Page 11 of Seduced by a Scoundrel (The Spinster Society #3)

W hile throwing snowballs at Keir’s head was surprisingly entertaining, there was work to do.

Sybil was grateful for it, as it might afford her an afternoon to not embarrass herself in front of the ton . Although, given her record, she was not particularly hopeful.

Spinster House took in mostly debutantes and widows and heiresses, but there was another house in Covent Garden that took in maids and prostitutes and fishwives and watercress sellers. They shared information between them and occasionally traded hideaways for those who needed the extra security of an entirely unfamiliar neighborhood. Between them was the Golden Griffin bookshop, which facilitated communication.

It was also known for its vast collections of works written by women. As well as the naughtier tomes, which lent it a certain kind of reputation that mostly resulted in rotten vegetables thrown at the window.

That was until the proprietress, Miss Kitty Caldecott, had married the Devil. Devil, also known as the Earl of Birmingham, owned a gaming hell and half the debts of the most powerful people in London. No one dared cross him. He was as feared as Priya.

They did not get along.

But Kitty was an honorary member of the Spinster Society, despite a rocky beginning. She also kept late hours for the purpose of offering help to those who might not be comfortable venturing into Mayfair to seek out the Spinsters directly.

The bookshop ceiling was a moody blue and accented with gilded griffins, from one so large it nearly spanned the length to another so small you had to know where it was to find it at all. It was a safe place, just like Spinster House.

When the brass bell attached to the front door rang, Kitty emerged from the back room, carrying a stack of books. Her red hair was a riot of curls escaping their pins. “Sybil, have you read through those books I sent you already?”

“I was confined to my chambers for two days.”

“Ghastly.”

“Exceedingly. And they are all still after me to rest, rest, rest.”

“Monsters.”

“My thoughts exactly. So I thank you for those novels. They were not at all morally improving.”

Kitty grinned. “Good.”

“But this time, I am afraid I am here on Spinster business.”

“Ah. Tea?”

“Yes, please. You have the best tea. Don’t tell Priya I said so.”

“When I found a favorite one, Devil bought a crate for the shop and two for the house.”

“A wise man.”

Kitty snorted.

“Clever, then,” Sybil amended with a grin. He was also ruthless and unforgiving. A thump sounded from above, rattling the chandelier. She glanced up. “Should I be worried?”

“We are turning the second floor into a proper lending library. With more than one chair.” The shop was not large. The library was even smaller. “And by we, I mean that Devil sent men with hammers and drawings for me to approve.”

“Very clever, indeed.”

“If I don’t let him do these things, he buys me jewelry ,” Kitty grumbled as if she had just said he sent her dead fish. “He bought diamond buckles for my shoes. And he almost bought me a jeweled hairbrush.” She grimaced. “Ridiculous.”

“Never mind clever, the man is brilliant .” Sybil sat down while Kitty brought over a plate of gingerbread and marzipan shaped like hedgehogs. Kitty’s sister had spent some time at Spinster House with her pet hedgehog Galahad. Sybil missed them both. “You would have fought him over the shop improvements, which was what he actually wanted to give you, so he distracted you with other things.”

“He’s Machiavellian,” Kitty agreed. “And he’s so handsome, too. It’s quite disgusting.”

“Truly diabolical. I can see that you are suffering.”

Kitty popped a hunk of gingerbread into her mouth, her eyes twinkling. Marriage to a notorious man suited her. “So, what can I do for you?”

Sybil pulled the paper from her reticule and laid it on the table.

“What’s this?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Kitty unfolded the paper and glared at the symbol of three circles. “I’ve seen this before. Or I’ve heard of it, anyway.”

Sybil perked up. Finally, a clue . “You have?”

“A viscount’s son came to tell me he had been associated with a new society of gentlemen by this mark. He was most offended.”

“A society,” Sybil murmured, mind racing. “That makes sense.”

“Why? Where did you hear of them?”

“We found this symbol in the Fortingham betting book, next to a list of names we have since discovered are not particularly honorable. And someone has been targeting the Spinsters ever since. Warnings, mostly.”

“Priya warned me as well,” Kitty said. “And then Devil added two guards. I really do have my own army now. But there’s been nothing out of the ordinary. At least, not here.”

