Kasey Michaels - A Midsummer Night's Sin

Kettering looked about, to make sure no one was listening from the foyer and that his employers weren’t on the stairs. “She’s fine enough, sir. Not that it means anything. The mother is sister to the viscount, but the father?” He leaned closer. “In trade. Owns ships. Bought himself his bride, and now he’s trying to sell the daughter to a title. The family’s that embarrassed, sir.”

Puck kept his smile with some difficulty. The butler looked down on Regina Hackett? What a strange world they all lived in. “And yet she’s welcome here?”

Now Kettering looked positively evil. “It’s like I said, sir. The family’s that embarrassed . If you take my meaning.”

“Yes, I think I do. Pays for all of this, does he?”

The butler seemed to realize that he’d been speaking out of turn and to a complete stranger. “Was there anything else you wanted, sir?”

“Thank you, no. You’ve been extremely helpful.” A gold coin appeared in Puck’s hand and also quickly disappeared.

Kettering looked about himself once more, wet his lips and confided, “The mother, Lady Leticia? Poor thing is nearly always three parts over the windmill, and the father is a nasty piece of work. I’d steer clear if I was you, sir. There’s better pickings out there for a fine, set-up young gentleman, such as yourself.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Again, thank you, Kettering. Ah, and I believe his lordship and his lady wife are about to join us. And you have some refreshments to organize. Remember, I’m counting on you to keep me informed. Most especially, I think, about the actions of your master concerning this entire affair.”

“Indeed, sir. He so much as sneezes, sir, you’ll know about it,” Kettering promised, bowing to him before scurrying off, not bothering to announce his employers or their unexpected guests.

Yes, in the end, perhaps in ten years, perhaps not for another hundred, it would be money that would decide who held all the winning cards. Money, and charm. Puck, with all modesty, believed he possessed both in considerable measure.

It was a pity he was bound to be tossed out of this house on his illegitimate ear in the next ten minutes by one of the eventual losers.

“My lord, my lady,” he said, bowing to each of them in turn as they entered the drawing room. “Please pardon the intrusion, but I must tell you that something untoward has occurred. Concerning your daughter, Lady Miranda. Please, I would suggest you both sit.”

“Who the bloody blazes are you?” the viscount asked, his clothing looking as if he’d dressed in haste, a betraying crease on his right cheek announcing that he’d just lately had his head on a pillow.

No, no. I would remain anonymous a while longer .

“The bearer of bad news, I’m afraid. Your daughter has been abducted by brigands.”

Well, that neatly served to distract the viscount from more personal questions, as he was immediately too busy attempting to prop up his fainting wife to ask them.

Regina rushed to her aunt’s side, sparing only a moment to glare at Puck before she assisted her uncle in getting the woman to one of the couches near the fireplace.

The next minutes were spent with the requested burnt feathers being waved beneath her ladyship’s nose by her worried niece while his lordship snagged the decanter of gin from the tray Kettering had produced and drank down two full glasses in quick succession.

Puck stood in front of the fireplace, watching everything, missing nothing, and sipped the wine, which was actually quite fine. Good on Kettering. And good on him, knowing the most direct route to any secret lay with making allies of the servant staff.

At last her ladyship seemed recovered enough to sit up, and the viscount demanded that Puck explain himself.

He, in turn, looked to Regina. “Miss Hackett? If you would be so kind as to get us started?”

The look she shot him this time might have had a less courageous fellow ducking behind a chair, but she didn’t waste more than a few seconds on him before sitting down beside her aunt and taking the woman’s trembling hands in her own.

“We were on our way to the soiree, as you know. Mama was very much looking forward to the lemon squares— Oh, I’m sorry. My nerves are still overset, because that isn’t important, is it? We, that is, the coachman seemed to have gotten lost, turned about in his direction somewhere, I suppose, as he looked for a way around the crush of vehicles on every roadway, and we ended up in a fairly isolated street. Somehow, one of the coach wheels found a hole in the cobbles as we tried to turn the coach, and one of the spokes splintered.” She could not hold back a small sob. “Everything just seemed to go wrong.”

“Incompetent idiot! I’ll have the man’s position!” the viscount bellowed.

And you’ll be within your rights , Puck thought, taking another sip of wine. Can’t blame the coachman for my lies, but he deserves the sack for delivering his master’s daughter to that den of iniquity .

“Yes, uncle, but it would only have been unfortunate save for … for those horrible brigands.” Now she looked to Puck, and there was no mistaking what she wanted him to do.

“Mine own coach was passing by the opening to the street, and I heard a commotion, a woman’s scream. I leaped down from my coach and went hotfoot in pursuit of the source of that scream, mine own coachman and grooms assisting me. We arrived on the scene not able to do much more than take charge after the fact, move the ladies to my coach and offer any other assistance I could. But I can tell you the events that transpired as they were told to me by your coachman.”

“Then tell us, damn it!”

“Yes, my lord, I was about to do just that. It would seem that several creatures of the night saw an opportunity present itself to them and acted upon it, surrounding the coach and demanding all jewelry and money the occupants might have on their persons.”

Lady Claire choked back a sob. “But—but there was no money, and those pearls were paste—”

“Claire, that will be enough,” her husband warned tightly. “Continue.”

Puck bowed, pretending a convenient deafness to her ladyship’s admission. “As you can see, Miss Hackett readily gave over her jewelry—pearls you said, didn’t you? And her mother’s jewels, as well,” he added as an afterthought.

Regina obligingly raised a hand to her bare throat. “We took Mama home before coming here. She was overset. Miranda’s pearls were paste? I didn’t— That is, I don’t believe the brigands knew that. They … they seemed much more interested in Miranda. They seemed very taken with … with her looks.”

“Her hair,” Puck explained, drawing on what he’d learned at the ball and marking, for future consideration, the fact that Regina seemed to have figured out for herself why her cousin had been taken. “Her blond hair, her blue eyes, her fair English complexion, her, Miss Hackett tells me, petite stature. Young women of similar description have been going missing in and around London for months now, I understand. It took only a few questions to learn what I am attempting to tell you. A sad, sad story.”

“But … but what about Regina?” Lady Claire asked, looking to her niece with what could only be termed displeasure that she was there and her daughter was not.

“They did not take Miss Hackett here because she is tall, dark-haired. The others taken have been servants, shop girls, the occasional actress or ballet dancer, which is why there has been no great stir in society. But your daughter? She’d be a real prize, my lord.”

The man looked stricken. “I’ve heard … whispers. At my club, you understand. Young girls disappearing off the streets. Nobodies. But things like this don’t happen to people like us! Damn this city!”