Elizabeth Boyle (2 page)

Giles should have known it was only a matter of time before the affable Monty embarrassed them.

Ignoring the duke’s precarious position, Giles turned his interest toward the entrance of the Parkers’ ballroom. He knew there were few people Monty disliked enough to hide from. But spotting a glimpse of Lord Lyle’s portly frame circling the crowded room, he agreed with his friend’s urgent assessment of the situation, though not his method for avoiding the problem.

“Get out from behind there, Monty.” Giles glanced over to where his friend had wedged himself. “If Lyle is here, he probably shares our suspicions—the Brazen Angel will be here tonight.”

Monty eased out from his hiding spot. His mask perched crookedly at the end of his nose, while below it his mouth twisted in a lopsided and apologetic smile. Straightening to his full, though limited, height, he meticulously adjusted his jacket and mask.

Giles took a deep breath. It was bad enough every man in London seemed obsessed by the Brazen Angel, now even this craze for masquerades she’d launched was getting out of hand. Every hostess in town wanted to throw a masked party in hopes of entertaining the Brazen Angel, as she had come to be known. “Whatever was I thinking when I agreed to help you find this woman?” He yanked off his mask and tossed it behind the statue.

Monty shrugged. “Boredom?”

His friend was right, boredom indeed. He should be on the continent, not wasting his time at frivolous London entertainments.

Shaking his head, Monty continued. “No, let me change that. Avoidance. Yes, I’d say you offered to help me in one last desperate attempt at avoidance.”

“Why, I’ve never avoided anything in my—” Giles started to say, stopping when Monty began to laugh. “Well, maybe
her
.”

“When are you going to go around and meet your betrothed?” Monty’s lips twitched. “And after all the trouble your father went through to arrange the rest of your life just before he died. How nice of him to pick out your wife.”

Giles didn’t need to be reminded that it had been his father’s last wish to see his son and only heir married and settled with heirs of his own. He woke up each morning to the fact that his wedding was one day closer. If only his father hadn’t extracted a promise from Lord Dryden to see the marriage finalized posthaste, there might have been some leeway in delaying the nuptials.

Monty tipped his glass in a mock toast. “And Lady Sophia, well, I can only extend my best wishes.”

“Heartfelt, I’m sure.” Giles knew he couldn’t keep avoiding his betrothed, but when all the descriptions he’d gathered hinged on the same hesitant “best wishes” and “nice girl, that one,” finding the courage to meet the future Lady Trahern failed him.

“What is it, a month away? Lucky man.” Monty coughed.

“You find something amusing in all this?”

“You would if you were in my shoes,” Monty continued, his lips twitching. “You have to admit the idea of Dryden going from spymaster to master matchmaker is quite humorous. I certainly wouldn’t want that dour old man choosing my bride.”

“I don’t think the situation is as bad as all that. Besides, my father picked out Lady Sophia; it’s Dryden’s job to ensure the marriage takes place.”

Monty shrugged. “Well, I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. Once you marry that girl you’ll be off again, with your
shipping concerns
.” The smaller man snorted. “As if I didn’t know about your other connections with Dryden and the Foreign Office.”

Giles found his mood souring, as it always did when someone pushed the subject of his upcoming nuptials. It was bad enough his father betrothed him to a girl he’d never met, now this idle life in London threatened to dull his mind.

No wonder he’d jumped at the opportunity to help Monty solve the mystery of the Brazen Angel. If anything, the exercise would keep his skills honed until he returned to duty with the Foreign Office.

He scanned the room with a practiced gaze, all but ignoring the parade of ladies in their colorful gowns edging past him.

Since his arrival in London it had been like this at every social function. At first he’d carefully cultivated a reputation for being dangerous, until he discovered that only attracted the fortune-hunting beauties in droves.

Not even the announcement of his betrothal held them at bay.

Betrothed
. Giles shuddered.

“With you getting married I suppose I’ll have to renew my search for my perfect duchess.” Monty peered around the room.

Now it was Giles’s turn to laugh. “Are you still carrying around your list?”

Monty nodded and patted his jacket pocket.

