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Chapter Eighteen

“ I did not think this was how I would spend my night, but?—”

“Heavens, Theodore, will you stop speaking?” Spencer huffed, glaring at his friend.

Theodore scowled right back before looking at Eleanor. “Your Grace, do support me here. Is this how you thought you would spend your night? I am certain you imagined spending it in your townhouse, perhaps being seduced by your husband, having romantic poetry recited for hours and hours…”

“Do keep speaking,” Spencer warned, “and I will remove you from this carriage altogether.”

The three of them were en route to a meeting place near Southgate Dockyard, and although it was the last place Spencer wanted Eleanor to be, especially with Lord Belgrave approaching her the previous night at the masquerade ball, an informant Theodore had found was only willing to speak with them there.

Spencer had tried to dissuade her from accompanying them, but as she had pointed out, he had promised to stop shutting her out of the investigation. He couldn’t ignore that her knowledge had been pivotal to getting closer to uncovering the truth about the operation Belgrave ran.

“Ha,” Theodore muttered. “You would not dare.”

“Oh, I would.”

Spencer was aware of Eleanor keenly witnessing their exchange, yet it was Theodore who turned to her, gesturing exasperatedly toward him.

“Spencer and I have known one another since our Cambridge days.” He glanced at him. “It was quite a different time back then, was it not?”

Narrowing his eyes, Spencer replied tightly, “It was.”

Although in those days he had been angry and grief-stricken—and he still harbored those emotions—he had not dealt with them in the same way.

“Different?” Eleanor echoed, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “How so?”

“I think we ought to focus on the task at hand,” Spencer interjected. “We should focus on our informant, not get side-tracked by my past.”

He shot Theodore a warning glare, scathing enough to let him know that Eleanor did not know a great deal about his past.

While he knew he couldn’t keep it that way for very long, he wanted to delay the inevitable as much as possible.

Tearing open the wounds of his childhood and adolescence was not something he could handle, even though Eleanor had already opened up about the things she had gone through. His past was different, and he didn’t want her to see him in a darker light than she likely already did.

All night, he had been haunted by the memory of her moans in the conservatory, sweet and addictive. That morning during breakfast, he had muttered an excuse about business before leaving, not knowing how to navigate the new waters he had pulled them into.

The carriage pulled up outside the meeting place, and Spencer let nobody get out until he scanned the area.

Windows in nearby warehouses were dark and empty, rooftops held no shadows, and the man who hovered looked too nervous to have backup.

Spencer jerked his head for Theodore to follow him and took Eleanor’s hand to help her down from the carriage.

“Keep your head down and stay close to me,” he murmured. “I will not tell you to stay silent, but I would appreciate it if you say as little as possible and let Lord Avington and myself handle it.”

Instead of that flare of defiance, Eleanor only nodded.

She wanted to be part of this, even though she was understandably nervous. Not only was she in a darker part of London and investigating the man who had ruined her life, but she was also investigating the life she could have been trapped into.

Spencer was impressed by her courage already.

The three of them walked out into the shadowed yard, Spencer vigilantly watching every corner, his hand hovering over her back.

Theodore strode forward. “Mr. Beecham,” he greeted quietly. “Thank you for meeting with us.”

“Thank you for coming out here to meet with me, Lord Avington. I have, ah, your order ready.” Mr. Beecham reached behind him to a box holding a pair of boots. Spencer raised an eyebrow. “The leather is of the highest quality. You will have what you need for the storms ahead, I’m certain.”

He shot Theodore a sharp, knowing look, and Spencer took the box, inspecting the side of one boot. On the inner lining, he spotted patches of black thread.

Information.

“A fine job, Mr. Beecham.” He nodded once.

Markus Beecham was a former smuggler who now made a living as a bootmaker, but Theodore had snatched him up for information, and judging by the leather lining, he had enough.

“In there is everything I know,” he said. “It might not be much, but it will hopefully be something.”

Spencer gave another sharp nod, already eager to get Eleanor to the carriage, but Mr. Beecham’s eyes landed on her.

“You… you are—did you break free of that place? I remember you.” His eyes flashed with recognition.

Spencer stepped in front of her protectively. “She is under my care.”

“And mercifully so. I recall Lord Belgrave’s fury over what happened, but nobody heard the story.

I was there when you were taken by Renshaw to St. Euphemia’s.

