Darling Beast (Maiden Lane #7)(71)

“I wasn’t aware, however… that is, I’ll have a footman fetch another chair,” Greaves mumbled.

“No need,” Trevillion said briskly. “Let the ladies sit amongst friends. I’m quite happy to find my own seat.”

Greaves nodded gratefully and led the ladies to their places.

Which left Trevillion free to slip into place in the empty chair beside Kilbourne at the back.

“I see you found a way to attend,” Kilbourne said, low.

“Indeed.” Trevillion watched as Greaves fussed over Lady Phoebe’s seat. “Lady Phoebe enjoys the theater in whatever form.”

“And had she not?”

Trevillion glanced at the viscount. “Had she not, I would’ve found another way to meet with you. I wouldn’t force her to attend an event she didn’t like.”

“I meant no offense,” Kilbourne said.

Trevillion inclined his head, his mouth thinned. “Have you discovered anything yet?”

Kilbourne hesitated, but shook his head. “Not as of yet. I’d hoped to search my uncle’s rooms, but haven’t found the right moment.”

“More guests mean more servants about,” Trevillion replied. “Yet you hesitated before you spoke, my lord?”

Kilbourne grimaced. “It’s nothing. The duke mentioned this morning that my uncle has a valet who spent time in Newgate—an odd origin for a manservant, you must admit.”

Trevillion shrugged. That was the thing about London: a man could completely remake himself.

“And then,” Kilbourne continued, “Miss Goodfellow’s brother took care to warn me that we couldn’t trust Montgomery.”

Trevillion snorted softly. “That’s nothing new, my lord.”

“No, yet now I wonder if the man is actively working against us.”

“For what purpose?”

Kilbourne gave him a sardonic glance. “For what purpose does he work for us?”

“He said so that you may finish his garden,” Trevillion replied, “but I take your point.”

Kilbourne glanced at him. “Have you found out anything about my cousin? Could he be the one behind the murders, not my uncle?”

“Nothing,” Trevillion stated. “He lives rather frugally, in fact. It’s only his father who is in debt.”

Kilbourne shook his head. “Should I trust Miss Goodfellow’s brother? Or Montgomery? Or neither?”

“Hmm. Point the brother out to me.”

Kilbourne looked around. “There. He’s just come in the door with Montgomery.”

Trevillion turned discreetly and saw a wiry man in a white wig a step behind the duke. On the other side was the Scots architect they’d met in the garden—MacLeish. “Strange that he should warn you against the duke and then keep his company.”

“Mmm,” Kilbourne murmured in assent. “I’ve been trying to think what Montgomery gets out of all this.”

“You don’t believe that he wants you for his garden?”

“Possibly.” Kilbourne shrugged. “But I’m hardly the only gardener he could hire. There has to be another reason.”

“He probably doesn’t do anything but for a minimum of at least two things to his advantage.” Trevillion stiffened as he watched Montgomery approach Lady Phoebe. “Damn.”

“What?”

He’d forgotten the obvious: rank. Lady Phoebe, as the daughter and sister of a duke, was most likely the highest-ranking lady in the room. And since Montgomery was a duke and thus the highest-ranking gentleman, naturally he’d be seated next to her.

Trevillion nearly growled. “I don’t like him near my charge.”

“He’ll hardly do anything in a crowded room,” Kilbourne said. “Besides, she has her chaperone. That one looks a Tartar.”

Trevillion grunted, not liking having to leave Lady Phoebe’s protection to an old woman, no matter how sharp.

The musicians began a tune, prompting the audience to quiet. After a moment an actor strode in with Miss Goodfellow and began an argument—something about a maid he wanted to woo. The male actor was apparently her twin brother.

A farce. Not to his taste—theater seldom was. Trevillion fixed his eyes on his charge instead, surprised to see that Montgomery had switched chairs with his architect friend. The younger man now sat next to Lady Phoebe, his red head close to hers.

Trevillion frowned and turned to Kilbourne, but one look showed that was a lost cause.

The viscount’s gaze was riveted on Miss Goodfellow.

Chapter Sixteen

Ariadne thought at first to flee, but the monster made neither move nor sound. At last, gathering her courage, she ventured near. He lay facedown and nude, his massive arms outstretched among the innocent flowers, his lower limbs in the water. Blood flowed from numerous cuts to his legs and torso. His bull’s head was turned to the side, and as she stared, he opened his eye…

—From The Minotaur

He’d made love to her, but he’d never truly seen her, Apollo realized as he watched Lily on stage. She’d changed the dress she’d initially appeared in to breeches and a coat, her dark hair hidden under a man’s white wig. Anyone with half a brain could see she was a woman disguised as a man, but the point wasn’t to fool the audience, but rather to entice it.