He was going into the dirty-deeds business.
Monsale clapped his hands. “Lord Harry Steele, the man who knows scandals better than anyone. I shall personally recommend you to all my friends who need their naughty secrets kept.”
Harry would maintain his personae of ‘society wild boy,’ while at the same time taking on clients who had got themselves into a spot of serious trouble and who would gladly pay for his expertise. Who better to keep a lid on the bubbling scandals of the ton than someone who not only understood London society, but who had seen its wicked, sinful underbelly?
His other friends joined in the applause.
Stephen patted him on the back. “Harry, you are a genius.”
Harry grinned. “Was there ever any doubt?”
Chapter 1
Eleven months later
Alice North stood out the front of number 16 Grosvenor Street, London, and quietly swore under her breath. “How the bloody hell has it come to this?”
In her hand, she held a small card. She glanced at it, still uncertain as to whether she was doing the right thing.
Scandals managed. Secrets kept. Cash retainer required. Instalments as per contract.
16 Grosvenor Street, London
What kind of man would run a business which specialized in such matters? If the twenty-page nondisclosure agreement she had been made to sign before receiving the business card was any indication, more than likely, he was the wrong sort.
She turned, mind half made up to get back into the carriage and head home, but the thought of her sister stopped her. Alice was fast running out of options, and if she didn’t do something soon, all could be lost.
“Come on. Let’s have you,” she muttered.
She let out a long, slow breath, and considered the front of the house once more. It was an elegant, cream-fronted Georgian-period establishment. The generous width of the house afforded it five window bays and . . .
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop worrying about the architecture, and go knock on the door!”
A hurried glance around showed no one to be within hearing distance of her, but the fact that she was talking to herself had Alice fearing for her sanity.
An extremely tall, solidly built man dressed all in black answered the door, and Alice’s heart immediately sank. Had there been a death in the family? The way her luck was running this morning, it wouldn’t surprise her in the least if she had turned up at the exact same time as the undertaker.
“Yes.” He looked at Alice down the length of his nose as he spoke.
She scowled. That was not the usual way for a servant to address a visitor. The man’s demeanor bordered on rude. “I. Hmm. I came about . . . oh,” she stammered.
I knew this was a stupid idea.
The man held out a hand, clicking his fingers impatiently at her. “Do you have a card?” he snapped.
Without thinking, Alice offered him the simple white card she had been holding onto with grim determination since leaving home a short while earlier.
The butler took one look at the card and loudly sighed. “I meant your card.”
She fumbled in her reticule as heat raced to her cheeks. Where was a card case when you needed it in a hurry?
“Ah,” she said, and pulled out her calling card.
He took it, barely glanced at it, and with a disinterested wave, beckoned Alice into the house. She gritted her teeth, fighting the temptation to call him out on his impertinence. Her mother most certainly would have done so and then had words with his employer.
“Thank you,” she said.
Why am I thanking this man?
The door was closed, and without another word, the butler promptly turned on his heel and headed upstairs, abandoning Alice in the foyer.
She softly tutted to herself. “What a morning.”
Doing her best to calm her temper, Alice took in the downstairs area. It was nothing to write home about. Plain black and white checkered tiles. The walls were painted cream and unadorned. It could have been the entrance to any one of a hundred other homes in London. The resident of this house clearly didn’t care for adding any personal touches.
She waited.
The butler hadn’t even offered for her to sit somewhere.
And she waited.
I wonder what the cook has planned for luncheon today. I am famished.
She was humming a tune softly to herself when the butler finally reappeared at the top of the stairs. He made his way to her in an unhurried fashion. Alice bit back a remark about his lack of manners. Now was not the time to take the man to task.
“His lordship is ready to receive you,” he announced.
Lordship? When did things get so bad that nobles had to take up paid employment?
Upstairs, Alice was shown into a drawing room and finally offered a seat. With as much grace as her tired feet would permit, she settled into an overstuffed purple sofa. The cushions were so soft that she immediately sank into them, leaving her lying prone, staring at the ceiling.
Ruddy hell, this is ridiculous. I really shouldn’t have come here.
She waited until the butler had left the room before struggling out of her pillowed prison and getting to her feet. She gave the sofa a disapproving look then headed over to the window. The curtains were closed and the room poorly lit.
It’s eleven o’clock. Who keeps the drapes drawn at this hour?
How anyone expected to conduct business in such a strange room was beyond her.
Taking one of the deep red sashes in hand, she pulled it back and hung it over a window hook. She reached for the other curtain.
This rogue had better be worth every penny that I’ve given him. She was already regretting having bothered to wait, fearing this was not going to help her cause in the least.
“Ow! Ow! What the devil are you doing? Are you trying to kill me?”
She whirled round and her gaze fell on a dark-haired man standing a yard or so away. He had moved so silently; she hadn’t heard him enter the room and come up behind her.
His left hand was held to his face, covering his eyes. Alice suspected that the only reason he hadn’t put both hands to his face was because of the small piglet he had tucked under his right arm.
Not for the first time this morning, Alice found herself scowling at a male of the species. A man who was adorned in a yellow-and-green-floral dressing gown. This house seemed inhabited by the most peculiar of men. And pigs.
The piglet gave her a friendly snort, instantly winning the most-welcoming-member-of-the-household award.
Why is he holding a pig?
“The window. Sunlight. Woman, have you no sense of pity for a man in pain?”
“What you do mean you are in pain?” she replied, her gaze moving from the animal to its outrageously dressed owner.
With a huff, he pushed past her and took a hold of the drape. She sensed he was about to let it fall back and cover the window, but to her surprise, he didn’t.
He gripped the curtain tightly in his hand, then let out a tired sigh. “You obviously have never suffered from a hangover, and therefore have no understanding of the hell that one is. I shall give you the grace of your lack of knowledge, but only this one time.”
“Thank you. I think,” she replied.
Why am I thanking people who are unconscionably rude to me?
This so-called lord clearly hadn’t bothered to suffer through any sort of instruction as to how one should behave in the company of a lady. His education in that sphere was sadly lacking. Alice had a sudden inkling as to where his butler had gotten his prickly sense of self-worth from.