"It makes sense, I agree. But what could they be seeking? What could Stephen or I have that someone wants so badly to go to such lengths?" She barely owned the clothes on her back. No, she didn’t even own those, they were Stephen’s.

He perused her for a long moment before speaking. "Stephen works for the government. As a cousin to both a duke and a powerful earl he has many contacts. He is also an avid collector of art. The object in question could be an artifact from his collection or a certificate in his possession."

"Are you implying that Stephen might have sensitive government documents?" she asked cautiously. "The man last night asked me where 'it' was. He obviously thought I knew what he was talking about."

"Do you?"

"No. I thought we’d already discussed this. If I knew, I definitely wouldn’t be sipping tea and talking to you about it."

He watched her closely for a moment. "It could be a slip of paper. It could be a sculpture. It could be anything. So we’ll have to start with things familiar to you. And that means here."

Calliope looked around the library. Stephen’s gorgeous low library writing table suddenly appeared like a large puzzle, with its undoubtedly vest array of unknown hidden compartments and secret drawers. Large rococo carved mahogany bookcases and trinkets of all sizes and shapes loomed. "Like Psyche starting one of Aphrodite’s labors."

The corners of his mouth creased upward at her muttering. "Since I don’t sense any divine intervention, might I suggest we limit ourselves to documents first? lf we are unsuccessful here, we can search his suite upstairs."

˜

Angelford gestured to the bookcases. They held an extensive library of bound volumes and foreign knickknacks. "It makes more sense for the item to be small, otherwise they would have already discovered it."

The thought of assailants in the house left her cold.

Angelford headed for the desk.

She hurried to intercept him. "These are my papers. Just private correspondence. Nothing out of the ordinary."

He raised a brow.

Calliope was sure he would demand to see them, but she called his bluff. "Listen, if you really suspect me, then go through my things. But until then, I’d like to keep my correspondence private."

"I have no reason to suspect you of anything other than feathering your own nest, so for the time being you can keep your things."

Relief washed through her even as the words grated. She swept up her papers, afraid he would change his mind, but she left them stacked on the desk. It was an act of good faith. The instinctive act shocked her. She had no reason to trust him. For several hours they methodically examined the room, searching the desk’s contents, the secret compartments Angelford was aware of and the bookcases filled with expensively bound books by authors such as Chaucer, Moliere, Voltaire, Rousseau, Milton and Pope. They found nothing out of the ordinary.

It was well into the afternoon, and they were looking through Stephen’s suite, when Calliope realized they hadn’t sniped at one another since starting the search.

Calliope lifted a leather volume off the dresser and smiled appreciatively. “I had hoped to read this. It’s the sequel to the novel Stephen is so fond of. I swear he totes that book everywhere."

"The Red Signet?"

"Yes, that’s the one."

His gaze was intent. "Do you know where it is?"

"In my room. Stephen thought I might enjoy reading it."

Angelford looked energized.

"Show me."

Calliope led the way to her room.

She entered the beautifully adorned room and lifted the book from the rosewood dresser. Angelford’s eyes were brimming with excitement.

"Here, let me see."

Angelford sat on the bed and took the book from her. He felt the spine, then the covers. He paused and then carefully slid his fingers between the two.

"In the past, Stephen has used this book before to stow important documents. It’s an innocuous-looking thing."

Slowly he withdrew two folded pieces of paper. Mindless of the impropriety, Calliope perched beside him and leaned over his shoulder. On one paper was the word Salisbury and a list of names: Angelford, Chalmers, Seagrove, Pettigrew, Tornberry, Roth, Holt, Castlereagh, Hampton, Merriweather, Unknown. The first three-Angelford, Chalmers and Seagrove-had been crossed out. Castlereagh and Merriweather had been crossed off twice.

Salisbury? Calliope’s heart missed a beat. Her mind screamed to flee; her heart froze her in place. A little voice urged her to grab the list and run to Bow Street.

She folded her hands together. "Your name is on the list, my lord. As is Stephen’s."

"This is Stephen’s handwriting. Salisbury…" Angelford’s voice trailed off.

Calliope gripped her hands tightly together. She wanted to scream, Salisbury , what?

