Zoë Archer - Sweet Revenge

They both stopped and faced the dance floor, where couples decorously spun.

“When I used to solicit donations with my parents,” she said, watching the dancers, “I’d suspected that there was another face to Society. Then I joined Nemesis, and I learned that Society has many faces. None of them real.”

“But people like us,” Jack said, “we know the truth. Who they really are.”

“They aren’t all bad,” she noted. “Only fallible. Like any human.”

“Fallible?”

“Capable of making mistakes.”

His expression darkened. “Aye. God knows I’ve made plenty of those.”

The opening strains of a waltz drifted out across the ballroom. Couples took their places upon the floor. Once, waltzing had been considered scandalous, something only for fast women and men of questionable morals, but now spotless debutantes clasped the hands and shoulders of irreproachable young bachelors as approving parents looked on. The waltz began, and the couples started their turns across the floor.

The sight, Eva had to admit to herself, was a pretty one, a whirl of pale silk and dark evening clothes. Dancing was part of an aristocrat’s education, and everyone moved with precision through the ballroom like an intricate mechanical device. Ladies both young and not so young beamed up at the faces of their partners, while the men were afforded the opportunity not only to put their hands upon a woman’s back, but to converse with her with a small degree of privacy. The perfect medium for courtship or flirtation.

As the couples spun by, Jack said, “The dancing we did in Bethnal Green was a bit more rowdy.”

“I can teach you later.” The moment the words left her mouth, she realized that she’d actually enjoy showing Jack how to waltz. “You’re probably a natural.” And he would be, too. Though he was large, he moved with uncommon agility.

“If it means I get to look down the front of your dress,” he said, “then I’m for it.”

“Poetry, Jack.” She affected a sigh. “Pure poetry.”

His mouth formed a hard line. “Don’t know how to say pretty, fawning words,” he said gruffly. “All I know is that I like looking at you.”

Heat fanned across her cheeks. Such simple words, given in a surly tone, yet they moved her, far more than she would have expected.

As she struggled to think of some response, a middle-aged man with a sash adorned with medals and considerable white eyebrows approached them. He looked faintly puzzled at their appearance, as well he should. He was the host of the ball.

“Lord Chalton,” Eva said, sinking into a curtsy, then offering the baron her hand. “Such an honor to receive your invitation.”

He took it and bowed, though he still looked baffled. “The honor’s mine, er…”

Eva laughed as though he were making a joke, then her laugh trickled away as if realizing that he wasn’t joking. “Mrs. Worthington,” she supplied. “Eloise Worthington. From Alnwick. Lawrence Worthington’s widow. He used to speak so fondly of you and your days together at Cambridge, winning blades together in the college boat club. Surely you haven’t forgotten!”

For a moment, the baron said nothing, but Eva smiled at him pleasantly, utterly assured that her late husband and Chalton had spent many an hour rowing on the Cam.

“Mrs. Worthington, of course.” Chalton nodded. “Delighted you could attend.” He glanced nervously at Jack.

“I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous of me to bring along a friend,” she said, smiling. “Lord Chalton, this is Mr. John Dutton from Sydney. You’ve heard of Dutton Cattle Company, naturally.”

Jack, impassive, stuck out his hand.

“Naturally,” Chalton echoed. He shook Jack’s hand weakly, and it was like watching a terrier shake hands with a wolf. “Ah, I see that Lady Addington could use more champagne. If you’ll excuse me…”

“Your reputation for hospitality is not exaggerated,” Eva trilled. “But, if I may, before you go…”

Chalton, who had been sidling away, stopped, though he looked pained to do so. “Yes?”

“I understand that John Gilling is here tonight. My brother-in-law’s cousin is a great friend of Mr. Gilling, and I’d like to pass along Stamford’s good wishes.”

“You’ll find him in the card room,” Chalton answered, then, with a quick bow, hastened away.

It would look gauche to hurry across the ballroom immediately after their host had moved on, so Eva stood calmly fanning herself and smiling serenely at the room. From the corner of her eye, she caught Jack staring at her.

“What?”

“A damn neat trick you just played there, Mrs. Worthington.” Admiration was clear in his voice and eyes. “I knew you were sly, but I didn’t know how sly.”

Oddly, it was one of the best compliments she’d ever received. But she couldn’t revel in his praise, not while they still had a job to do.

Eva steadied her nerves. They had scaled partway up the mountain, but were far from the summit. Every step brought them closer to their goal. It also meant they had farther to fall.

“We passed the card room on the way to the ballroom,” she said.

Jack held out his arm, and she took it, enjoying the feel of iron-hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric. “Time to hunt down our prey.”

CHAPTER TEN

The card room at a Society ball seemed an incongruous place for a criminal. Overstuffed men sat in overstuffed chairs, crowded around tables as they played genteel games of whist. Some silver-haired dowagers were scattered here and there like antique pearls, content with their cards and sherry. Decades had passed since those women had taken their turns upon the dance floor, and yet nothing truly had changed save for the stiffening of their joints. Greater comfort and amusement could be found here, among women their own age and men who had no interest in flirtation.

For all its gentility, nearly everyone within the card room held a secret. Most were innocuous. Others … unlawful.

From the doorway, Eva and Jack scanned the chamber.

“Table by the bookshelf,” he said in a low voice. “The bloke with the gingery hair and scrawny hands. That’s Gilling.”

The man in question appeared as inoffensive as the room in which he played cards. The two other middle-aged men at his table were equally unexceptional.

“Seems a likely partner for a scheme to defraud the government,” she said. “He’d do whatever Rockley wanted.” A collaborator with strong ideas and opinions would prove more difficult to manage.

“We don’t know if he’s the link we want,” Jack noted. “One sure way to find out, though.” He took a step into the room, but Eva stayed him.

“Let me bring Gilling out,” she said. “We can’t have this play out before a roomful of witnesses, and if he recognizes you and bolts, the plan’s shot to hell.”

Though he looked unhappy with having to wait a few moments longer, Jack gave a nod. He pointed to a shadowed corridor leading off the main hallway. “Get him over there. I’ll take care of the rest.”

She didn’t like the ominous sound of that. “This scene has been scripted, Jack,” she warned. “Don’t decide to change the performance in the middle of the play.”

His expression darkened. “Still thinking of me as Nemesis’s puppet.”

“I only want this mission to succeed.”

“Then goddamn trust me.” He stalked off.

Eva took a moment to collect herself. Had she spoken out of turn? Did Jack merit her confidence? He’d already proven some degree of trustworthiness, and an exceptional intelligence. Yet she kept holding fast to her mistrust. It made their roles more easily defined. Simpler.

The question she needed to answer now was whether or not Gilling was the man they could use to ruin Rockley.