My Wicked Little Lies. Victoria Alexander

their destruction that appealed to her; there was certainly no debating their beauty. Or more likely, it was their mystery that called to something deep inside her. Now, however, another mystery beckoned. She turned and made her way through the museum to the street.

      “Well?” Celeste said as soon as Evelyn had settled in her seat and the carriage had started off.

      “Well, I was given this.” She pulled the book out of her bag.

      “The cover ...” Her gaze slipped to Evelyn’s locket. “It matches the locket. How very clever.”

      “Men do like their toys.”

      Celeste nodded. “Indeed, but this particular toy identifies you to the courier and the book to you. And it is a lovely locket.”

      “If you like it ...” Evelyn put the book on her lap, unfastened the chain around her neck, and handed the necklace to her friend. “You may have it.”

      “Are you sure?” Celeste took the locket. “You may need it again, for another meeting perhaps.”

      “Then I shall borrow it from you if necessary. I don’t want it.” She shook her head. “Besides, I should have a difficult time explaining to Adrian a new piece of jewelry that is as personal as a locket.”

      “It is personal, isn’t it?”

      “Max, no doubt, found that amusing.”

      Celeste turned the locket over in her hand. “Did you open it?”

      “I tried but it’s either jammed or not designed to open. Regardless, it’s served its purpose.” Evelyn picked up the book. “Oddly enough, the courier didn’t give this to me. An older gentleman said a young man, on his way out of the museum, asked him to deliver the book, saying I had dropped it.”

      “Couldn’t the older man have been the courier?”

      “Possibly but he never once looked at the locket.”

      “You noticed.” Celeste grinned. “I have never been prouder.”

      “I wasn’t bad at this, you know.” Irritation sounded in Evelyn’s voice. “I did learn a few helpful things.”

      “Of course you did.” Celeste’s eyes widened with feigned innocence. Celeste had worked for the department far longer than Evelyn did and was far more experienced.

      Evelyn ignored her. “For whatever reason, the man entrusted with this decided not to approach me directly.”

      “How very interesting,” Celeste murmured. “One has to wonder why.”

      “Or not read anything of significance into it,” Evelyn said pointedly. “Both answers are tempting. But for now ...” She blew a resigned breath and opened the book.

      “What is the title?”

      Evelyn leafed through the book one page at a time. “The Three Musketeers.”

      Celeste snorted. “How original of Sir Maxwell.”

      Evelyn paged through the first six chapters. On the seat opposite her, Celeste fiddled with the locket. Midway through the seventh chapter, Evelyn found a piece of paper, neatly folded and tucked tightly against the spine. “This is it.”

      She pulled the paper free, opened it, and read.

      “Don’t keep me in suspense. What does it say?”

      “It’s very brief.” There were only a few lines written in Max’s precise hand. “According to Max’s information, he suspects Lord Dunwell to be in possession of the file.”

      “Why?”

      “He doesn’t say.”

      “I mean, why did he have to arrange for the theft, as I assume a viscount wouldn’t hit a man over the head, take something from him, and leave him in a brothel.” Celeste shrugged. “He’s a member of Parliament. Wouldn’t he just ask for the information?”

      “One would think, but I doubt a mere request would provide the names he wants. Besides, it would make his interest known.” Evelyn considered the question. “Its illicit acquisition would indicate his motives are not entirely aboveboard.” Her gaze returned to the note. “It says here, if Dunwell has the file, it’s likely to be among his personal papers in his library.”

      “I’m not sure I like his use of the word if.”

      “It gets worse.” She sighed and met her friend’s gaze. “Lord and Lady Dunwell are having a reception tomorrow night for the Spanish ambassador, a distant relative of the Spanish royal family, I believe. Nonetheless, we had decided not to attend.”

      “Oh?” Celeste raised a brow. “I was certain I had sent an acceptance of the invitation.”

      “Yes, well, we had planned to beg off.” Evelyn shrugged. “Send our regrets with some plausible explanation. Adrian is not at all fond of Dunwell. He finds him pompous and obnoxious and overbearing. And Lady Dunwell has never been one of my favorites. She has never gotten over losing Adrian although he says he had no real interest in her. Now, however, we shall have to attend.”

      “How will you explain your change of heart?”

      “I’ll think of something.” Evelyn returned her attention to Maxwell’s note. “He adds here that his information might not be accurate.” She raised her gaze to meet her friend’s. “And isn’t that just bloody well perfect.”

      “Lady Waterston.” Celeste gasped in mock dismay. “Such language.”

      “My language is the least of my worries,” Evelyn said sharply. “I am about to search a man’s library, which probably means a locked desk—”

      Celeste scoffed. “A minor difficulty.”

      “In the midst of a reception with any number of distinguished guests and the Spanish ambassador as well as my husband.” She huffed. “Damnation.”

      “Speaking of your husband ...” Celeste’s manner was cautious.

      “Yes?”

      “And my employer.”

      Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “I know who he is.”

      “I’m not entirely certain but ...”

      “What is it?”

      Celeste paused as if choosing her words. “When we arrived, I noticed a cab pull up on the other side of the street.”

      “And?”

      “And it looked to me that the gentleman seated inside was Lord W. Of course, I could be wrong,” she added quickly. “Indeed, I probably am.”

      “Probably.” Evelyn’s heart sank. Celeste’s powers of observation were legendary.

      “But I didn’t really get a good look at the man,” Celeste said. “Nothing more than a glimpse. He never got out of the carriage, and a few minutes after you went into the museum, he left.”

      “It doesn’t strike you as odd that a cab stops at the museum, with a gentleman inside that may or may not be my husband, then does not leave the cab and instead drives off?”

      “Not at all.” Celeste paused. “Perhaps a little.” She studied the other woman. “Do you think Lord W might have been following you?”

      “Adrian?” She scoffed. “Never. To what end? Certainly, I didn’t mention going to the museum, but that could well have been entirely innocent on my part. I’ve never given him any reason to distrust me.” Although he had thought something was wrong last night. Regardless, she’d never known him to let his imagination get the best of him. “Besides, he’s not the sort of man who would follow anyone, let alone his wife.” She thought for a moment. “He would consider that sort of thing distasteful, even dishonorable.”

      “My