The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel (12 page)

“Mrs. Mason,” Sophia began in a purposefully calm, soft tone, “do you recognize this
mark from your time spent in the brothel?”

“No,” she answered, looking up to answer Sophia. “That is not a mark that would be
used on a girl working at Le Maison Bleu, that much I can tell you.”

Sophia laid the drawing on the desk and traced her fingertip over the penciled lines
that made up the outline of the chess piece. “Then where, Mrs. Mason?”

The woman lowered her chin, her gaze fastened on the slow progress of Sophia’s finger
over the drawing. “Do you have wish to die, Lady Sophia?” she asked starkly.

Her question surprised Sophia. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because questions about such things as what you have there,” she nodded significantly
at the drawing, “will get you killed.”

Sophia abruptly stopped tracing the symbol. “Tell me, Mrs. Mason, do you think me
lacking in intelligence?”

“You are the most intelligent person I know, my lady,” Mrs. Mason answered, lifting
her chin and meeting Sophia’s gaze once more. “But the people connected to that symbol
couldn’t care less if you’ve Yorkshire pudding for brains. By the time they’re done
with you, you won’t be needing to think at all.”

Excitement crackled, lifting the fine hairs on Sophia’s nape. Still, she remained
calm, knowing that to do anything else might convince Mrs. Mason to keep her own counsel.

“If you do indeed believe that I am intelligent, then you must trust me, Mrs. Mason,”
Sophia said plainly, hoping that common sense was on her side.

The other woman unclenched her hands and reached across the desk. Picking up the drawing,
she brought it nearer to inspect it more closely, frowning as she did so. “Did you
know, Lady Sophia, that some of the London gangs like to brand their members?”

“I had no idea. What could possibly be the point?”

“To protect their property, should any go missing,” Mrs. Mason answered, folding the
paper carefully in half to effectively hide the drawing, laying it back down on the
desk. “Much the same as farmers do with their cattle.”

“Then this is the mark of a gang in the vicinity of Bleu Maison?” Sophia pressed on,
willing herself not to think about the process required to complete the barbaric act.

“No, I was not lying when I told you I’d not seen this mark during my years in the
brothel,” Mrs. Mason reminded Sophia, then sat back in her chair, her spine poker
stiff. “No, my lady, this is the mark of a St. Giles gang.”

Sophia mentally reviewed the information she had read in Nicholas’s study. The Rambling
Rose, where Mr. Smeade’s connection to the Bishop was discovered, stood in St. Giles.
“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, my lady,” Mrs. Mason gravely confirmed. “Do you remember Mary Riley? A fellow
prostitute contacted Halcyon after Mary was beaten and left for dead.”

“I know the name, but did not have the opportunity to meet her,” Sophia replied, suddenly
finding it very hard to sit still.

Mrs. Mason nodded knowingly. “Does not surprise me. Mary was with us for two days
before she succumbed to her injuries. We talked, her and I, about her life. And about
the brand of a chess piece on her back. She was worried for me. And for all of the
women here. She said that if the gang she belonged to discovered she was alive, they’d
track her down and make sure she died the second time around. And then they’d see
to those who had taken her in.”

“Do you know where Mary lived? Is it possible that someone in the area around her
home may know something more of these men?” Sophia picked up the drawing.

Mrs. Mason pushed her spectacles farther up on the bridge of her nose. “Did you not
hear what I said, my lady? Mary is dead because of her involvement with this gang.
Will you not heed a warning from beyond the grave?”

Mary Riley’s warning meant nothing to Sophia. She knew that it should. Such indifference
more than likely meant that her need for revenge had overwhelmed any sense of right,
wrong, or otherwise.

Still, she did not care. She couldn’t.

“Mrs. Mason, do you know where Mary Riley lived?”

“St. Giles, my lady,” the woman answered, getting up from her chair. “I filed a report
with the Runners. They’ll have the address in their notes.”

Sophia nodded somberly. “Thank you, Mrs. Mason.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for,” she replied, then quit the room.

9

Bow Street Offices
C
OVENT
G
ARDEN
W
ESTMINSTER
L
ONDON

“Lady Sophia, good afternoon. We were not expecting to see you today.”

Though Sophia liked Mr. Royce and would normally enjoy chatting with him, she was
pressed for time. She’d left for the Bow Street Offices the moment Mrs. Mason had
told her about Mary Riley’s tattoo. Still, there was a ball that evening that she’d
promised Langdon she would attend. If she had any hope of returning home in time to
prepare for the engagement, she needed to find Mary Riley’s file and be gone within
the hour.

“Mr. Royce, good afternoon to you,” she replied politely, slowing her progression
but not stopping to invite a lengthy conversation. “You are correct—I would not normally
be in the office today. A notation in one of the cases I recently reviewed kept me
awake all night. I simply must read through it again, to be certain I didn’t miss
something.”

The Runner pushed back his chair and half rose. “I’ll fetch the file, Lady Sophia.
Which one is it?”

“No, Mr. Royce, that is quite all right,” she said quickly. She scanned the man’s
desk, her glance alighting
upon a steaming cup of tea. “I would not want your tea to grow cold. If you’ll just
give me the key?”

Sophia knew from past experience that Mr. Royce was a man who could not abide lukewarm
tea. He eyed the cup with pleasure and smiled his thanks for her thoughtfulness. “Here
you are, my lady. You’ll let me know if you need anything?”

