An Honorable Deception (The Imposters #3)

Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

B y the time they’d navigated from the train station in London to the address on the Strand that belonged to the Empire House, it was well past normal hours when ladies paid visits to charities. The four hours on the train had been quiet, and Lavinia hadn’t met his eyes even once, but Yates hadn’t exactly sought out her gaze either, and silence had suited him fine.

He didn’t trust himself to speak anyway. Not yet. Forgetting might have come easily to her after their first kiss, but it had taken him years, and he was furious with himself for that misstep this morning.

He didn’t know why she’d kissed him. Something about the fall? Had her heart been palpitating strangely or whatever it had done during her illness? Had she hit her head? Because she certainly wasn’t charmed by his sweaty, manure-scented self. And so, when she’d followed her absurd request with her own obedience of it, he’d known very well what his role was: to set her gently aside—and examine her head better for goose eggs or gashes. He’d done a bully job of it, too, for the first beat. Then when she’d said his name...

He had to squeeze his eyes shut now, even though they were turning the last corner and the moment of blindness could well mean bowling over some innocent passerby.

He hated excuses like the ones Dunne had offered up with laughter at Brooks’s. It didn’t matter that he was a man, that instinct had taken over, that rational thought had fled. He’d forgotten himself, forgotten every entry on the mile-long list of reasons he’d composed for never again offering Lavinia Hemming more than friendship. Forgotten everything but how she felt in his arms and how her lips molded to his and how she’d always made his own heart gallop like a runaway ostrich. And that was unforgiveable.

He wasn’t going to use her for the pleasure of a kiss.

And he definitely wasn’t going to lay his heart open for her to stomp on again, especially when she’d admitted herself that he was no danger to her determination never to fall for the supposed trap of love.

How could she think for even a moment that a loveless relationship would appeal to him? That he’d be content with someone who would kiss him in a stable but not trust him with her heart?

All right, so the fury wasn’t only with himself. For going back for a deeper kiss, yes, that was his fault. Too many old dreams, old fantasies had reared up when he’d thought he’d slain them for good.

Dratted Hydra, those.

But Lavinia had earned her share of his fury too. And if she didn’t look so blasted contrite and depressed every time he stole a glance at her, he might let it rage until it burned itself out.

It was hard to stay angry at someone whose shoulders hadn’t unslumped for the last five hours, though. Even if she had left him to come up with the reasons to give Alethia for yet another trip to London and she hadn’t seen fit to come down the stairs until Hector had the carriage ready.

She paused beside him now and nodded down the street. “There it is.”

Lionfeathers. Even her voice sounded muted, frayed around the edges. He studied her for a moment before following her gaze to the Empire House with its stately Georgian columns.

What if it had been her heart acting up this morning? What if the kiss had been some weird result of lack of proper blood flow? What if his exercise regimen was working the organ too hard, and she relapsed—or died ? How would he ever forgive himself?

She sighed. “I imagine they’re closing up for the night, if they haven’t already. Should we come back tomorrow? We know where it is now, at least. I can get an appointment for the morning, no doubt convince them to show me about.”

Though it took far more effort than it should have, he fastened a grin into place. “Vinia, Vinia. You really do need to learn a thing or two about surveillance. The least likely time for normal business is often the perfect time for the shadier sort—and that’s what we’re looking for.”

She startled, presumably at his attempt at a teasing tone. “I thought we were looking for evidence that Lord Vernon and company are using it as a cover for something. That’s not likely to be on display, is it? It will be buried in files somewhere. Parading under the auspices of charity work.”

Yates shrugged as they strode forward again. “Who’s to say? But we’re in luck.” He pointed toward Kettner’s, positioned in perfect view of the charity. “We can have dinner and keep an eye on things.”

Instead of keeping pace, Lavinia slowed to a halt again and spun in a slow circle, her brows lowered. “I’ve been to my share of charity houses. But never one in Soho. That’s odd in itself, isn’t it?”

She did have a point. Charities could rarely afford to headquarter in the poshest parts of London—and the residents of said posh neighborhoods didn’t generally care to have such individuals as needed their charity on their streets. “Someone must have donated the building. It was a residence in times past.” He hadn’t been able to tell that from the miniature of it, but looking at it now, there was no doubt. It was a mansion, not a place of business.

“I suppose.” Her frown didn’t ease as they watched a matronly woman step out of the Empire House’s front door, close it, and lock up. Her gaze drifted to Kettner’s. “I’m not hungry.”

Eating wasn’t the point—but the statement only returned him to his previous worry. She hadn’t come in for breakfast that morning after the disaster in the stables, and she hadn’t gone down for lunch, and the plate of dinner Marigold had taken up to the study for her last night had been untouched when he’d gone in. Which meant her last meal had been over twenty-four hours ago. More like thirty.

Maybe that had been what inspired her insanity. Hunger could do strange things to a person. “You need to eat something, Lavinia. You won’t be doing anyone any good if you faint from lack of sustenance.”

Her lips parted, but then resignation fell over her face. She shrugged. “All right.”