I was…” Mr. Beecham swallowed, looking down.

“I was on another job that night. We set off at the same time. Back then, I didn’t fully understand what I was doing.

Your Grace, my sincerest apologies. If I could only turn back time. ”

“All we have is forward and onward,” Theodore interjected, not wanting to waste time lingering there.

“I don’t understand, though,” Mr. Beecham pressed, still looking around Spencer to Eleanor.

“They don’t usually keep the girls at that place for more than a few days.

At least not the ones Lord Belgrave and Follet send there.

But they take up most of the occupancy. Belgrave must have favored you, what with being his fiancée. ”

“That is quite enough,” Spencer said sharply. “Thank you for the information, Beecham.”

“Be careful,” Mr. Beecham called out as they turned to leave. “I once heard Lord Follet speak about the girls—one girl in particular. She will go in as a penitent and come out in a coffin. ”

Eleanor swooned, bile rising in her throat, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. She keeled over, but Spencer pulled her up, his fingers gently rubbing her shoulders as he led her back to the carriage.

“It is all right,” he murmured. “It is all right.”

Eleanor’s face was deathly pale as she looked at him from across the carriage. Whether she was thinking of Charlotte—and that was who Spencer feared the threat was about—or the knowledge that once it may have been Eleanor herself facing such a threat, he did not know.

After a moment, he moved to sit beside her. Without another word, he pulled her into his embrace.

Once Theodore got in, he paused and looked at the two of them.

Spencer said nothing except to order the carriage back to the bachelor’s lodgings Theodore owned under another name.

Inside the boot were sewn several names of women Mr. Beecham either knew or suspected had been taken to St. Euphemia’s. Some were women Spencer had heard of. However, since he and Eleanor had been absent from Society for years, it was Theodore who recognized most of them.

“Heavens,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he read the names. “Lady Daphne… I remember her. Her parents said that she had gone to live in the countryside after a failed courtship. They said she fled out of shame after her suitor turned out to be penniless.”

Spencer was too busy watching Eleanor’s face darken as she read the names of the women who had not been saved.

Were they dead, or simply shipped to the Caribbean or beyond?

“You never saw anyone you recognized on your travels?” Theodore asked as Spencer opened the other boot to read the second threaded note. “You traveled vastly, did you not? Met many women.”

Eleanor’s head snapped up, but she said nothing.

Spencer frowned at his friend. “You are starting to make me regret the correspondence I kept up with you,” he muttered. “And yes, but that is in the past.”

“I’m not passing judgment, for I know what your vices helped with. I am asking if you recognized faces or noticed anything amiss.”

Spencer was quite ashamed that he did not have many memories of his travels. Most of them were drunken blurs, one gentlemen’s club to another, one lady’s bed to another, caring only for his next chance forgetting the terrible things that haunted him.

He blinked and saw Anna’s face, a mirror to his own. Dead, cold eyes staring up from a hollow, bloodied face?—

He shook his head sharply. “No. Everywhere has its shadows, and I darkened enough seedy doorways, but I don’t recall anything suspicious.”

Eleanor still watched him, but he grunted as he finally tore the last thread holding the sewn information in.

Meet with Julian Gray . If there is a man who knows not only London’s underworld but also the darker dealings of other countries, it is him. He is not afraid to speak his mind. Tread with caution, Lord Avington .

“Julian Gray?” Theodore read over his shoulder. “Ah, yes, I know of him. Although I think I will let you go ahead and meet with him. He is a rather… interesting character.”

“I will go with you,” Eleanor spoke up immediately.

“No,” Spencer said at the same time Theodore laughed.

“ Yes ,” Eleanor insisted. “If you can allow me to meet with an informant in a shady dockyard, then you can let me go to Mr. Gray’s house.” She looked at Theodore, frowning. “Who is he?”

“Oh, Your Grace.” Theodore laughed again. “Mr. Gray is London’s most renowned male escort.”

“Well, well, well.” The drawl came from the handsome man with blonde curls hanging over his forehead messily. “It has been a while since a couple has graced my doorway. And a very beautiful one at that.”

Julian Gray flashed them both a grin that made him look younger than his years. Boyish, almost.

Spencer only stared back at him with shrewd eyes.

Eleanor looked between them as Julian stepped back into the dimly lit hallway, beckoning them inside.