Chapter 5
THE DEVIL’S CIRCLE
That very same night, Brandon made his way to the gentlemen’s club he was a part of.
Like every respectable gentleman, he paid his fees to be part of White’s, but this was the club where he truly belonged.
Hidden in one of the elegant parts of London, unassuming and inconspicuous, it was the kind of club gentlemen went to when they truly wished to be left to their own devices, free from society’s scrutiny.
Brandon followed the narrow entrance hidden between the elegant buildings. This was a part of the city without loud crowds and with very few shops, and the club had no distinct markings outside. Only those who knew what they were looking for ever entered.
As always, the first thing that hit him was the distinct smell of smoke lingering from chandeliers and cigars, and instantly, Brandon felt at ease.
He needed some familiarity to make up for the craziness of the past few days.
Everything he had been through had truly turned his everyday life upside down, most likely for the rest of his life.
He desperately needed a reminder of why he did what he did.
The gentlemen attending the club turned toward him, but no one dared speak to him or linger too long with their eyes upon him.
That was, after all, the main purpose of the club.
Of course, the fact that he was the biggest and tallest gentleman in attendance in the main room also made others keep their distance.
A footman promptly approached him and guided him to the back room. As he removed his hat and gloves, Brandon could not shake thoughts of Marigold. Of all the things he had been prepared to encounter during this campaign, she had been the last thing he expected. And Brandon hated being unprepared.
Though he had to admit that he welcomed the distraction in what would otherwise have been a very grim operation. He attributed that to the fact that Marigold was an easy way to extract information.
Brandon had conducted the search himself, walking the seedy streets of London, trying to locate even the faintest rumor he could follow, but he was both too intimidating and too much of a gentleman.
None of the people on the streets had been eager to share anything with him, recognizing both the outsider and the threat.
And then there she was, like a deus ex machina, a lady in need with exactly the information he required.
He had been after that gang for so long, painstakingly acquiring information, fighting for every scrap that would help him move forward.
Then she casually revealed that not only had she been to their lair, but that she was also constantly informed whenever it changed.
It was precisely that constant movement that made Brandon’s work so much more difficult.
And to top everything off, Marigold had heard Johnny’s voice. No one had ever gotten that close before. So it was only natural that he would want to keep her close. She was a motherlode of information, and she willingly provided it.
The moment his mind formed that thought, it instantly wandered to how she had felt against his body. His fingers involuntarily twitched the same way they had against her waist. Then his mouth remembered how her skin had tasted, and his ears replayed the sound of her gasps.
Brandon shook his head in annoyance. This was merely a mission, and he could not afford distractions. And Lady Marigold was the epitome of one.
He pushed open the door to the inner sanctum of the club, determined to be more focused and effective. After all, he was not there to enjoy himself.
The room was covered in dark wooden panels, expensive albeit simple. It was obvious that it had been created for functionality rather than pleasure. Save for the bare necessities, the room could almost be considered empty, but the few things that were there were distinct and luxurious.
Brandon immediately noticed that he was the last to arrive though given the urgency of the past few days, he was fairly certain he would be excused.
He had had to obtain a marriage certificate in haste, enduring the Archbishop’s inquiring looks and the palace’s many questions.
Perhaps because everyone had long since given up hope that he would ever marry, the certificate had been granted and would be issued within a few days.
As he entered the private room, the rest of his company were already discussing updates on their separate operations, and all of them merely nodded at him as he took his place.
“The law in the House of Lords regarding workers’ rights is moving forward,” Little said. “I had to twist some arms to make it happen, not always figuratively, but I have the majority I need.”
“We will make sure we are there to support you,” Thumb said in his authoritative voice. “Ring, how are things on your end?”
“Well…” Ring looked down at his brandy with a sly smile. “Without going into details that a gentleman should never divulge, I am happy to report that I am about to unveil the machinations of Dowager Brighton. I must confess, she had quite a cunning plan to steal from the government.”
“It is good to see you using your charm for something useful,” Thumb commented.
That earned laughter from everybody attending, including Brandon.
It truly was a miracle to see Owen use his naturally charming self for something other than personal pleasure.
Though if Brandon knew his best friend well, he was certain Owen had somehow managed to slip some kind of entertainment into the assignment.
After all, Dowager Brighton was very young and very attractive, and Owen usually deployed a very particular set of skills to acquire information.
“What can I say?” Owen raised his glass toward the leader of their little organization. “I very much enjoy being of service.”
Brandon chuckled as he made his way to the bar.
During these meetings, alcohol, cigars, food, and refreshments were served beforehand, and no one was allowed to wander before the meeting concluded.
Brandon did not know exactly how Thumb secured these meetings, but so far, there had never been any leaks.
He poured himself some whiskey, admitting that he was mentally preparing himself for his turn to report. He truly needed to put his thoughts in order. After all, he had both a major breakthrough and a major announcement to make.
“Middle,” Thumb said, turning toward the giant in the room.
If Brandon made people uneasy because of his sheer size, Victor was made from the very stuff nightmares spawned from. Middle looked around the room, his left eye twitching and making his scar even more prominent.
“It is done,” was all he said.
He could very well have been discussing the making of tea, and people still would have screamed and run from him. Brandon was very happy that the man stood on their side.