“Just the sort of enthusiasm a chap is looking for when he takes a lady to one of London’s finest restaurants.” Ordinarily he would have chosen a less expensive place to set up surveillance. But they were on the Strand. There were no less expensive places. He offered his elbow. Stared at her with the most pointed of looks he could sharpen.

She averted her eyes, but her hand took up position on his forearm, her arm looped through his so awkwardly that anybody would see at a glance that she was doing her best not to make any contact with him.

Far cry from that morning. Which reignited the fuse of his frustration. “You should probably pretend you like me if you want to avoid curious looks.”

Her fingers dug into his arm. “I do like you.” The words stabbed at him, low and throbbing.

“Then kindly inform your face.”

An angry Lavinia was at least better than the mask she’d been hiding behind all afternoon. Her chin came up a notch, and the smile she fastened to her lips would look convincing to anyone who didn’t search for its match in her eyes. “So sorry, my lord.”

“Better. A bit.”

Her smile tightened. “You aren’t exactly beaming affection down at me either.” Then a grimace twisted her face again. “Sorry. I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Leopard stripes, Vin.” The last of his anger—or at least the current infusion of it—seeped out. “You’re forgiven. I mean it. And I’m sorry too. It was half my fault, and I wasn’t kind about it.”

She blew out a long breath, let her eyes slide closed along with it, and looked a bit more like herself when she opened them again. “All right. Dinner. Two friends out to solve the world’s mysteries and save a life or two.”

He patted the fingers that had finally relaxed properly onto his arm. “Quite right.”

Though it was late for a charity to be open for touring ladies, it was early for dinner, so his request for a table by the window required neither a long wait nor a tip slipped to the ma?tre d’. They were soon positioned with a perfect view of the Empire House, and when the waiter brought them the menus, Lavinia wasted no time.

She smiled up at the poor unsuspecting bloke with enough charm to blind him and motioned toward the window. “I was so pleased to note the direction of our view. My mother has donated to that charity, I believe—though I didn’t realize it claimed such a prestigious location. Do you know much about it? You must spend far more time on the Strand than I do. I never get out of the house, it seems.”

The waiter clicked his heels together in his eagerness to answer. “Oh, that’s a top-notch place, without question. None of the residents ever cause a bit of ruckus, and its reputation is so sterling that it seems half the aristocracy is dropping by at one point or another. The women and children there must feel blessed indeed to receive the attention of people so able to help them.”

“How encouraging to know our donations are going to such a good cause. Thank you so much.” She sent him away with a bat of her lashes.

Yates suppressed the roll of his eyes until the waiter had gone. Barely. “Ask him for his recommendation for your meal and he may give it to you on the house.”

She lifted her water goblet and took a dainty sip. “Flies and honey, my lord.”

He watched the front of the house and wondered idly who the woman was who had locked up. A secretary? Liaison to the ladies who would visit throughout the day? Housekeeper? He had to think someone stayed overnight with the boarders, but he could detect no movement on the premises. The windows had curtains—not so much as a shaft of light broke through into the gathering dusk.

Lavinia’s foot connected with his shin—not hard enough to hurt but enough to get his attention. She blinked lazily out the window. “Isn’t that your old friend Lord Arnold?” She nodded toward the street.

Perhaps she was better at this surveillance thing than he’d given her credit for. He turned to face the direction she was, narrowing his eyes at the figure strolling down the pavement. Definitely Desmond Arnold. Yates didn’t know him well, praise be to the Lord, but there was no mistaking the swagger.

He fully expected him to stroll directly by, his aim some other place along the Strand. A shop still open, a restaurant. He wouldn’t even have been too surprised had he gone up to the front door of the Empire House and tested it. He bypassed that, though ... and then turned at the corner of Frith and rapped on a side door of the house.

“Interesting,” Yates muttered when the door opened. A man stepped out, nodded a moment later, and then ushered Arnold in.

Lavinia trailed a finger around the rim of her goblet. “Did the doorman just examine his tie? Or its pin, perhaps?”

Had he? Yates hadn’t had a clear view. “Very interesting. If so, then the pin gets one in at the side after the front doors have been locked.”

“But why?”

The question of the hour—quite literally. They placed their orders, ate their meals, and during the hour it took, he counted six well-dressed gentlemen go to that same side door, five of whom he recognized either from Parliament or general social gatherings. The same doorman stepped out, took a look at their ties—she was definitely right about that—and then showed the men in.

“Three have now come out again,” Lavinia said as she dabbed at her mouth with her serviette. “There’s Lord Arnold.”

And the duo laughing their way to the side door now was Lord Dunne ... and a man that Yates was fairly certain was a higher-up in the police force, one Butterfield had cautioned him not to trust with anything sensitive.

“What is going on over there?” Lavinia murmured.

Yates had an idea, and it made his dinner roil in his stomach. He kept replaying what he’d overheard in the club—and Xavier’s opinion on the men afterward. Good friends of Mrs. Jeffries ... catering to the aristocracy ... perhaps he’d prefer some fairer company ... they will make good patrons. Better allies.

Mason? Was that the name of the chap walking up to the side door with Dunne now? Ready for an invitation .

