“Oh, I see.” Lenore stood closer to him as well, but she continued to look around.
“And then there is Mr. Jameson, the publisher, to worry about. He has a family to support as well. Any legal action brought against him would be a disaster that I would not want to lay claim to causing.”
“I understand, Mr. Mercer,” Lenore said, turning her gaze to him with a contrite look.
Phin smiled. “After what we shared last night, I think it’s only right that you call me Phineas. Or Phin, whichever you prefer.”
Lenore smiled as well. “After what we shared last night, I believe you should call me sweetheart or darling, or something equally as ridiculous and sentimental.”
Phin’s emotions flashed from wary to elated so fast that he thought the world might have tilted off its axis. “I’ll call you anything you’d like, Lenore, as long as you’ll be—”
Before he could finish, Lenore gasped so hard at something she spotted over his shoulder that he thought she might swallow her teeth. Even more than that, all color instantly drained from her face and her eyes went wide. The look of utter, genuine terror that passed over her was beyond anything Phin had witnessed in his life, and he knew immediately she wasn’t teasing or joking with him in any way. Instead, she dove suddenly behind him, hiding as though the National Gallery itself had exploded and hurled shrapnel at them.
Chapter 7
As Lenore dove behind Phineas, hands trembling and heart twisting with fear like she hadn’t known for over a year, one thought raced through her head—it had only ever been a matter of time.
“Lenore,” Phineas asked in a strained voice, attempting to turn toward her, which Lenore made nearly impossible as she continued to use his body as a shield. “What the devil is the matter?”
A tiny voice of reason whispered in Lenore’s head that she was more likely to draw attention by ducking and dodging behind Phineas than she would be if she simply stood straight, pretended to smile and behave as though nothing were out of the ordinary and as though she hadn’t just seen a ghost. No, not a ghost, a demon straight from hell. Because there was no mistaking the thick, burly man who strode through the crowds of Trafalgar Square, looking as out of place as he did dangerous. He held something that must have been a map in his hands, glaring out at the hodge-podge of humanity roaming the area, his brow knit in a scowl. Lenore would have known Bartholomew Swan anywhere. The trouble was, he would know her the moment he spotted her as well.
“We need to leave,” she hissed to Phineas, grabbing his arm and tugging it, though she had no idea which way to go. Bart glanced up from his map, scanned the area, and rubbed a hand over his face, smoothing his wide, bushy moustache. “We need to leave now.”
“All right,” Phineas whispered tightly, almost as though he understood the direness of the situation, though there was no way he could.
He started toward Bart at first. Lenore made a strangled sound and dug in her heels, pulling him in the opposite direction. Phineas frowned, sent her a worried look, then glanced in Bart’s direction.
“You’ve seen someone you know, haven’t you?” he asked her. He paused, then his face flinched in understanding. “Is it that thick-set man with the western boots?”
Lenore had been too terrified to notice Bart’s boots, but when she peeked back at him she spotted a pair of worn, brown boots poking out from beneath the hem of his grey trousers—boots that would have been far better suited on a ranch than the streets of London. She nodded stiffly to Phineas, then pulled him away.
“I take it he’s American and someone of your former acquaintance,” Phineas murmured as they dodged around various tourists and locals who had come to take in the sights. “Someone from home?”
Lenore nodded again, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. She was very much afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would vomit. And that would draw so much attention that it would be a death sentence for her.
“I’ll get you back to Howsden House,” Phineas said, his voice and posture full of resolve.
Lenore glanced to him in surprise. It wasn’t common knowledge that she was living with Reese and Freddy instead of with Freddy’s sister, Henrietta, and Lord O’Shea. But of course, Phin knew everything. That was one of the things she admired about him.
They hadn’t gone more than a few yards, pressing their way through the crowd without jostling anyone enough so that they would cause a fuss, when a shrill cry of, “And just where do the two of you think you’re going?” stopped them dead in their tracks. Lady Hamilton cut into their path, preventing them from fleeing.
“Lady Hamilton,” Phineas greeted the angry woman with a surprisingly calm smile, given the circumstances. “How lovely to see you this morning.”
“Don’t you lovely me, Mr. Mercer.” Lady Hamilton narrowed her eyes at him. “You thought I would give up my pursuit after the musicale the other evening, didn’t you?”
“And what pursuit is that?” Phin asked.
Lenore winced, both because she didn’t think it was a particularly savvy move for Phin to deny what everyone in London now knew she was after and because Lady Hamilton was loud enough to alert everyone in the square of her presence.
“I will have justice for my daughter and her sullied name,” Lady Hamilton declared. “I will see the author of the scandal that has ruined her pilloried if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“I hope you do just that,” Lenore said, alarmed by how strangled her voice was. She glanced over her shoulder, searching out Bart. He had moved closer to the steps to the National Gallery and farther away from them, but it wasn’t much of a relief. “If you will excuse us, Lady Hamilton. We have a pressing engagement elsewhere.”
“Not so fast.” Lady Hamilton stopped her as she tried to move on. “I want you to meet Det. Gleason.” She grinned as though she’d accomplished some sort of coup.
Lenore swallowed and turned her attention to the man by Lady Hamilton’s side. He had been shadowing her from the moment Lenore spotted him. She hadn’t thought much of it when Lady Hamilton had announced to the crowd that the man would be investigating the matter of Nocturne’s author. Now that she saw the man up close, however, dread pooled in her stomach. And there was already enough dread there to sink a ship. Det. Gleason was slightly shorter than average, but the sharpness of his blue eyes made up for any lack of stature. He sported a fashionable moustache, which gave him a serious air, but Lenore could see more than a little thick, brown hair poking out from under his hat, as though he had a hard time keeping it tamed, which gave him the air of being a rogue who might do anything to solve whatever mystery he was tracking.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Garrett,” Det. Gleason said, extending a hand.
Lenore gulped. The man already knew her name. That was most certainly not a good thing. She put on a smile and shook his hand all the same. “The pleasure is all mine, Det. Gleason. Might I introduce Mr. Mercer?” She turned to Phineas.
“Yes, I know Mr. Mercer,” Det. Gleason said, his wide mouth pulling into a slight grin. Phineas looked baffled and more than a little alarmed, until Det. Gleason added, “By reputation if by nothing else.”