Reaper shrugged. “Even if you do, we have our ways.”
And Oliver had his.
This was why he didn’t care to challenge the brothers. They would destroy each other in the process. Leave that to Bow Street or the constables who enjoyed the fight.
“If you don’t want to go, I don’t mind if I do,” Reaper said lazily, plopping down on the hay again.
“I’ll go,” Oliver replied, fishing out Lady Louisa’s note from his pocket and trailing a thumb over the ink.
“I thought as much. So eager to reunite with your lady.”
He was, but not for the suggestive reasons Reaper implied. Even so, the last sentence of her note that had caused his jaw to tense the moment he’d read it. Apparently, her stepmother was intent on introducing her to the Earl of Westbridgeson. It was written as a complaint but...
He didn’t like it.
“I need a favor.”
Reaper lifted his brow. “You want me to do something as horrible as enter as a servant, don’t you?”
“No,” Oliver said. “I need you to go visit some taverns in town and ask about Lord and Lady Havendish’s routines and if they have met with anyone that stands out.”
“Why?” Reaper asked skeptically.
“Call it a feeling I have.” Which had nothing to do with Lord or Lady Havendish or their ledger.
But everything to do withher.
Chapter Eleven
The moment Louisastepped into the ballroom, her eyes were drawn to the buzz of activity caused by the eccentric display set up by their extravagant host. In the center of the room stood a large, delicately constructed glass tank, slightly foggy with condensation. Inside, a single writhing octopus moved sluggishly, its tentacles trailing through the water. So this was the marvel from the depths of the ocean Lady Havendish had spoken of earlier.
Louisa could hardly believe her eyes.
An octopus, here, at a country ball? She didn’t know if she should be fascinated or horrified, since the creature itself was fascinating, yet it would grace their plates tomorrow. This was a reminder to the guests of the host’s richness and the hard truth of the lengths some would go to entertain their guests.
She shivered.
She’d rather skip that meal. Another reason to find the ledger quickly and leave tonight. She much preferred the ocean view from Mr. Helgate’s cottage.
Louisa slowly made her way over to the tank perched on a table. The creature clung to the glass, its tentacles splayed, each movement sending small ripples through the tank. Laughter and whispers crackled around her. Some found the octopus grotesque, others exotic. She felt a pang of pity for the creature’s plight. It would not be able to escape its fate in this life.
Little octopus, you shall undoubtedly be the talk of the county for weeks to come.
A prickling sensation at the nape of her neck stiffened her spine. A presence. Unseen, but unmistakable. A shadow fell over the octopus, and her gaze lifted to meet a pair of eyes staring at her from the other side of the tank through a black mask.
A frisson of awareness traveled down her back.
Mortimer.
She would recognize those eyes—that gaze—anywhere. She couldn’t look away. He seemed to pull her into an unfathomable daze, one of which she found impossible to describe. This man, from beginning to end, captured her fascination. And she could not deny that part of this fascination might stem from the fact that they were not supposed to be in contact. That at any moment, if her father were to discover their connection, a storm would be released, and a reckoning would follow.
She lifted her hand and placed it on the glass separating them. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression.
“Lady Louisa.”
Louisa blinked, brought out of her daze by an unfamiliar voice. She turned to the gentleman who approached her, her brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
The man smiled. “No, we haven’t been properly introduced, so forgive my boldness.” He bowed slightly. “I’m Lord Westbridgeson. I saw you standing here and grew quite impatient for our introduction.”