He watched as maybe-Mason practically puffed out his chest with pride to show his tie pin to the doorman. Invitation given and accepted, it seemed.

“Yates? You’re glowering.”

He pulled his gaze away from the window and back to Lavinia, but there was no way he could make himself smile, even for appearances. “I think I know what the Empire House really is—and it’s no charity.”

Lavinia’s brows creased. “What do you ... oh.” He hoped the enlightenment in her eyes was mistaken, that she wasn’t immediately capable of making the leap he’d made.

But the way she pressed a hand to her mouth said she probably had indeed leapt to the same teetering ledge he had. “Do you think Samira is there? Is that why those men targeted Alethia? Because she was too close to discovering it? Did Mrs. Rheams perhaps find out? And—oh! The other young ayah she saw being carried out? Not drunk, but not ill.”

“Drugged.” Yates hissed out a breath and tossed a bill to the table to cover the food. “Come on.”

She scrambled after him, neither of them bothering with any pretense as they strode out the doors and into the balmy August evening. Lavinia did snag his arm again, though. “What is the plan? See if Graham has access to schematics? Find a way in tomorrow morning, beyond what they no doubt show the ladies?”

If Samira was there? Or that other young ayah? Or rather, if it was what he suspected? How could he in good conscience wait another day? “I have the pin. I’ll ... go in.”

“Are you mad?” She steered him out of the center of the pavement, under an awning of whatever business was beside Kettner’s. “And then what? You waltz back out with them in tow?”

He was clenching his teeth so tightly his jaw ached, but it did nothing to hold back either the wisdom of her objection or the fact that he still had to do something . “I simply try to ascertain if Samira is there.”

That was the case. That was the focus.

But if this was what he thought, then he swore here and now he’d see the whole sordid operation exposed and shut down.

He had the sinking feeling he wasn’t the first to think it. And that it was, as Lavinia suggested, what had killed Mrs. Rheams.

She shook her head. “Think it through. Even if the pin gets you in, even if you find her—you’ll be recognized. You’re not in costume. You’re you , and while you may be exactly the sort of patron they’re looking for, you won’t be able to undo walking through those doors. All those men will think you want to be there. That will become your reputation.”

She was right. He let out a slow breath. His general mode of operation was to avoid undue notice from the rest of the aristocracy, to do what was expected, be pleasant but not draw attention to himself. He didn’t mind the occasional display like they’d put on at Brooks’s—people might talk for a minute or two about it, but mostly with a chuckle.

This would be different, though, if he went in as himself. It would mean that the men inside—the men who were his peers by rights, the men who expected him to be like them—would think he was.

He wanted to squirm at the thought. It betrayed everything he believed in. Everything he stood for. Everything he worked for.

Wisdom said he should wait. Make a plan with Merritt this evening, with Graham. He nodded, but it felt as slow as if his head were pushing through gelatin. She was right. So why did he still feel this urgency to act? To risk his own reputation for what could well produce nothing useful for Alethia’s case?

“I know you’re right, Vin. But I can’t shake the feeling that I need to go in. And I’ve learned to trust my instincts—they’ve yet to lead me astray.”

She pressed her lips together, but he had to give her credit. She didn’t launch into another argument stating the irrefutable facts. She considered it. And then, after a moment, her eyes went wide with horror, and her fingers dug into his arm again. “Do you remember what the waiter said? What the article said?”

He wasn’t following. “About what?”

“That supposed charity houses women ... and children.”

The word was a punch in his gut. Children . To be expected in a charity house—but in a brothel? He reclaimed his arm from her hand. “I’m going in.” He wasn’t fool enough to think he could shut down the lot tonight, but he would learn. He would at least discover if they were wrong—or horribly right.

“What should I do?”

Blast. He couldn’t leave a lady on the street. Their townhomes weren’t too far off, but he wasn’t about to send her on her own. He huffed a breath and nodded. “I’ll take you home first.”

Lavinia planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t be an idiot. If we’re doing this fool thing, we’re doing it now. I’ll wait in Kettner’s. Claim we had an argument and that I need a pudding to calm me down while I wait for my father to fetch me.”

“That’s a sound idea. You really are a good addition to the team, Vin.” He stared at the stately building, its elegant lines promising gentility within. But he knew that wasn’t what he would find. Every nerve in his body was zapping warnings at him. He had as much experience with such things as Lavinia had with acrobatics. He knew of them. But he’d certainly never stepped foot on the high wire.

Her fingers tangled with his. “I know your instincts are screaming at you—and we’ll act. We will. But it doesn’t have to be in this way. We can go home. Put Graham to work. Get Sir Merritt to be on hand.”

They could. It would probably be wise. But he couldn’t ignore this weight pressing into his chest that said he had to go now. He had to see if Samira was there. He had to know if there were children desperately in need of rescue. Urgency clawed at him. “We can’t wait.”

But he needed a moment first, to steel himself. To pray. To hold her fingers in his.

She squeezed them and moved closer until their arms were pressed together.

For a second, she rested her forehead against his arm. And then she stepped away, releasing his hand. “I’ll be praying. And watching. I’ll come out when you do.”

Yates plunged a hand into his pocket and pulled out the tie pin.