work.”
“Yes,” Emma put in swiftly. “Very dangerous work. Louisa, I really don’t think you should go forward with this plan. You take enough risks as it is.”
There was a short silence. Anthony switched his attention to Emma.
He had picked up the scent, Louisa thought. There would be no distracting him now.
“Very well, sir.” She folded her hands together. “I will explain myself, but I must warn you that there really is no choice but to cooperate. If you do not, we will likely continue to find ourselves tripping over each other for the foreseeable future.”
Anthony studied her. “Mrs. Bryce, are you so bored with Society that you seek to take grave risks to your person merely to amuse yourself?”
“I am going to tell you something that very few people know. Emma is one of those people. Another is the editor and publisher of the Flying Intelligencer.”
“That rag? What in blazes can you possibly have to do with a disreputable paper that thrives on the most lurid sensations?”
She had expected that reaction, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, she was crushed and annoyed by his casual disdain.
“As it happens,” she said coolly, “I am a correspondent for that disreputable rag.”
Anthony went very still. It was, she reflected, the first time she had seen him stopped cold in his tracks. She tried to take some satisfaction from that turn of events. His opinion of her had no doubt plummeted to a very low point, but at least she had managed to startle him. She had the feeling that did not happen very often.
“You are a correspondent?” he repeated, his voice quite neutral.
“A secret correspondent,” she clarified. “I write under the name I. M. Phantom.”
“Well, it no doubt serves me right.” He shook his head and then his mouth twitched a little.
She glowered. “You find my career amusing, sir?”
“Astonishing would be a better word.” He paused. “My sister would be thrilled to meet you.”
Louisa brightened. “She reads my work?”
“Of course. But that is not the only reason why she would enjoy making your acquaintance. As it happens the two of you have a great deal in common.”
“I don’t understand. Is your sister also a correspondent?”
“No, but she is in a similar profession, one that, like yours, compels her to conceal her identity.”
“What does she do?” Louisa asked eagerly. She had never encountered another woman who had also assumed a false identity.
“She writes plays under the name E. G. Harris.”
“I know her work.” Louisa was barely able to contain her excitement. “Her plays are staged at the Olympia Theater. The current one is Night on Sutton Lane. I went to see it last week. There are several thrilling sensations including the most astonishing scene of a ship sinking at sea.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“One believes the heroine must surely drown because she was involved in an illicit love affair, and everyone knows that illicit love affairs always come to bad ends in sensation dramas. Nevertheless, at the last minute a gentleman appears out of nowhere and saves her.” Louisa sighed. “Unfortunately, he is not Nigel, the man whom she loved.”
“As I recall, Nigel was already married,” Anthony said.
“Yes, but he didn’t know it, you see. He thought his wife was dead when she had actually been locked up in an asylum by her scheming brother.”
“I assure you I have seen the play, Mrs. Bryce. There is no need to describe it.”
She blushed, embarrassed. “Yes, of course.”
Emma chuckled. “Louisa is a great fan of your sister’s plays, sir.”
“So I see.” Anthony raised his brows. “It so happens that I have read some of your news reports, Mrs. Bryce.”
“I’m surprised to hear you admit that you have read anything printed in the Flying Intelligencer.” But a
little thrill of pleasure went through her. He had read her work.
“The Intelligencer has two categories of
“Yes,” Emma put in swiftly. “Very dangerous work. Louisa, I really don’t think you should go forward with this plan. You take enough risks as it is.”
There was a short silence. Anthony switched his attention to Emma.
He had picked up the scent, Louisa thought. There would be no distracting him now.
“Very well, sir.” She folded her hands together. “I will explain myself, but I must warn you that there really is no choice but to cooperate. If you do not, we will likely continue to find ourselves tripping over each other for the foreseeable future.”
Anthony studied her. “Mrs. Bryce, are you so bored with Society that you seek to take grave risks to your person merely to amuse yourself?”
“I am going to tell you something that very few people know. Emma is one of those people. Another is the editor and publisher of the Flying Intelligencer.”
“That rag? What in blazes can you possibly have to do with a disreputable paper that thrives on the most lurid sensations?”
She had expected that reaction, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, she was crushed and annoyed by his casual disdain.
“As it happens,” she said coolly, “I am a correspondent for that disreputable rag.”
Anthony went very still. It was, she reflected, the first time she had seen him stopped cold in his tracks. She tried to take some satisfaction from that turn of events. His opinion of her had no doubt plummeted to a very low point, but at least she had managed to startle him. She had the feeling that did not happen very often.
“You are a correspondent?” he repeated, his voice quite neutral.
“A secret correspondent,” she clarified. “I write under the name I. M. Phantom.”
“Well, it no doubt serves me right.” He shook his head and then his mouth twitched a little.
She glowered. “You find my career amusing, sir?”
“Astonishing would be a better word.” He paused. “My sister would be thrilled to meet you.”
Louisa brightened. “She reads my work?”
“Of course. But that is not the only reason why she would enjoy making your acquaintance. As it happens the two of you have a great deal in common.”
“I don’t understand. Is your sister also a correspondent?”
“No, but she is in a similar profession, one that, like yours, compels her to conceal her identity.”
“What does she do?” Louisa asked eagerly. She had never encountered another woman who had also assumed a false identity.
“She writes plays under the name E. G. Harris.”
“I know her work.” Louisa was barely able to contain her excitement. “Her plays are staged at the Olympia Theater. The current one is Night on Sutton Lane. I went to see it last week. There are several thrilling sensations including the most astonishing scene of a ship sinking at sea.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“One believes the heroine must surely drown because she was involved in an illicit love affair, and everyone knows that illicit love affairs always come to bad ends in sensation dramas. Nevertheless, at the last minute a gentleman appears out of nowhere and saves her.” Louisa sighed. “Unfortunately, he is not Nigel, the man whom she loved.”
“As I recall, Nigel was already married,” Anthony said.
“Yes, but he didn’t know it, you see. He thought his wife was dead when she had actually been locked up in an asylum by her scheming brother.”
“I assure you I have seen the play, Mrs. Bryce. There is no need to describe it.”
She blushed, embarrassed. “Yes, of course.”
Emma chuckled. “Louisa is a great fan of your sister’s plays, sir.”
“So I see.” Anthony raised his brows. “It so happens that I have read some of your news reports, Mrs. Bryce.”
“I’m surprised to hear you admit that you have read anything printed in the Flying Intelligencer.” But a
little thrill of pleasure went through her. He had read her work.
“The Intelligencer has two categories of
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