"I assume," his companion said, her voice, as ever, soft and low, "that you're proceeding with the matter of the Central East Africa Gold Company?"
"Indeed." Swiftly considering, he continued, "In order to prove fraud, it's imperative we have witnesses to and evidence of the precise details of the proposal the company representatives present to prospective investors. My man of business has made discreet inquiries, but none of the more wealthy, experienced investors, nor their men of business, have been approached by the company. That being so, we'll need to send the company a potential investor."
She looked down. They crossed South Molton Street before she asked, "Who do you have in mind for the role?"
"A young friend by the name of Gerrard Debbington. He has the presence to pass as over twenty-one, although in fact he's a minor. That, of course, gives him a perfect and valid reason to not, after the company's presentation, sign any promissory note himself."
"His guardians would have to sign."
"Quite. But he's not going to mention them until the end of the interview."
She looked up. "What interview?"
His expression impassive, Gabriel considered the bright glint that was all he could see of her eyes. He didn't know their color, yet he suspected they wouldn't be blue. Brown? Green? "Gerrard has spent the last few days ambling about in all the right places, making vague noises about finding something better to do with his brass than buy up more fields."
"And?"
"Yesterday, Archie Douglas just happened to bump into him."
"And?"
The repeated word held a note of impatience; Gabriel kept his lips straight. "Archie chatted about the Central East Africa Gold Company. When Gerrard showed the right sort of interest, a meeting with the company's representatives was mooted."
"When?"
"Archie had to confirm the details with his friends, but Gerrard, as per instructions, suggested tomorrow evening at the Burlington Hotel."
"Do you think the company representatives, by which I assume you mean Crowley, will agree?"
"I'm quite sure they'll agree. Archie wouldn't have approached Gerrard if Crowley hadn't already singled out his mark."
"But…" Anxiety colored the word. "I believe Gerrard Debbington is a connection of yours. Of the Cynsters. Is that wise?"
Gabriel inwardly frowned. Who was she? "He is, but the connection isn't obvious, at least not in this sense. Archie Douglas is not highly regarded by the ton's hostesses; he won't know of the connection. Crowley's scrutiny will focus on Gerrard's background, which shows he's a wealthy young gentleman from the shires. If the company was in the habit of more prudently checking their marks, they wouldn't have bothered with your late husband."
"Hmm."
His fair companion sounded less than convinced. "Put it this way, if Crowley had any inkling that Gerrard Debbington was in any way associated with me, Gerrard would never have been approached."
Her head lifted. She gave one of her distinctive nods. "Yes, that's true. So… you think Gerrard Debbington can effectively pass himself off as a gullible investor?"
"I'm sure of it. I'll drill him in what we need to know, and give him pointers-a primer, if you will-so he'll know the most useful questions to ask, all couched in language appropriate for a young gentleman fancying himself the next Golden Ball."
"Yes, but do you think he'll be able to carry off the" she waved-"characterization, as it were? If he's only eighteen…"
"He does a very good job of appearing less intelligent than he is. He simply stares vaguely-vacuously-at whoever's talking. He has an innocent-looking face with large eyes and one of those charmingly youthful smiles. He appears as open as a book at all times-that doesn't necessarily mean he is." Gabriel glanced at the countess. "I don't know if you're aware, but he's a budding painter, so even in the most social of settings he's usually considering the line of people's faces, their clothing, coloring, and so on, even while he's supposedly engaged in conversation."
The countess looked him in the eye. "I see."
So she did play chess, but he was a master. "So Gerrard will meet with the company's representatives tomorrow evening. I've chosen the Burlington as it's the sort of place at which someone like Gerrard's supposed self would stay. He'll have a suite, and while he speaks with whoever arrives to make the presentation in the sitting room, I'll be listening from the adjoining bedchamber."
"Do you expect Crowley to appear?"
"Impossible to be sure. There's no reason he needs to show himself but, based on how he's behaved in the past, I suspect he'll be there. He seems to take delight in personally gloating over those he swindles."
"I want to attend-to listen in on this meeting."
Gabriel frowned. "There's no need for you to be there."
"Nevertheless. I'd like to hear for myself what the Company offers and, ultimately, it means we'll have an extra witness to the presentation if need arises."
Gabriel frowned harder. "What about Gerrard? If you want to preserve your anonymity, surely you won't want him to know of your existence. While I might respect your request not to discover your identity, Gerrard is, after all, only eighteen and possesses an artist's eye."
She stopped. "He doesn't know that you're investigating the company at my behest?"
"As I've investigated other companies purely through my own inclination, there was no need to advance any reason for my interest in the Central East Africa Gold Company. Particularly not with Crowley at its helm."
She fell silent; he could almost hear her mind working. Then she looked up. "Will Mr. Debbington actually be staying at the Burlington?"
"No. He'll arrive about half an hour before the meeting's due to start."
"Very well-I'll arrive before him. I assume you'll be there?"
Gabriel set his lips. "Yes, but-"
"There'll be no danger to me personally, or to my anonymity, if I secret myself in the bedchamber before Mr. Debbington arrives, hear the presentation, and then wait until after he's left to do the same."
Gabriel held her veiled gaze. "I cannot fathom why you should be so set on senselessly exposing yourself-"
"I insist."
Chin angled imperiously, she held his gaze. Lips thinning, he let the moment stretch, and stretch, then grudgingly gave way. "Very well. You'll need to arrive at the Burlington no later than nine."
He sensed the triumph that flooded her-she thought she'd won a round. Under her mask, she was no doubt beaming. He kept his lips compressed, his frowning gaze on her veiled face.
"I'll leave you now." Withdrawing her hand, she looked back up the street.
He glanced around and saw a small black carriage, presumably the one that had driven him home from Lincoln's Inn, drawn up by the curb behind them. "I'll walk you to your carriage." Before she could blink, he recaptured her hand and trapped it on his sleeve. She hesitated, then acquiesced, somewhat stiffly.
Gabriel raked the carriage as they neared, but it was an anonymous affair-small, black and unadorned-identical to the second carriage most large households maintained in the capital. Used to ferry their owners about discreetly, such carriages carried no insignia blazoned on the door, or identifying detail worked into the body. No hint of the countess's identity there.
The horses were nondescript. He glanced at the coachman; he was hunched over the reins, his head sunk between his shoulders. The man wore a heavy coat and plain breeches-no livery.
The countess had thought of everything.
He opened the carriage door and handed her in. Pausing on the step, she looked back at him. "Until tomorrow evening at nine."
"Indeed." He held her gaze for an instant, then let her go. "I'll leave a message with the porter to conduct you to the suite." Stepping back, he shut the door, then stood and watched the carriage drive away.