when was anything to do with Lady Lucy Lively simple?

The spectators who’d thronged the hazard game began to disperse in a wave, and Thorne was shoved by a rowdy young baronet, who blanched and danced backward when Thorne turned a cold, imperious glare on him.

Satisfied, Thorne looked back to search the room for the distinctive blue-green gleam of Lucy’s gown…but she was gone.

Fury flooded Thorne’s veins, thick with something that felt horribly like fear. He’d taken his eyes off her for the barest instant and she’d disappeared.

Lucy was all alone. In this den of iniquity that was choked to the rafters with dissolute louts of every description.

He should know. He was the worst of them.

* * *

Lucy veered away from the incredibly glamorous Mrs. Forrest and her besotted companion the moment she saw that Thorne was distracted.

Since they’d arrived, Lucy had been carefully tracking the comings and goings of the staff, the women who wound between the tables with trays of drinks and the burly men whose job seemed to be standing against walls and looking large at the rowdier guests.

She’d noted that the green velvet wall hangings obscured several doorways, and she aimed for the one in the wall near the balcony where she’d ascertained that the scarred, intimidating owner of the club still stood.

Most of the women who worked the Sharpe’s floor had passed through that doorway at some point in the evening, and Lucy surmised that their dressing room must be situated in that hidden hallway.

When Thorne told her about Mr. Rook, Lucy had entertained a brief thought of sneaking up to his office to rifle through his desk and check his records for anything that might lead her to The Gentle Rogue’s true identity.

But on further reflection—and after shivering through the chill imparted by Mr. Rook’s distant, wintry gaze—Lucy had decided that the best source of information in any building truly was the women who worked there.

The women who strolled the card room offering their company to the gaming gentlemen, for a price—and the unseen women who did all the invisible labor of cleaning, washing, straightening and tidying up after the nightly bacchanals.

All her focus on reaching the doorway where Lucy hoped to find a serving girl or two who might be willing to speak with her, Lucy startled badly when a gentleman materialized beside her with a brief bow and a bland, “My lady.”

Lucy jumped a mile, heart rabbiting in her chest. She hadn’t noticed him at all.

Perhaps because he was entirely, almost aggressively unnoticeable.

Average height, with a round face emphasized by the way he’d slicked his hair straight back to reveal symmetrical, forgettable features.

His hair and eyes were both a nondescript brown; even his voice was in the middle of the range, neither deep nor high in that breathless way some dandies affected.

“I beg your pardon,” Lucy said, for want of anything better. “Do we know each other?”

In fact, he did look vaguely familiar. Lucy frowned, trying to place him.

“We have not been introduced,” he said pleasantly, “though I certainly know you. Lady Lucy Lively.”

A frisson of unease tickled down Lucy’s spine. “That’s right. And you are?”

He bowed again. “Sir Colin Semple, at your service.”

Sir Colin Semple. The name clicked, and Lucy took the man in with new eyes. This was the agent of the Crown who’d been bothering her publisher for information about the author of the Midnight Rider series.

About Lucy.

It seemed he’d found her.

Pulse speeding, Lucy worked to keep her sudden tension off her face and out of her voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Colin, but I’m afraid I am right in the middle of some pressing business, so if you’ll excuse me…”

She turned to leave, but he stopped her with a murmured, “A moment of your time, my lady. I wanted to speak with you about The Gentle Rogue.”

“The highwayman?” Lucy forced a light laugh. “What about him?”

Sir Colin cocked his head like an inquisitive bird. He had eyes like a bird’s too, Lucy realized, perturbed.

His eyes were oddly bright and flat. Emotionless. They betrayed not a hint of triumph when he replied, “As the author of The Midnight Rider , I would say you possess more insight than most into The Gentle Rogue. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Lucy caught her breath. She could try to brazen it out, but as she studied the agent’s affectless demeanor, she realized there was no point. He knew.

