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Chapter 1

Amsterdam, 1788

Freddie Payne stood at the window of a tall terraced house in Amsterdam. In the canal below, a barge loaded with sacks of wool floated past, undoubtedly destined for the mills in Haarlem. The Dutchman at the helm shouted a warning to an oncoming vessel before steering the barge to safety beneath the arches of the nearby bridge. A smaller craft filled with carrots and onions passed by, going the other direction. The two men on board wore the clothing of common laborers, and if their lack of boating skills was any indication, they were more at home in the fields than on Amsterdam’s waterways.

With a contemptuous snort, Freddie moved away from the window. Why anyone would choose such onerous methods of making a living was beyond him. It took only a modicum of intelligence to realize there were far better, more lucrative occupations available for the taking.

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror that hung over the dressing table and straightened the lace on his sleeve. Yes, indeed. If a gentleman set aside his scruples, there were jobs to be had that took very little physical effort but paid huge dividends.

Over the years, Freddie’s average height and ordinary brown hair color had worked to his advantage. Even his rather unusual gray eyes had proven less of a handicap to his anonymity now that he’d amassed a large collection of wide-brimmed hats. He glanced at the trunk lying beside the door, his anticipation mounting. It contained a rather startling assortment of garments and accessories that enabled him to meld into virtually any environment. Freddie was as comfortable loitering along the filthy docks of Liverpool as he was working the opulent ballrooms of London. He grinned. It was time to test his skills again. After spending three years lying low in Amsterdam, he had exhausted the last of old Dunsbourne’s money. If he wished to maintain his life of luxury, he needed more. And England was the place to find it.

Adam Norton, Lord Dunsbourne, glanced at the sign hanging above the door of the small shop on the dingy street in Cheapside: Erasmus Dobbs, Hosier. Five years of searching for the man who had destroyed his father and decimated his inheritance had brought him to this spot. If the Bow Street runner’s report was correct, the proprietor of this unexceptional establishment may possess information that would enable Adam to finally bring his nemesis to justice.

Taking hold of the brass knob, Adam pushed open the door. A bell rang overhead, and moments later, a short, balding man entered the musty shop from a back room.

Pushing his spectacles farther up his nose, the man gave Adam an expectant look. “Good day, sir.”

“Good day.” Adam walked past a table displaying various types of hose and approached the counter. “My name is Lord Dunsbourne. I am looking for a Mr. Erasmus Dobbs.”

The flush of red rising above the proprietor’s collar was a clear indication that he realized his chosen greeting had been a mistake. Unfortunately, it was all too easily done. Adam may have retained the bearing of a titled gentleman, but the thinning fabric at his jacket’s elbows and the yellowing lace at his shirtsleeves belied his elevated position in Society.

“Forgive me, m’ lord.” The shopkeeper bowed. “I am Mr. Erasmus Dobbs. ’Ow may I assist you?”

“I was given to understand that you may be acquainted with a certain Freddie Payne,” Adam said.

The merchant’s welcoming smile became a scowl. “I know ’im,” he said.

Adam’s expression remained impassive, but his grip on the walking stick in his hand tightened.

“What do you know of the man?”

“’E’s a devious fiend, m’ lord. There’s not many I’d wish tossed into Newgate, but ’e’s one of ’em.”

“I could not agree more.” Adam considered it extremely unlikely that the merchant wished Payne arrested any more than he did. Unfortunately, Adam had long since come to the conclusion that along with being a cold-hearted villain, Freddie Payne was an undisputed genius. No matter the magnitude of his crimes, he had evaded capture for almost twenty years, and Adam was beginning to wonder if anyone would ever best the man. “Do you know of anyone who may know his current whereabouts?”

“No, m’ lord. Freddie weren’t one to make friends even when ’e were a boy. ’E ’asn’t been seen ’round these parts fer years, and I can’t say that anyone’s missed ’im either.”

Adam smothered his frustration. Freddie Payne had not been seen anywhere for years. The man was a veritable phantom.

“But you knew him well enough to know his family?”

“Knew ’is father, I did. God rest ’is soul.” Mr. Dobbs shook his head. “Walter Payne didn’t deserve the son ’e got. When ’is wife died, ’e was left t’ raise the lad hi’self. But it weren’t ’is fault that Freddie turned out so rotten.” He frowned. “Fer Walter’s sake, I gave ’is son ’is first real job. And what did Freddie do to thank me? Took off with ten pounds’ worth of silk stockin’s, that’s what.”

Adam surveyed the handful of boxes lining the shelves behind the counter. It would seem that Mr. Dobbs’s inventory was limited. Ten pounds’ worth of silk stockings would undoubtedly constitute a significant loss.

“I am very sorry to hear it. Were you able to recover any of the stolen items?”

“Not a one,” Mr. Dobbs said bitterly. “I made sure all me friends and neighbors knew what ’e’d done. Ev’ry last one of ’em was keepin’ a lookout fer me, but no one ever ’eard so much as a whisper ’bout Freddie after that. ’E just disappeared.”

“So you have not seen or heard from Payne since then?”

“No, m’ lord. I reckon the thievin’ blighter knew ’e’d be done for if ’e ever set foot inside my shop again.”

Adam had heard similar accounts from gentlemen of various walks of life who had been duped by Freddie Payne. But he had desperately hoped that Mr. Dobbs’s prior association with the Payne family would set his particular situation apart from all the others.

“I imagine it’s been a good twenty years since Payne was under your employ,” Adam pressed. “Would you recognize him still?”

Mr. Dobbs set his jaw. “It wouldn’t matter ’ow much ’e’d grown, ’ow ’e wore ’is ’air, or ’ow much ’e changed ’is voice, m’ lord. If ’e was man enough to look me in the eyes, I’d know ’im.”