Touch of Rogue Read Online Free PDF Page A

alter your schedule to accommodate me, Mr. Preston. If I cannot discover the remaining blade by—” She clamped her lips tight to stop herself. “Suffice it to say that time is of the essence. Until tomorrow, then.”
    She headed toward the door, the gentle swish of her skirts a whispered farewell.
    “Lady Cambourne, has someone threatened you over these daggers?” Jacob asked.
    She stopped mid-stride. Jacob read increased tension in the set of her narrow shoulders, but she didn’t look back at him so he could assess the answer in her features.
    Cagey lady, but I’ll take that as a yes.
    “Good night to you, sir.” She beat a hasty retreat.
    Jacob watched from behind the parlor curtain as Fenwick saw her out to her conveyance and then returned to shut up the house for the night. No one else was abroad on the street, but as soon as the carriage rattled away, a small figure popped up from the shadows across the narrow lane. The urchin hotfooted it down the block and disappeared into a darker alley.
    Legions of masterless boys prowled the streets of London. They were magpies with feet when it came to gathering information and useful for shadowing persons unaware. Jacob had several of them on retainer himself. Someone had taken a definite interest in the countess’s activities.
    Or his. Jacob had made his share of enemies in the halls of commerce and working as his brother’s right hand in background machinations within the House of Lords. But given the emotions he’d felt from Lady Cambourne, he’d bet the street rat was tasked with noting her whereabouts.
    Turning away from the window, he massaged the bridge of his nose. Now that the pleasing distraction of Lady Cambourne was gone, residual pain from his contact with her silver pendant ached afresh.
    He stared at the dagger resting on his mantel. Unfortunately, he wasn’t done with pain yet this evening.
    Fenwick appeared at the parlor door. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
    “Yes, come back in half an hour. I suspect I will require assistance finding my bed.”
    The butler glanced at the dagger and nodded. Fenwick was one of the few souls on earth Jacob had taken into his confidence about his ability to extract information from metal. And one of the few he trusted to help him deal with the aftereffects of exercising his gift for a prolonged time.
    “You’ll be wanting a tonic, I expect.”
    Jacob nodded. “Easy on the laudanum, heavy on the whisky. Save the Glenlivet for another time.” Might as well use inferior spirits because after extended contact with metal, he’d be in no condition to actually enjoy the drink. “You’ll need to secure the dagger and its scabbard in the safe for the night once I’m finished with it. Do not leave it unattended for a moment.”
    “Very good, sir.” Fenwick pulled the door closed behind him.
    Jacob squared his shoulders and retrieved the dagger, careful to hold it by the leather scabbard. He pulled out his handkerchief and drew the blade, laying it on the escritoire in the corner, where the lamplight was stronger.
    The dagger was beautiful in the manner of deadly things, elegantly formed and honed to razor sharpness. Now that he had time to study it, he realized the undulating design etched into the blade resembled a tree with branches spread.
    The Tree of Life? he mused. Not likely on an instrument of death. Perhaps a representation of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, or the Norse World Tree, Yggdrasil.
    Jacob shook his head. He felt as though he’d seen this design fairly recently, but couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps if he concentrated on the dagger’s other properties, the meaning of the etching would become plain. He suspended his hand a half inch above the blade and let the ore sing to him.
    Since the metal was an alloy, the sound of individual ores rose from an indistinct blur, like a choir warming up in myriad different keys. First came the low rumble of iron, followed by nickel’s tinny