Tossing her head, Lucy drew herself up to her full, not-inconsiderable height.

She had an inch or two on Sir Colin and used them to look down her nose at him.

“I can’t think how you discovered my little secret, Sir Colin—I’m certain my publisher, Mr. Singh, would not have told you.

For if it had been he, I can only assume he would have made sure you understood. ”

“Understood what, my lady?”

Lucy gave him a pitying look. “ The Midnight Rider is a work of fiction,” she said gently. “That means it’s not real. I’m ever so sorry to disappoint a fan, but?—”

“I’m not a fan,” Sir Colin interrupted. His face still held that blankly agreeable expression.

“What I am, Lady Lucy, is thorough. It’s what sets me apart as an investigator, I believe.

When I need information, I look until I find it.

I look in places no one else would consider…

for instance, a barely fictionalized account of a highwayman written in the same style as a series of anonymous articles published from April of 1819 to April of 1821 in The London Observator .

Those articles corresponded, on multiple occasions, to the actions of the real, live highwayman I’ve been tasked with apprehending. ”

The tips of Lucy’s fingers felt chilled; there seemed not quite enough air. “What an odd thing to say. Are you implying— I vow, I don’t know what you could be implying, sir.”

That quizzical head cock again. Why did it make a feeling close to panic rise in Lucy’s chest?

It was because she’d seen it before, Lucy realized with a start. At Gunter’s, that day when Thornecliff took her there and they’d been seated before a group of waiting customers. This man had been one of them.

Was he following her? How long had he been following her? What had he seen?

“I imply nothing. I’m stating a fact. I know you are in contact with The Gentle Rogue. I know you have been in contact with him for years, ever since an incident in your debut Season when he robbed a mail coach you happened to be on—and took you with him when he rode away.”

Lucy gaped; she must have looked like a stunned codfish. She certainly felt as though she’d been hit in the face with one. Nathaniel had gone to great lengths to quash the gossip about that misadventure. “How could you possible know that?”

He shrugged, utterly without pride. “I told you, I’m thorough. My job is to bring The Gentle Rogue to justice. And you, Lady Lucy, know who he is.”

The constriction of Lucy’s lungs eased. She didn’t even have to try to produce a laugh; only she knew it was born of relief.

“I assure you, I have no idea who he is. I would love to! But I don’t.

So you can save yourself the trouble of following me about.

Yes, I saw you at Gunter’s. You aren’t half so subtle as you seem to think. ”

“I’m not trying to be subtle.” Sir Colin blinked, annoyingly impervious to Lucy’s scorn. “I’m trying to solve the mystery of The Gentle Rogue’s identity. His Majesty is most insistent upon it; his brother, the Duke of Cumberland, was recently robbed upon the Bath Road and is quite irate.”

“And it was The Gentle Rogue who committed the theft?”

Sir Colin’s expression didn’t change. “Irrelevant. The Gentle Rogue is the most famous highwayman; whether he is guilty of this particular crime or not, he is certainly guilty of many more. And his capture will act as a deterrent to others.”

“Well, you’re wasting your time with me,” Lucy declared, straightening her shoulders and making sure to look the man dead in the eyes so he’d know she had nothing to hide.

Sir Colin subjected her to a moment of intense scrutiny that made Lucy feel as though she’d been turned inside out and scraped raw. For such an unassuming little man, he truly was terribly unpleasant to be around.

“Oh, I don’t think this has been a waste of my time. Very interesting to make your acquaintance, Lady Lucy. I look forward to meeting the rest of your family and associates; perhaps they will be more willing to share information with the Crown than you are.”

Lucy scoffed, despite the sick feeling the words induced. “There’s nothing to share! Your threats are empty, Sir Colin. My family and friends have no more idea who The Gentle Rogue is than I do.”

“I assure you, I would never dream of threatening a lady,” Sir Colin placidly replied. “Enjoy the rest of your evening with your…companion. Perhaps I ought to turn my attention to him next.”