The Mystery Woman by Amanda Quick Read Free Book Online Page B

where he had intended. His bad leg made it impossible for him to move at anything faster than a halting walk and many of the fluid martial arts maneuvers that had once upon a time been second nature to him were impossible now.
    But, damnation, when it came to his hat his aim was as good as ever.
    “Impressive, Gage,” he said to the man in the mirror. “The next time you get into a hat duel you will most certainly trounce your opponent.”
    The man with the badly scarred face and the soulless eyes gazed back at him.
    He made a note to instruct Chadwick to remove the looking glass in the morning.
    He propped the cane against the console long enough to strip off his gloves and peel away his coat. Chadwick would know that he was home. Chadwick knew everything that went on inside his domain. But he also knew that unless he was summoned there was no need to leave his bed.
    Joshua set the gloves on the table, gripped the cane and went down the hall to his study. He did not bother to turn up the lamp. His night vision had always been excellent. The moonlight slanting through the windows was sufficient to allow him to see what he was doing.
    He unknotted his tie, opened the collar of his shirt and crossed the room to the brandy table.
    He splashed brandy into a glass and sank cautiously down onto one of the leather wingback chairs. He stretched out his left leg. It was throbbing more than usual. He was going to pay a price for hauling the unconscious Euston up into the carriage.
    But the cost, however high, was worth it, he reflected. He had found the elusive Beatrice.

Seven

    B eatrice opened the door of the pleasant little town house shortly before dawn. George, who worked for Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh as a coachman and general errand-runner, waited in the street with the small, aging carriage until she was safely inside the front hall. She paused on the threshold.
    “Thank you, George,” she said. “Sorry to bring you out at this hour of the night.”
    “Think nothing of it, Miss Lockwood.” George tipped his hat. “Not that long until sunup. By the time I get home the household will be stirring and there will be coffee and breakfast.”
    He slapped the reins lightly against the horse’s rump. The vehicle rolled off down the street.
    Beatrice closed the door and shot the bolt on the lock. The house was very quiet. Mrs. Rambley, the housekeeper, was still abed in her private quarters near the kitchen. Clarissa Slate would also be asleep.
    The wall sconces had been turned down for the night but they gave enough light to illuminate the stairs. Beatrice made her way up to the bedroom floor and went along the hall.
    The door of one of the bedrooms opened. Clarissa appeared, a candle in one hand. By day she affected a severe appearance. She wore her dark hair pinned into a prim knot and used spectacles to veil her serious amber eyes. Her gowns were always so dark and so strictly tailored that most people assumed she was in perpetual mourning. But tonight, clad in a white cotton nightgown, her hair tumbled around her shoulders, she looked very different—far more innocent and vulnerable.
    Of course, appearances were always deceptive when it came to the lady investigators who worked for Flint & Marsh, Beatrice reminded herself. They all had their own secrets.
    “I heard George’s carriage in the street,” Clarissa said. “Why are you coming home at such an hour? Did something go wrong in the Pennington case? Are you all right?”
    “Yes, I’m fine,” Beatrice assured her. “The case concluded quite suddenly at the Trent ball tonight. Richard Euston made his move. He attempted to abduct Miss Pennington with the intention of compromising her so that she would be forced to marry him.”
    “He did not succeed, I trust?”
    “No, but the situation became complicated and makes for a long story. I promise I will tell you everything in the morning.”
    Clarissa smiled. “Not much longer, in that case. It is nearly dawn. Try