The duke’s list of attributes for a perfect wife was quite legendary around the Marriage Mart. Though he refused to reveal any elements of what he considered a perfect wife, he claimed that when he met the woman who met all his requirements, he would spirit her away and make her his duchess. Many a marriage-minded mother had pushed her daughter in the affable duke’s path, but to no avail.

Giles considered Monty’s list nothing more than his friend’s way of avoiding that inevitable visit to the parson. And if there was one thing Giles knew about the duke, no one was better at avoidance and diversion than Monty.

“How will we spirit the Angel away with Lyle watching every move we make?” Monty asked.

“We could still call the authorities and turn her over. After all, she did rob you.” Giles didn’t try to understand his friend’s obsession with finding London’s most notorious woman. Built like a bulldog, Monty also possessed the temperament of one. Once he latched on to an idea he refused to let go, no matter how outrageous.

“I will not turn her over to the authorities and neither will you. Not after you’ve seen her.” Monty took a glass from a passing tray. “Besides, the money doesn’t matter. Though I doubt Lyle or Rostland would agree with me.”

Giles nodded. The Brazen Angel had taken London by storm over the past few months. He had thought her nothing but a foolish rumor—wishful talk to enliven a rather dull Season. That was until Monty’s encounter with her a month prior.

The lady was indeed brazen. Offering herself for seduction, she left her victims in a drugged stupor while she robbed them blind. Though none of her victims had disclosed that minor fact when they’d bragged in their clubs the next day about the “Angel” they’d taken home the night before.

The lady, Giles discovered, was also a master of disguise, having appeared at a masquerade as Death for Lord Lyle, at the theater as a demure miss fresh from school for Lord Wickham, and stranded by the roadside for Lord Rostland. With each of these notorious lechers she had the uncanny ability to tap into their most hidden fantasies, for her victims had bragged at great lengths that she seemed to know just what a man desired.

But in Monty’s case it appeared she had meant herself for another man.

As his friend explained the day after his encounter, still clutching in his hand her trademark token—a scented handkerchief—he had met her outside the opera. Another lord had been about to assist her, but Monty, ever the gentleman where lovely ladies were concerned, cut the young man off, offering his services first.

She’d lost her companion, or so she said, and was unable to enter the opera. She confessed she had no coins for a carriage home and refused to tell her name or family connections because, she said, she’d deceived her parents to go out with a young man they found unsuitable. If her situation was discovered her reputation would be ruined.

“Could Your Grace please help me?” she asked so prettily, tears rimming her eyes.

“I still can’t believe you took her home,” Giles commented. “What were you thinking?”

“What was I to do?” Monty shot back. “The poor thing was overcome. I thought if I revived her with some sherry she’d tell me who her family was and I’d send for them. How was I know to that by sharing a glass with her I’d end up lying on the floor, the hapless victim, rather than her hero?”

Monty had awakened with a crushing headache, only to discover his watch and pocket money missing, along with the extra measure of gold he kept hidden in his study.

Giles shifted from one leg to the other. “A handkerchief, a hint of perfume, a potion for leaving a man unconscious, and a fondness for a full moon. And you expect me to find this woman? It sounds more like a witch hunt.”

“I’m beginning to think Lord Dryden’s trust in you is misplaced. It’s been a month and you’ve got nothing. I would have thought you’d have her by now. And if you don’t find her soon, I’ll be a sight richer.” Monty grinned again, referring to their wager. “Maybe I’ll offer my services to Dryden while you’re on your honeymoon.”

“I could find this woman if you and the rest of her victims could refrain from waxing poetic on her beauty. Believe it or not, I need a better description than somewhere between ‘just out of the convent’ and ‘wonderfully mature.’ You might as well describe every woman in this ballroom.” Giles crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at Monty.

“An accent,” the duke said, a look of surprise on his face. “I remember it now; she spoke with a slight accent. French, perhaps. But you know me and languages.”

“Are you sure?” Giles couldn’t help but feel skeptical.

“Yes. Yes,” he insisted. “She had an accent.”

