Page 18 of After the Spy Seduces

Kit frowned. “Morgan isn’t missing?”

“Oh, he is missing, certainly, but he was not kidnapped.”

“How do you know?”

“Because if he were kidnapped, then he must be a magician to be in two places at once.” He refilled his glass. “He was in London and in active communication with French agents as of three days ago.”

“About what?”

Ivanov refused to answer that. Instead, he undid the first button of his bulging waistcoat and commented, “Then he went silent. That was when he disappeared, not a fortnight ago.” He chuckled to himself and made a mocking toast with his glass. “Not even the French are sly enough to have a man in two places at once, or the boudoirs across Paris would be exceedingly happy places.”

“Where is he now?”

“When his messages stopped coming, a few of my concernedacquaintances—shall we say?—decided to pay him a visit at the White Horse Inn. He was already gone.”

“To where?”

“He is no longer in contact with the French.” He shrugged. “He is no longer my concern.”

With that, Kit knew he wouldn’t coerce any more information out of the Russian about Morgan’s whereabouts. So he teased the corner of the notes into the flame, letting the letters catch fire, watching the paper blacken and curl.

“One more thing.” He waved out the flame, ignoring the murderous narrowing of Ivanov’s eyes. “Could Morgan have fled because he double-crossed the French?” That would explain why the Frenchman didn’t want the pages when Diana delivered them, if they weren’t nearly as important as Morgan had led them to believe they were. Worthless, exactly as Diana had called them.

But damn the man to hell for placing his sister in danger.

“Possibly.” He eyed Kit suspiciously over the rim of his glass. “Whoever you are, I am certain that you understand what it means if he did.”

Yes. If Morgan wasn’t dead already, he would be soon.

Ivanov smiled devilishly and slowly swirled the port. “If I were you, I would check downstream when the tide is low, and you will most likely discover where he went when he left the White Horse.”

So…the Russian believed that Morgan was dead. Kit studied him closely, looking for any evidence that he was lying. And found none.

Slowly, he stood and moved to the door. He paused in the doorway to tuck his pistol back into its holster beneath his coat and tossed the singed notes onto the bed. “Thank you for your time.”

The Russian snatched up the ribbon-tied bundle and held them to the candle, to burn them into ash, not realizing that they weren’t love letters written by the ambassador’s wife to her lover, but by Lady Bellingham to hers. “Send Jenny back to me on your way out.”

Like hell I will.

Kit moved casually through the brothel toward the front door, as if he belonged there. As if he’d just spent the past hour in the company of a prostitute. If any of the people crammed within its thin walls recognized him, they would assume he was there for the same reason as every other gentleman who walked through the door.Good.Such beliefs only added to the false persona he’d cultivated as a scoundrel and younger son leeching off his earl of a brother. The more shiftless society thought him, the freer he was to hunt down Fitch’s murderer.

Until tonight, when it all ended.

Ironic that it had come to this. That in the end he’d been pursuing a dead man.

Fingers clutched his arm as he strode past the main drawing room toward the entry hall, stopping him gently with a well-practiced touch.

“Leaving so soon?” A rich, feminine voice purred in his ear, followed by the warmth of her body sidling up against his from behind.

“Mrs. Smith.” With a show of respect, he faced her and sketched a bow, giving her a flirtatious grin. He didn’t like the woman, but he needed to stay in her good graces. “I’m afraid it’s past my bedtime.”

“Stay.” Her red lips pursed into a pout. With her makeup and wig, it was impossible to discern her true age, but Kit supposed that she’d been selling herself and other women for at least twenty years. The hand resting on his arm certainly belonged to a woman who’d suffered a hard life, with little relief in sight for the future. “I can find someone to fit your tastes.” She squeezed his arm, although Kit couldn’t have said whether to keep his attention or to gratuitously feel his muscle. “In fact, I just hired apretty little blonde thing that you’re sure to find enjoyable.”

“I’m afraid I have to refuse tonight.” And every night.

“You never use my girls. You pay good money totalkto them, but you never take pleasure in them.” Thankfully she kept her voice low enough not to be overheard by anyone else in the small crowd gathered in the entry hall. “Aren’t they good enough for you?”

“Ah, that’s the problem.” He forced a forlorn expression onto his face. “I’m the one who isn’t good enough for them.”