India Black and the Rajah's Ruby (8 page)

My first thought, of course, was that French had cocked up his latest mission and needed my help to straighten out the affair. I felt the urge to fluff my feathers and preen a bit, to be followed by some well-deserved indulgence in the sin of pride (one can always ask forgiveness later), when a dreadful thought struck me like a blow. What if French had been injured, or worse, had gotten himself scragged? I could see it, I really could, given the poncy bastard’s ridiculous commitment to the standards of conduct he’d learned at Eton or Winchester or wherever he’d spent his youth. It would be just like the man to offer his opponent the chance to get off the floor and recover his knife before the fight continued. My stomach clenched and I felt a faint palpitation near what I assumed to be the location of my heart. Damn Mrs. Drinkwater’s wretched food; I must find a proper cook someday.

I cast a glance at my traveling companion, to see if the news of French’s fate might be discerned from his expression, but deuced if it wasn’t like staring at the Sphinx’s profile. There was nothing to do but watch the rain drench the few pedestrians on the sidewalks, and drum my fingers on my knee until the Egyptian statue cast me a sidelong glance and I dispensed with that diversion. It wasn’t far to the Langham, but it felt like we had journeyed to Edinburgh by the time we arrived. I piled out of the carriage, ignoring Dizzy’s messenger and made for the door.

I set a sharpish pace to the prime minister’s suite, and my chum just managed to maneuver around me to knock on the door and announce our presence before I burst into the room like a schoolmaster smelling smoke in the dormitory.

***

Click here fore more books by Carol K. Carr

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Carol K. Carr

INDIA BLACK

INDIA BLACK AND THE WIDOW OF WINDSOR

INDIA BLACK AND THE SHADOWS OF ANARCHY

Specials

INDIA BLACK AND THE RAJAH’S RUBY