The news disappointed me, because Louisa had been elusive of late, and I had hoped to speak with her. A few months ago, Louisa had helped me through a bad bout of melancholia. Her presence in my front room had been a bright beacon as I lay unmoving in my bed. When I showed signs of recovering, she left me to the care of my landlady and departed. In early December, she and her husband had gone north to visit one of Brandon's cronies in a hunting box. Since their return to town, I had not seen much of either of them, and I was not certain why.

I sipped champagne as I opened the door to Grenville's sitting room. I looked forward to perusing Grenville's collections or dipping into one of his many fine books.

On the threshold, I stopped. A slim lady in an ivory silk gown and a feathered headdress stood on the other side of the sitting room, her back to me. Her attention was fixed on a row of tiny figurines from the Orient that rested on a shelf near the window. As I watched, she lifted one and held it up to the light, turning it this way and that to admire the cleverness of it.

If she had been any other lady, I might have believed that Grenville had given her leave to examine his collection, perhaps to wait to be private with him later. With this particular lady, however, I knew he bloody well had not.

I cleared my throat. Lady Breckenridge snapped her gaze to me but she didn’t put down the figurine, nor did she look in the least bit ashamed of being caught.

"Ah, Captain Lacey. Good evening."