"Do you know what the list represents?"

"Many years ago, a mission went sour. A traitor was suspected and a man was murdered. The investigation was dropped under pressure from the Foreign Office because of the turmoil in France and lack of evidence."

Calliope’s heart pounded as Angelford continued his explanation. Fortunately, he seemed not to notice the change in her demeanor. He looked lost in thought; his voice had taken on a distant tone. Absently, almost to himself, he said, "Each person listed here had something to do with that mission."

She kept herself from grabbing the list. "What’s on the other paper?"

Angelford held it up for her to view. It was an imprint of a large bird of prey. "It appears to be an image from a seal or ring."

Calliope took the safer, imprinted page, but she was more interested in the list. Years of smoothing her features came in handy. "So we need to determine who the traitor is from the list. Stephen obviously thought you and this Seagrove fellow were in the clear. Castlereagh committed suicide last year. I don’t know why this Merriweather fellow also has two marks. Maybe he is dead as well? We need to find the seal or ring that made this print."

He looked at her as if she had grown three eyes. "You have helped a great deal by showing me this book, but this is where we part ways. As soon as Finn gets back, I will leave him with you."

Outrage flowed through her. And determination. Anything to do with Salisbury was her concern. "Absolutely not. No one wrote you a threatening note, as I recall. You need me."

He shook his head. "I have enough information to proceed. You need not put yourself in further danger. You could have been seriously injured last night."

"I beg your pardon. If you plan to go off on your own, then I will be forced to conduct my own investigation. I was planning to do so from the beginning."

"And if you do so, I will have you removed from London." His voice was uncompromising.

She was appalled but resolute. "Since the note does not specify what I am to do with the item in question, another message must be forthcoming. Who do you propose will receive it, if I’m not around?"

That made him pause. Shrewd obsidian eyes studied her.

"In addition, my lord, you don’t know for certain that what they are looking for has anything to do with this list or the imprint. You still need me."

Ideas began to take shape in her fractured mind and she seized the moment. "We can say Stephen is on leave. I will circulate and make some discreet inquiries. At the very least it will appear like nothing is amiss. It may cause some confusion and perhaps someone will slip. Perhaps even send another note."

Angelford rose and walked to her dressing table. He picked up the ornate bottle that contained her favorite perfume and ran it beneath his nose. He gazed at it for an eternity. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he said no. Somehow she would conjure a way to conduct her own investigation without Angelford knowing. She had to discover the truth.

He turned and strode stiffly to the door, his usually languid grace absent.

"We will go to Covent Garden this evening."

He disappeared around the frame and she collapsed on the bed, thoughts racing as she heard him murmur a few indiscernible words to Grimmond in the hall. They were to work together after all.

Things were getting more complicated.

Where was Stephen? What the hell had he been doing investigating Salisbury? A traitor killed Salisbury? Who was threatening her? How was she going to handle Angelford? And how long could she keep her secrets?


"Did she get the note?"

Curdle nodded.

His employer tapped his fingers together. They were as elegant as the rest of him. "Then why is she preparing to go out? One of the maids said she is attending the opera tonight."

Curdle felt his eyes narrow as he looked up at his employer. "It’s that swell in the black coach. He’s the one who left his man here the other night."

"Angelford?" His employer showed no sur- prise. "I expected him to poke around after Chalmers’s disappearance. He is loyal to a fault, but I didn’t think he would get involved with the girl. Strange."

"Do you want me to get rid of him?" Curdle was eager.

"Not yet. " His employer continued tapping his fingers. "I know where they are going. I will keep an eye on them tonight."

He continued, "The men could find nothing in either house after countless times searching, so I am positive the girl has the ring. It is the only way Chalmers could possibly know after all these years. Right now she is our best bet. After she produces it…" He shrugged. "Then I will let you have her."

A feral expression stole across Curdle’s face.


* * *

Shortly after James’s departure, Calliope penned a note to Deirdre informing her that the troublesome issue from the night before had been resolved. She didn’t want to upset Deirdre or the family yet. She would tell them tomorrow when she had more information. Otherwise their close surveillance would be inhibiting.