Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The night air was colder than she expected.
Wynten House stood behind her like a dark memory. Its familiar outline softened by moonlight, its gardens quieter now, emptied of the day’s gossip and music.
Jane pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she moved. Every sound felt louder at night. She told herself it was practicality. Not the fact that she had spent far too much of the past week thinking about a man she did not trust.
A shadow shifted ahead. The carriage was there. Jane hesitated only once. Then she stepped forward. The door opened before she reached it.
And there he was. The Duke of Sunderford.
Inside the carriage, barely lit by a dim lantern, he looked even more composed than he had in daylight, as though he belonged more to shadow than to society.
“Get in,” he said simply.
Jane lifted her chin. “I received your note,” she said. “That does not mean I take orders from you.”
Then, very faintly, he said, “You came anyway.”
Her grip tightened on her cloak. She hated that he noticed that. Still, she climbed in. The door shut behind her. The carriage began moving almost immediately.
Jane sat opposite him, spine straight, hands folded tightly in her lap as though that alone could maintain control of the situation.
“You said it was urgent,” she began.
The duke didn’t waste time. “My man followed every lead from the brothel ledger,” he said. “Every name. Every alias. Every coded entry I gave him from Evan’s previous habits.”
Jane leaned forward slightly despite herself. “And?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she repeated.
The duke’s gaze stayed steady. “No Foxglove entry. No matching aliases. No repeat appearances under any known pattern Evan has used before.”
Jane leaned back slowly. Frustration rose sharp and immediate in her chest. “So it was a dead end,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
Silence filled the carriage again, heavier this time. Jane looked out of the window for a moment, her jaw tight.
“I thought,” she said carefully, “that we were close.”
The duke didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice was lower. “We are not done.”
Jane looked back at him. He was watching her with the same intense expression he always seemed to have.
“What else can we do?” she asked.
That was when something shifted. Not in him exactly, but in the energy of the carriage. A subtle change, like the conversation had reached a fork in the road.
“My man heard something,” the duke said.
Jane sat straighter again.
“He was near a gaming hell on the east side of the district,” he continued. “Speaking with a doorman. A casual conversation, but with enough drink involved that people stopped guarding their tongues.”
Jane’s expression tightened. “And?”
“There are private suites upstairs,” he said. “Used for discreet meetings. Transactions. Conversations that cannot happen in public rooms.”
Jane’s mind immediately sharpened. “And you think Colin might have…?”
“I think it is worth investigating,” the duke cut in.
She hesitated. “Why now?”
“Because,” he said evenly, “it is the first time we’ve had anything outside brothels and dead ends. And because Evan used to frequent establishments that valued discretion over spectacle.”
Jane frowned. “Colin wouldn’t go somewhere like that unless he had no choice.”
“I agree,” the duke said.
That surprised her slightly. Her eyes narrowed. “So we go there?”
The duke nodded once. “We go there tonight.”
Jane blinked. “Tonight?”
“Yes.”
She leaned back, absorbing it. The idea should have made her uneasy. It did, but not enough to outweigh the relief of movement. Of direction. Of something new to do besides waiting.
“And you’re certain this is not another… waste of time?” she asked.
The duke’s gaze flicked over her face briefly. “No,” he said. “I am not certain.”
That, somehow, was the most honest thing she had heard from him yet. The carriage jolted slightly as it turned a corner.
Jane exhaled slowly. “Then I will come,” she said.
The duke’s eyes sharpened. “It was not a request,” he replied.
“I know,” Jane said. “It was a statement.”
The air between them tightened again in that familiar, irritating way. Neither of them quite knew where to place their attention when the other was present.
The duke leaned back slightly. “You will do as I say once we are there,” he said.
Jane lifted her chin. “I’ve already agreed to that, Your Grace. You do not need to repeat yourself about danger.”
The silence stretched again, but it was different now. Charged in a way neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
Eventually, the carriage slowed, and the duke glanced toward the window.
“We are close,” he said.
Jane adjusted her cloak so that it covered her face. “Then let us stop wasting time.”
The duke’s gaze returned to her. It lingered a fraction too long. Then he said, quietly, “Good.”
The carriage rolled on in the darkness, and neither of them spoke again until it came to a stop.
The gaming hell smelled of smoke, alcohol, and the metallic smell of coins.
Jane kept close to the duke’s side as they stepped inside.