“Of course, Mr. Royce,” Sophia replied. Her smile held both charm and relief as she
accepted the key and left him, hurrying toward the file room located at the back of
the office.

She placed the key in the lock and turned it, exactly as she’d done a thousand times
before. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Royce and felt a wash of relief
when she saw he’d clearly already forgotten her and he’d taken up his tea, a file
in his hand.

Sophia pushed the door open. Careful to leave it ajar so that she might hear if someone
approached, she stepped inside.

Mary Riley had died barely three weeks earlier. Sophia walked to the first bookshelf,
where the most recent cases awaited sorting. She lifted a large wooden box from the
shelf and carried it to a table pushed up against the west wall of the room. Removing
the lid, she began to flip through the papers, which were organized according to date.
She discovered Mary’s file a third of the way through the stack and pulled it free
from the rest.

Her fingers shook as she quickly paged through the report, briefly stopping at the
crude sketch detailing Mary’s injuries before scanning the remaining documents. The
address wasn’t there. Sophia forced herself to breathe deeply and went back to the
beginning, finding the information on the fourth page.

She took a piece of foolscap from the stack sitting on the table and a stub of lead
left there by one of the
Runners. “Number Four Upper St. Martin’s Lane,” she said aloud as she took down the
address then set the pencil back in its place.

Stuffing the scrap of paper into her reticule, Sophia returned the file to the box
and secured the top once again.

“Find what you were looking for?” Mr. Royce called from his desk.

Sophia hastily placed the box on the shelf and walked from the room, locking the door
after her. “Exactly what I was looking for, Mr. Royce.”

Sophia sat still as her companion deftly pinned up her long hair. “Lettie, have you
ever done something you shouldn’t have?”

The woman selected a ruby encrusted pin from the side table and secured a curl into
place. “Yes. Hasn’t everyone?”

“Well, that was rather easier than I thought it would be,” Sophia countered, surprised
at her companion’s response.

Lettie took up a second pin and moved to the opposite side of Sophia, looking into
the mirror to check her handiwork. “You must remember: there are actions one undertakes,
and then there are
actions
.”

Sophia supposed her dear friend’s statement was true enough, though her guilty conscience
was having difficulty deciding where the line should be drawn between the two.

“Tell me what you’ve done, my lady.”

Sophia cringed. “I believe I’ll list my transgressions in chronological order—much
more organized, you see.”

Her companion raised one eyebrow in reaction, remaining silent.

“Very well,” Sophia announced with more phlegmatic fortitude than she felt. “Last
night, when I told you I had a headache? I did not; it was an excuse. I snuck out
and made my way to the Albany—where I broke into Nicholas’s apartment. Then I lied
to Mr. Singh and Mouse concerning my identity. And finally, I convinced Mr. Royce
of the Runners that a nagging detail was the reason I required access to the file
room. When, in fact, I needed to gain entry in order to steal information. Which I
did, obviously.”

Lettie reached for the final pin and secured the last curl, stepping back to admire
her work.

“You haven’t said anything,” Sophia pointed out, painfully aware that she’d failed
to include the kiss, arguably the most important action of all.

The older woman lifted a glittering ruby and diamond necklace that had belonged to
Lady Afton from the lacquered jewel box atop the dressing table. “I’m thinking.”

Sophia admired Lettie’s control and thoughtfulness. She’d been an admirable mentor
while Sophia was young, daily exhibiting such qualities.

Now Sophia wished she’d simply spit out something—
anything
.

Lettie fastened the clasp and adjusted the ruby drop until it was centered precisely
above the sapphire silk gown’s low-cut bodice. “First, not every action was criminal,
correct?”

“Correct, though—”

Lettie raised one finger and began to pace. “Now, what was your reason for visiting
Mr. Bourne?”

“Four days have passed since we returned to London
from the Primrose,” Sophia answered. “I was worried that Nicholas would proceed without
me. He made it absolutely clear that was his preference.”

Her dear friend nodded and clasped her hands behind her back. “A reasonable concern,
I’ll give you that. And this Mr. Singh and Mouse? Why did you deceive them?”

Sophia considered mentioning Nicholas’s part in the charade, but thought better of
it. “Nicholas and Mr. Singh were acquaintances in India, and thus he knows the loyalty
and self-control of the man. But the boy Mouse’s discretion is a mystery to both of
us. It seemed best if my position in society was kept hidden for now.”

Lettie nodded and continued to walk back and forth, her lips set in a grim line.

“A second reasonable concern, wouldn’t you agree?” Sophia pressed.

Lettie finally ceased pacing, stopping in front of Sophia. “If you will not give up
this dangerous pursuit, at the very least I beg you to be more careful. The ton’s
gossipmongers like nothing better than embroidering tales about a lady such as yourself
and a man with Mr. Bourne’s questionable reputation.”

Sophia considered her companion’s words. “You’re right. Of course you’re right,” she
replied. “Somehow it is all too easy to become caught up in the theatrics and excitement
of it all, even though I know the danger is real.”

“I imagine your mind needs some sort of distraction from the dangerous circumstances;
otherwise, fear might overtake you. Still, Lord Stonecliffe is not a stupid man. If
there are whispers amongst your set suggesting indiscreet behavior involving you and
his brother, he’ll hear them.”