“That’s something at least. And between him and Priya, this society business has no chance of success,” Sybil said smugly. But not as smugly as she would have liked. Her fellow Spinsters were in danger.

“Still. Be careful.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”

“Because we have met you. Have another marzipan.”

“Are you being careful?” Kitty was as reckless as Sybil.

“I have my own army, remember?”

“Fair enough. Any idea who might be in charge of this little society?”

“I’m afraid not. I only know as much as I do because I helped that viscount’s son once.”

Sybil nodded. “Thank you. It’s still more than we had this morning.” She set down her cup. “We knew it could not be coincidence. Priya will be pleased. She is going to send you so much tea, you might need a third floor.”

On Sybil’s way home, she was grabbed off the street.

Right off the busy street. In the middle of the afternoon.

She tried to bite her attacker and got cuffed on the ear for her trouble. By the time she had reached for her hatpin, it was too late. There was a sack over her head that smelled like stale oats and her arm was viciously wrenched behind her back. Fear made her mouth dry, her pulse thunder. She tried to breathe slowly, to keep the panic from taking her over.

Her knees dug into the floor of the carriage. There were at least two captors and very little space to move between them. The wheels creaked over a deep rut and her bones rattled when she was tossed to the side. She cursed. Viciously.

One of the men whistled. “Listen to the mouth on this one.”

“Let me go at once,” she snapped. “I do not have a dowry, so you are wasting your time.”

A snort. “No one wants to marry you .”

“Oh, that is a relief.” She kept her tone calm and dry, even though her heart threatened to fill her throat. She jabbed her elbow back as hard as she could. There was a grunt when she connected with someone’s thigh.

It was a short-lived victory, as he shoved her hard into the door.

“We’re just seeing you home, lovey. Streets aren’t safe. Thieves about, don’t you know?”

“What is this about?” She refused to gasp, even though her shoulder had hit the metal handle with some force.

“Just a friendly warning.”

“As there is no such thing, you may take your friendly warning and shove it directly—”

Another shove to cut her off.

“He said you’d say something like that.”

Keep calm. You’re a Spinster, for God’s sake.

“Who said that?” she asked.

“None of your business. Now shut your gob.”

“This is a warning,” the other man said. “If you’re smart, you’ll mind yourself. Stop poking into the affairs of men. No more betting books.”

Sybil laughed. She could not help it.

The other captor made a sound in the back of his throat, half impressed. “She’s cracked.”

“Last warning, girl.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“Minos didn’t tell us—”

“Shut your face, Alfie.”

Minos.

Alfie.

It was something. Another piece of the puzzle. She would take it.

As well as the pause, the slip in concentration when Alfie said more than he was supposed to. That was even better.

Since Sybil was already pressed against the door, it was easy enough to kick out as she grabbed for the handle.

Tumbling out of a moving carriage in London was not wise. But it was wiser than staying where she was.

She only had that one moment, that fleeting element of surprise, and she would use it. She had no idea if they planned to release her or if they had something else in mind, and she had no intention of finding out.

There was a shout, a flurry of movement when the door popped open.

Sybil threw herself out, tucking her shoulder and hoping she was not about to be trampled by another carriage. Or break her leg. Crack her skull.

She hit the ground hard, and it knocked the breath right out of her. She yanked at the sack over her head. She had hit the edge of the cobbles, mostly out of the way of traffic. Sleet and slush soaked into her dress and her hair as she struggled to get to her feet. There were few pedestrians out in this weather, only a lady at the end of the street who stared in surprise.

She had managed to jump out of the carriage onto her own street. As she was relatively unharmed, the goal must have been to ruin her. To frighten her.

And she was definitely unsettled. Disconcerted, even. More than a little frightened, to be truthful.

But she would not let that stop her.

Because she was also very, very angry. And an angry Spinster was something to behold. That fear they expected her to turn inward on herself would instead shoot from her like fiery arrows. And she intended to have very good aim.

If not at this exact moment, then eventually.

She needed to get herself to Spinster House first, but she could not go tearing off in this state. It would invite notice, questions, concerns. Gossip. She could not go home either, which was mere steps away. She would not do that to her parents. They would worry. More than was helpful. She could not blame them—she was quite sure she looked a fright. Already, someone stared at her from an open carriage window.

There was one immediate solution.

Close.

Convenient.

A terrible idea.