Giles looked around the room. There were probably three to four hundred people filling the Parkers’ ballroom to capacity. How easy it was to slip in and move about undetected. Hadn’t he done the same thing in the French court time and time again? “With this crush she’d be able to meet her prey and leave without anyone noticing.”

“So you still think someone in this room is her next victim?” Monty shook his head. “I hate for her to take these risks. All she had to do was ask me for the money.”

“This Angel isn’t looking for a protector. She just wants the money.” Giles studied the crowd. “But for what is the true question.”

Monty took another glass of wine from a passing servant. “When you see her you’ll have your answer. The dress and jewels she wore that night must have cost a king’s ransom.”

“No one risks so much for clothing and jewels. Any man could provide those comforts.” Giles took the glass from Monty’s hand. “No more of that. Clear heads prevail, and tonight we need our wits to flush out our prey.” Monty frowned as Giles set the drink down on a small table. “Our best bet is to wander. Keep your ears open and listen carefully. Her voice may be the only way to recognize her.”

As they worked their way through the room, Monty broke the silence between them. “Oh, this is worse than I thought!” He nodded toward Lyle, who had been joined by Rostland. The nefarious pair tipped their glasses toward Giles and Monty. “It would be a mite easier if they weren’t looking for her as well.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Giles looked across the room at their adversaries. Being part of the Full Moon Club, as her victims were dubbed, was considered by many to be a prize distinction. Lyle and Rostland hadn’t viewed it that way. They’d made it very clear to anyone who would listen that they intended to make the lady pay in their own particular manner.

The hunt for the Brazen Angel had quickly become a personal challenge, as had past dealings between Giles and the duo. There had been rumors even in Giles’s father’s time that Lyle’s fortune had been made in illicit operations during the war with the Colonies—dealings bordering on treason, some whispered—but nothing anyone could prove. Now Lyle’s fortune was on the rise again, and that in itself, Giles reasoned, warranted close scrutiny. For Lyle wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to get in his way.

An icy pit chilled his gut. He couldn’t think of anyone who deserved the kind of fate Lyle and Rostland planned for the lady.

“They won’t find her. Not tonight.” Giles nodded to a young man across the room. “Watch young Lord Harvey, my friend, but do so with some discretion.”

“What is he up to?” Monty asked as the young man approached Lord Lyle and engaged him in an animated conversation.

Lyle swung around almost immediately and headed toward the door, with Rostland following hot on his heels.

“Should we go after them?” Monty’s voice filled with concern.

Giles shook his head. “No. Harvey’s been itching for an introduction to Lord Dryden. He’d like to go into the ‘shipping business’ with me. I told him tonight was a trial run.”

Monty grinned. “What have you done?”

“Bait and switch, my good man. Lord Harvey told Lyle that he’d just come from a party where the Brazen Angel is attending. By the time Lyle and Rostland arrive, the fake lady will have left with Lord Harvey’s cousin. It should take them hours before they discover they’ve been had. By then we should have this Angel creature safely hidden away.”

Monty, who’d found another drink, gulped down the remaining libation. “I wish I had your confidence. What makes you think we’ll find her first?”

“Because I wagered you a month’s rent on my Dorset properties I would. And I never lose.”

For all Giles’s confidence, though, they spent the next hour searching their way through the crowded ballroom to no avail. In Giles’s estimation the Parkers’ masked ball had been the perfect event to attract the Brazen Angel— crowded, filled with the wealthiest members of the
ton
, and, of course, all the guests wore masks. In all his years on the continent working for the Foreign Office, he’d found these types of events the best to meet with contacts or other operatives. Since her work didn’t appear to be that much different from his—finding a mark, making contact, and exchanging information—she should make an appearance tonight.

Ahead of him, Monty slipped in and around the guests. Giles, with his height and broad shoulders, had a slower time of it. But his height gave him the advantage of being able to see Monty’s bewigged head bobbing along in front.

“Lord Trahern! Lord Trahern, is that you?” an elderly lady called as she barged her way through the ballroom.

Distracted, Giles nearly collided with Monty, who’d stopped short to allow another guest to pass by.

“Excuse me, my lady,” Monty said, bowing low to the young woman.