“I am glad to hear that,” Thumb nodded. “Did you run into any trouble?”
“Yes,” Middle said.
Nobody expected him to elaborate because he had already reached the maximum number of words most people ever heard him say in one sitting.
Brandon looked around at the rest of the members, and they all silently shared the sentiment that whatever the trouble had been, it certainly was no longer breathing.
“No loose ends?” Thumb asked methodically, his paranoia ever present.
Middle merely looked at him without changing his expression, as though the very suggestion that he might leave loose ends was insulting.
“Very well,” Thumb said. “You will soon be given a new assignment. Index.”
It was finally Brandon’s turn.
He downed the rest of his whiskey before taking his place in the comfortable armchair.
“I have had an encounter with Donny, the gang’s second-in-command.”
Thumb looked up at Brandon, silently requesting more details.
“It was by sheer luck,” Brandon clarified. “I was walking around the area where rumors claimed Johnny had established his latest lair when I saw some of his goons harassing a woman. I intervened, and only then did I realize who the man was.”
“Did they recognize you?” Thumb asked, worried that the plan had been compromised.
“I left before anyone realized who I was.”
“Did you manage to extract more information?”
Brandon let the whiskey burn down his throat as he swallowed a few more sips.
“No, but I managed to secure a credible informant.”
“You found someone willing to rat out Johnny?” Little sounded impressed.
“It is a little more complicated than that,” Brandon said, realizing that was quite the understatement.
“Care to elaborate?” Owen challenged.
“The lady I saved had—”
“Excuse me,” Thumb interrupted with a frown. “Did you say lady? You claimed you saved a woman in that area of London in the middle of the night. You do not mean an actual lady of the ton?”
“Trust me, I did not believe it at first either, and I hardly paid her any attention at the time. My main concern was not exposing my identity,” Brandon replied as he drank more whiskey. “But it just so happened that I ran into the lady again the following day.”
“And where did this unbelievably convenient encounter occur?” Thumb asked, deeply frowning.
He had very little faith in coincidences and worried constantly about hidden enemies. He was cautious to the point of seeming mistrustful, but many times his meticulous planning and painstaking precautions had kept them all safe.
“In Mayfair,” Brandon answered. “I assume Lady Marigold Covington was out running errands.”
“Covington?” Owen frowned.
Brandon could practically see the man sorting through the endless information he possessed on every member of the gentry. He patiently waited for Owen to make the connection between the name and the status.
“The daughter of the late Earl,” Owen said, not remotely impressed with his own remarkable memory. “Terrible rumors and gossip circulate about her although I have never personally met her. It is said that she is a miser who makes her mother’s life miserable by withholding funds.”
Brandon scoffed into his whiskey and tightened his grip around the glass. The same fury that had overtaken him in the Covington drawing room surged through him once more.
At first, Brandon had assumed Lady Covington had merely been there to chaperone and ensure her daughter remained unharmed.
But it had not taken long for him to realize the Dowager Countess had far more nefarious intentions than concern for her daughter’s well-being.
It had been almost appalling to witness the shameless way she had openly flirted with the man courting her daughter.
“I assure you, Ring,” Brandon nearly growled, “those rumors are entirely false. Lady Marigold is in dire financial straits, and she owes money to Johnny and his goons. It appears she was put up as collateral.”
The room fell silent.
Everyone present knew exactly what that meant. It was precisely for that reason that the Dark Hand longed to see Johnny’s operation dismantled.
“It is perhaps because of that,” Brandon continued, trying to sound more professional than he felt, “that Lady Marigold has unique access to the gang and its operations. She even cooks for them.”
Brandon gave a short chuckle.
“They are threatening to collect her and her dignity,” Owen demanded clarification, “and she cooks for them? She is either the most brilliant strategist in this room or the most naive person I have ever heard of.”
“Or,” Brandon glared at Owen, “a compassionate human being.”
“Compassionate and naive could very well be synonymous,” Owen replied with a provoking smile.
But they had known each other since Eton, and Brandon was not so easily baited.
“The bottom line is that Lady Marigold possesses a great deal of information. She has even heard Johnny’s voice.”
“That is indeed a very useful informant,” Thumb said pragmatically. “Did Lady Marigold agree to provide information? People around Johnny tend to remain tight-lipped, lest they find themselves floating in the river.”
“She will disclose all information regarding Johnny and his gang,” Brandon said confidently.
“That is only logical,” Little remarked. “After all, if Johnny is removed, he can no longer collect her debt.”
“Spare no expense in securing that information,” Thumb instructed.
“I am taking the necessary steps to ensure that this information reaches only my ears.”
Everyone relaxed at that statement because they knew Brandon never made promises he did not intend to keep. Owen raised his glass toward him, likely assuming Brandon had somehow seduced the poor lady into revealing secrets about the ruling gang of the London docks.
“Though you can certainly afford it,” Thumb commented, “I hope the endeavor will not cost you too dearly.”
Brandon chuckled as he swirled the whiskey in his glass.
“That depends entirely on one’s perspective,” he said with a sly smile. “I think I negotiated rather effectively.”
“How so?”
“In exchange for this vital information, all I have to do is marry her.”