The doors shut behind them with a heavy finality that made her feel, briefly, like she had walked into a place that did not intend to let her leave unchanged.
Laughter rolled through the room in low waves. Dice clattered. Cards slapped wood. Men leaned in too close to each other’s ears as secrets and wagers were exchanged in tones that never rose above a murmur.
Jane adjusted her cloak without thinking, pulling it tighter around her shoulders and dipping her head so that she could not be seen clearly.
She was very aware of the stares and felt very vulnerable, despite knowing that she could not be identified.
“Stay close,” the duke said quietly.
Jane lifted her chin. “I was already planning to.”
They were taken to a private office without resistance. The manager greeted them with the kind of smile that was carefully trained to mean nothing.
The duke did not bother with pleasantries. He placed a stack of money on the desk. “I need access to your records,” he said.
The manager’s smile thinned. “That is not—”
The duke added another stack. The manager paused. Jane watched the shift carefully. It was subtle, but unmistakable: hesitation giving way to calculation.
“I cannot be seen doing this.”
The duke added more.
The man exhaled slowly, as if offended by how easily his principles were collapsing. Jane stepped forward before the duke could escalate things further.
“We only need one thing,” she said clearly. “The guest ledger for your private suites.”
Both men looked at her. The duke’s gaze flicked to her briefly, but he did not interrupt.
The manager tilted his head. “And you are?”
Jane held his gaze. “Someone trying to find her brother.”
That seemed to satisfy him in the most pragmatic way possible. He opened a drawer and produced a ledger. The room quieted as he placed it on the desk. Pages were turned.
Names, dates, and coded annotations filled the columns like a language meant to conceal more than it revealed.
The duke scanned the pages quickly and efficiently.
Jane followed, slower but more focused, her finger hovering just above the ink as if the right name might warm under her touch and reveal itself to her.
Minutes passed. Jane’s chest tightened. Then she saw it. Her finger stopped. “Wait.”
The duke looked down.
She pointed. “Foxglove.”
The ink was plain. Innocent. Almost delicate, and quite evidently Colin’s handwriting. But it hit her like a bell struck too hard.
The duke looked down again at the ledger. “Then this confirms he was here.”
Jane nodded slowly. “But not for pleasure.”
“No,” the duke agreed. “A meeting.”
Jane turned another page. “He wouldn’t have used a brothel before, nor a meeting place. Not like this. It must have been chosen for anonymity.”
The duke’s jaw tightened slightly. “Then it is useful.”
Jane looked up. “Or misleading.”
Then Jane turned back to the manager. “Who booked it?” she asked.
The man hesitated. The duke’s hand moved toward the money again.
Jane cut in quickly. “Please.”
Something in her tone must have shifted because the manager paused. He looked down at the ledger again.
“I remember the entry,” he said slowly. “A man. Alone. Well-dressed. Similar complexion to yours.”
Jane’s breath caught.
“He did not reveal the purpose of his visit,” the man continued. “Just the room. Paid in advance.”
The duke’s voice lowered. “Duration?”
“Short.”
“And?” the duke pressed.
The manager exhaled. “He waited. That is what I would say. He was clearly expecting someone.”
Jane’s fingers curled slightly.
The duke leaned forward. “Did someone come?”
The manager shook his head. “No.”
“He left at dawn,” he added. “Looked like a man who had been stood up.”
Silence settled over the room. Jane felt it sit heavily in her ribs. It was the same scenario as at the brothel. Almost word for word.
The duke closed the ledger with slow precision.
“Has he been here before?” he asked.
“No,” the manager said immediately. “Never.”
That was final. Jane glanced at the duke. He was already thinking ahead, his expression distant in that way she was beginning to recognize, where his mind left the room before his body did.
The duke placed more money on the desk.
“For your discretion,” he said.
The manager took it without hesitation. Everyone, it seemed, could be paid off.
“Of course,” he said.
Outside, the night air felt colder than it should have. Jane stepped into the street first, pulling her cloak tighter.
The noise of the gaming hell faded behind them, replaced by the damp silence of London’s narrower veins.
She stared at the building across from them without really seeing it.
The duke looked at her. “He was here to meet someone.”
Jane nodded slowly. “And they didn’t come. Again.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Which means he was either betrayed or watched.”
Jane’s throat tightened. “Or both.”
She turned toward him. “He wouldn’t use that word unless it mattered. Colin is careful with signals. Seeing it both places confirms that for me.”