Stephanie Laurens - A Gentleman's Honor

But when Gervase came striding in fifteen minutes later, it was with different news. “Tatleys and Hencken both carry goods for Ellicot.”

They all looked at him; Gervase slowly raised his brows. “What?”

“You’re sure?” Jack asked. When Gervase nodded, he opened his eyes wide. “That’s six shippers who carry Ellicot’s goods, and two of those lines run ships to both the East and West Indies.”

Tony caught Jack’s eye. “Is it wise to place any great emphasis on that?”

Jack grimaced. “No, but it’s tempting. If you wanted to disguise any pattern in shipping around the dates the prizes were taken, then the use of multiple lines and therefore different ships for each safe cargo brought in would totally obscure any link.”

“The most likely people to check any connection would be the Admiralty,” Gervase said, “yet their records show only the ships and shipping lines. There’s no way to detect a link that exists at the level of cargo.”

Tony frowned. “Customs and Revenue have records of the cargoes, but even there, the records are sorted by ports, and different lines use different home ports.”

“So,” Charles said, “this was an extremely well-set-up scheme. It’s only because we used Lloyd’s that we’ve been able to put things together.”

“Which leads one to conclude,” Christian said, “that the scheme’s perpetrator knows the administrative ropes well. He knows how the civil services work and which avenues to block.”

“We’ll still get him.” Jack had been reexamining his list. “We have nine shipping lines—more than I’d like, but seven are small. We now need a list of all the vessels each has registered.”

“Can we get that before tonight?” Tony asked.

Jack glanced at the clock on the sideboard, then pushed back his chair. “We can but try.”

“I’ll help.” Gervase rose, too. “I know the business well enough to deal with the intricacies of the registers.”

“You two concentrate on getting a list of the ships’ names,” Tony said. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

Jack and Gervase left, conferring as they went. The others turned to Tony.

“Once we have the list of ships,” he said, “we’re going to have to search Lloyd’s records. We need to identify which merchant consistently brought in a cargo in, say, the week before a prize was taken. Searching in the weeks before three separate incidents should give us one name and one only. If not, we can look at a fourth incident, but chances are three incidents will give us only one merchant who fits our bill.”

The others nodded.

“Once we know the particular merchant involved, we should confirm that in each case they did indeed bring in tea or coffee.”

“Can we do all that via Lloyd’s?” Charles asked.

“Yes. If Jack and Gervase get the ships’ names by this evening, I’ll revisit Lloyd’s tonight.”

“I’ll come, too” Charles said. “There’s this horrendous ball my sisters want to drag me to—I’d much rather hone my filing skills.”

“You can count me in,” Jack Warnefleet said. “I’ve never had to track anyone through such a maze before.”

They made arrangements to meet later that night.

Only Tristan demurred. “I’ll keep a watch on things in the ballrooms. Having had the good sense to get married, I, at least, am safe from the harpies.”

Charles grimaced. “Half your luck. I don’t know how you managed it so quickly—and now look at Tony. You’re both safe. What I want to know is how long I’m going to remain dead center in the matchmakers’ sights. It’s deuced harrowing, I’ll have you know.”

Both Tony and Tristan made sympathetic noises. The mood of teasing camaraderie disguising their implacable resolve, the meeting broke up and they each headed home.

Tony found Alicia in the garden.

Admitted to the house by Hungerford, he’d slipped upstairs and changed into more normal attire before setting out to search for her.

She was walking alone; Hungerford had told him the boys were in the park—it was a perfect day for kites. It seemed odd to find Alicia by herself; pensive, head down, deep in thought, she slowly, apparently aimlessly, wandered the lawn.

He watched from the terrace—Torrington House was centuries old, the gardens stretching behind it extensive—then went down the steps and set out to join her. She didn’t hear him; not wanting to frighten her by suddenly appearing beside her, he called her name.

Halting, she swung around and smiled. She straightened as he neared. “Did you learn anything?”

He would have taken her in his arms and kissed her, but she held out a hand; the swift glance she cast at the house was a warning.

Reluctantly bowing to her wishes, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. Kissed it, then, noting that her smile had faded, an expression he couldn’t read taking its place, he tucked her hand in his arm, anchored it with his. He let a frown show in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She blinked her eyes wide. “Wrong? Why… nothing.” She frowned lightly back. “Why did you think there was?”

Because…

He felt confused, not a normal feeling, not for him. The expression in her eyes assured him she honestly didn’t think anything was wrong, yet…

She shook his arm and started to stroll again. “ Did you learn anything? What has Jack been up to—I met Kit at Lady Hartington’s luncheon, and she said he was out, too, looking for A. C.’s connections.”

He nodded. “We’ve all been out for most of the day.”

He explained. Alicia listened, put a question here and there, and continued to reiterate to herself: You are his mistress, his lover, not his wife.

That, she’d decided, was the only sane way forward, to keep their relationship on a fixed and even keel. If she let herself get seduced—emotionally seduced by her emerging dreams—she’d end hurt beyond measure. She’d accepted the position; if she adhered strictly to that role, she and he could continue as they were. That would have to be enough.

If she was forced to make the choice between being his mistress or not being with him at all, she knew which she’d choose. She never wanted to lose him, to forgo those golden moments when they were so close, when each breath, each thought, each desire was shared. If to hold on to that closeness she had to remain his mistress, so be it. It was, she’d decided, worth the price.

The news he had was exciting; they were clearly closing in on A. C. As they discussed their findings, she was conscious of Tony’s gaze on her face, black as ever but not so much intent as keen, sharp. Observant.

Finally, she felt forced to meet his eyes and raise her brows in mute question.

He searched her eyes, then looked forward, steering her along a path leading to a fountain. “Given I need to visit Lloyd’s tonight, I won’t be able to escort you to whatever entertainments you’re scheduled to attend.”

She forced herself to smile easily; she patted his arm. “Don’t worry—I’m perfectly capable of attending by myself.” Even though, in his absence, there was nothing at such events to hold her interest. She didn’t even need to watch over Adriana anymore.

She’d learned there were indeed couples, noblemen and their wellborn mistresses, of whose relationship the ton was patently aware, but to which it turned a blind eye. Her and Tony’s situation wasn’t unusual. However, one relevant and undoubtedly important aspect was that those involved in such accepted affairs never drew attention to their relationship in public.

Such couples did not spend time together in ballrooms or drawing rooms; she should undoubtedly grasp this opportunity to ease their interaction into a more socially acceptable vein.