Notorious Pleasures by Elizabeth Hoyt

frightened,” Megs said softly. “A fire and a ghost.”
    “It was very exciting,” Lady Hero said slowly, “but I don’t think I had enough time to become frightened. People were rushing about, trying to put out the fire and rescue all the children from the flames. The ghost merely disappeared into the crowd. He didn’t seem like a murderer—he actually helped.”
    “Perhaps he only murders at night,” Griffin said lightly.
    “Or when not in a crowd,” Megs added.
    “Mondays,” Huff said.
    Griffin looked at him. “What about Mondays?”
    “Maybe he only murders on Mondays,” Huff said in a burst of verbosity. “Takes the rest of the week on holiday as it were.”
    “Huff, you are a genius.” Griffin stared at his brother-in-law with admiration. “A murderer who only kills on Mondays! Why, one would be completely safe from Tuesday to Sunday.”
    Huff shrugged modestly. “Except for the other murderers.”
    But this was too much for Caro. She snorted like an enraged cow. “Nonsense! What would a ghost be doing running about St. Giles in a harlequin’s motley if he isn’t killing people?”
    Griffin raised his wineglass solemnly. “Once again you’ve debated us into the ground, Caro. I bow from the field of elocution, bloody and defeated.”
    Hero made a small squeaking sound beside him as if stifling a laugh.
    “Griffin,” Mater warned.
    “In any case, I hope the ghost confines himself to St. Giles,” Megs remarked. “I shouldn’t like to run into him tomorrow night.”
    “What’s tomorrow night?” Griffin asked absently. A new dish had been placed before him that seemed to contain jelly with unidentified bits floating in it.
    “We’re off to Harte’s Folly,” Megs said. “Caro and Huff, Lady Hero and Thomas, Lord Bollinger and me, and Lady Phoebe and His Grace.”
    Wakefield stirred at the other end of the table. “I do apologize, but I’ve found I have a prior appointment tomorrow night. I shan’t be able to attend.”
    “Oh, truly, Maximus?” Lady Hero’s voice was softly disappointed. “Who shall escort Phoebe, then? You know she’s been looking forward to this outing.”
    The duke frowned, looking nonplussed. No doubt he was rarely chastised.
    “Does she need an escort?” Griffin asked. “I mean, with all of you there?”
    A look passed between Lady Hero and Wakefield, so fast that Griffin almost thought he’d imagined it.
    “Well, perhaps she needn’t come,” Lady Hero murmured.
    “Oh, but Griffin can escort her,” Megs piped up. “Can’t you, Griffin?”
    Griffin blinked. “I—”
    “Naturally we wouldn’t want to put you out.” Lady Hero was staring fixedly at the plate before her. Her expression was serene, but somehow he knew there was distress in her gaze.
    Thomas was watching him, his face remote.
    “Griffin,” Mater said, and for the life of him he didn’t know if she said his name in encouragement or in warning.
    And in any case it hardly mattered. Once again he gave into temptation. “I’d be delighted to accompany you all to Harte’s Folly.”
    H IS FACE ITCHED .
    Charlie Grady propped one elbow on the plank table he sat at and scratched absently, feeling the bumps and ridges under his fingertips. Freddy, one of his best men, fidgeted in front of him. Freddy was a big bear of a man, all but bald, with a nasty scar running through his lower lip. He’d killed four men in the last month alone, yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to look Charlie in the face. Instead, his gaze dropped to the floor, drifted to the ceiling, and just grazed Charlie’s left ear. If Freddy had been a fly, Charlie would’ve swatted him.
    He might still.
    “Two old women were taken last week by the Duke of Wakefield’s informers,” Freddy was saying. “Makes the others fearful-like.”
    “Have any given up their carts?” Charlie asked gently.
    Freddy shrugged, his eyes fixed over Charlie’s shoulder. “Not yet. They’ll sell gin as long as it makes ’em