Page 35 of An Alleged Rogue

“Very much.”

He nodded. “Then that is what we shall do.”

Emily’s radiant smile was reward enough.

She turned to Miss Hadford. “We shall come.”

“My thanks for your thoughtfulness, Miss Hadford,” he said.

She curtsied. “Until Saturday, then, my lord.”

“Until Saturday,” he repeated with a slight bow.

Then he stood, watching silently as she all but fled from the room.

Chapter 11

Freddie was halfway down St. James Street when he spotted a familiar gentleman stepping out of White’s. Ducking into the nearest doorway, he watched Toole pause on the outside steps of the gentleman’s club to survey the street. Freddie frowned. The presence of the Bow Street runner at White’s was less than reassuring. The man had been on Freddie’s tail for as long as he could remember. Had the runner caught wind of the fact that he was back in the city?

A hackney appeared around the corner. Toole hurried down the steps to the edge of the pavement and raised his arm to hail the driver. The vehicle rumbled to a halt, and without another glance in Freddie’s direction, Toole climbed inside. The driver urged the horse forward and within seconds, the hackney carriage and its occupant disappeared onto King Street.

Freddie stepped out of the shadow of the doorway and briskly crossed the distance to White’s. Climbing the steps, he gave the doorman an acknowledging nod and entered the building without looking back.

The club was not busy at this time of day. Male voices came from the far corner of the room, where three gentlemen were discussing the latest races at Ascot, but many of the guests were sitting alone, enjoying uninterrupted time to read or enjoy a drink. Freddie surreptitiously glanced at each gentleman as he walked by. He was not looking for anyone in particular, but experience had taught him that an eager conversationalist was only a greeting away. Today, he was after a gentleman who would not take kindly to a Bow Street runner questioning members of the elite gentleman’s club.

Freddie recognized Bertrand as soon as the gentleman lowered his newspaper to reach for the glass on the nearby table. Satisfaction brought a smile to Freddie’s lips. He had found his man.

“Good day, Lord Bertrand,” he said, stopping opposite the viscount’s chair.

The gentleman looked up with surprise. “Wilmott. What brings you here at this time of day?”

“Just passing by on my way to see my solicitor,” Freddie lied. “I cannot stay long, but it’s always refreshing to step away from the outside world for a bit, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Absolutely, old fellow. Although, it sometimes has an unfortunate way of following one in.” He shook his head. “It’s a disgrace, if you ask me. What is the point of having a doorman if he lets in any old riffraff?”

Freddie raised a concerned eyebrow. “Have there been some undesirables at White’s today?”

“A Bow Street runner.” The viscount spoke the words with as much distaste as a carpenter would use to describe a woodworm.

“Dear me.” Freddie pointed to the chair opposite Bertrand. “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

Freddie sat down. “What did the runner want? I assume he had a reason for his visit.”

“Some nonsense about a young lady being compromised by a gentleman last night in the Tower Bridge area. She claimed his carriage bore a crest but could not identify it fully in the dark.”

Relief surged through Freddie. A crime such as that had nothing whatsoever to do with forged bank notes. Relaxing in the comfortable chair, he clucked his tongue in disapproval. “I daresay the runner has his work cut out for him.”

“Indeed. I don’t envy the fellow. The lady’s family must be behind it, of course, but he wouldn’t drop any names.” Bertrand grunted. “Not that it matters. I have no doubt the scandal will be all the news at the next social gathering.”

“Well, what do we gentlemen live for but to provide employment for Bow Street runners and fuel for Society tabbies, eh?”

Bertrand guffawed. “I like your wit, Wilmott. Let me buy you a drink.”

“That’s very good of you.”

“Nonsense. Glad to do it.” The viscount turned to catch the attention of a nearby member of staff, and with a smirk, Freddie sank deeper into his chair. Toole may be a celebrated lawman, but he was far from infallible. He had not caught Freddie yet, and if Freddie kept his wits about him, the chances were excellent that he never would.