Page 74 of Unmasking the Diamond
Rising from his chair, Hillstead stretched with a satisfied air. “I will leave you to it,” he said, closing the ledger with a soft snap. “Be careful when you go to the docks. That place has more shadows than lamplight.”
Luca inclined his head in acknowledgment. “How did you make the correlation between the dates and when the ladies went missing?”
Hillstead’s grin turned wry. “That was easy enough. The Duchess of Brackenford was committed on my mother’s birthday. She wouldn’t stop lamenting it for days. It was the only reason I remembered the date so precisely.”
Luca let out a quiet laugh despite himself. “Your mother’s discontent has proven useful, then. Well done, Hillstead. Good work… again.”
A smug smile spread across Hillstead’s face. “If you will excuse me,” he said, already backing towards the door, “I am going to inform Mr. Wright of what you just said.”
“I shall deny it if you do,” Luca warned dryly.
“I expected as much,” Hillstead called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the corridor.
The door closed, and silence settled once more. He sat for a long moment, staring at the ledger. He opened it and saw the truth laid bare.A. B. C.It had been there the whole time, staring him in the face. How had he missed it?
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. The pattern was clear, and time was not on his side. Whoever “C” was, she was still alive—for now.
Luca rose and reached for his hat once more, determination hardening within him. He needed to speak to Charlotte. If anyone in London’s glittering maze of gossip and secrets had heard whispers of a missing woman, it would be her.
And if his instincts were right, uncovering the truth might mean saving a life.
13
Charlotte sat at her writing table in the drawing room, her quill hovering uselessly over the pristine sheet of paper. The faint scent of lavender polish and the rhythmic ticking of the mantel clock filled the quiet room, but her mind refused to settle. She had gone to the ball last night determined to uncover gossip worthy of her next article forThe Morning Post. However, her mind—traitorous thing—could think of nothing but her dance with Luca.
The way his hand had rested at her back, firm yet gentle. The warmth of his breath brushing her temple as they moved together across the floor. For a brief, scandalous moment, she had felt utterly safe—protected even—and the world had melted away.
Drat.
She pressed her lips together and forced herself to stare at the blank page again. This would not do. She was Miss Charlotte Winslow, the diamond of the Season, not some moon-eyed debutante sighing over a gentleman. She had a job to do, and no amount of waltzing with Luca should unsettle her focus.
And yet it had.
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. To say Luca meant nothing to her would be the grandest of lies. What he meant, precisely, she could not yet name. They were not friends, not truly. They bickered more often than they agreed. So why, in the name of all that was sensible, did she find herself hoping he might walk through that very door—just so she could hear his low, teasing voice again?
Good heavens, she was losing her mind.
Charlotte crumpled the sheet in frustration and tossed it into the fire. The edges curled black, the paper disintegrating into a soft hiss of ash. If only her inconvenient feelings could burn away as easily.
The door opened. “I thought I would find you here,” Jane said as she swept inside, her expression amused and far too perceptive for Charlotte’s liking.
“Here I am,” Charlotte said, forcing a smile.
“Would you care to go to the circulating library with me?”
Charlotte perked up at once. “Yes!” she replied, a little too eagerly.
Jane’s brow lifted. “You must be bored.”
“I am,” Charlotte admitted, setting her quill aside.
Jane came closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Are you not writing your next article?”
“I was attempting to,” Charlotte sighed. “But I could not think of anything worth writing.”
Jane tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. “Surely you overheard something last night that would interest your readers.”
Charlotte hesitated. “I… was rather distracted.”
