Burning Lamp by Amanda Quick

streets from his voice, the knowledge that he had gained in London’s darkest alleys was still there in his startlingly blue eyes.
    Adam Harrow, however, had come from an upper-class background. He was the very image of a modern, debonair man-about-town. He projected an effortless air of elegant ennui that marked him as well bred and fashionably jaded. His trousers and wing-collared shirt were in the very latest style. His light brown hair was brushed straight back from his forehead and gleamed with a judicious application of pomade.
    Pierce studied Adelaide with an appraising look. “I will not pry but may I ask whether you and Winters arrived at a mutually satisfactory understanding?”
    Of course he would not pry, Adelaide thought. In Pierce’s secretive world, privacy was to be respected at all costs.
    “I would not call it a mutually satisfactory understanding,” Adelaide said. She fanned herself more briskly. “But I did agree to assist Mr. Winters with a certain project. In exchange I received a rather vague promise to repay the favor at some unspecified future date.”
    “I do not know why you are grumbling about such a bargain,” Adam said. His eyes glinted with amusement. “Having Griffin Winters in your debt strikes me as no small thing. There are those who would give a fortune to be in your position.”
    “The problem with the bargain is that Mr. Winters made it quite clear that he will repay me only if he approves of the favor that I ask.” Adelaide tried another sip of champagne and lowered the glass. “He has already refused my first request.”
    Pierce’s brows shot up. “That does not sound like Winters. He may be as hard as granite but he has built an equally solid reputation as a man of his word.”
    “Precisely,” Adam agreed smoothly. “If the Director of the Consortium lets it be known that a certain individual will disappear if said individual does not move his opium business to another neighborhood, one can place a secure bet on the result.”
    Adelaide glared at him through the veil. “You’re trying to frighten me.”
    “Don’t worry.” Adam smiled. “You’re not selling opium.”
    Pierce looked thoughtful. “Winters must have had a very compelling reason to deny you the first favor. He can deliver anything, except the impossible. And on occasion, he has been known to come through with that, as well.”
    “Did you request the impossible?” Adam inquired.
    “Not at all,” Adelaide said. “I merely asked him to help me revise my strategy for the brothel raids. He pointed out that they have become predictable. I had already reached the same conclusion.”
    “Ah,” Pierce murmured. “Well, that explains it.”
    “Explains what?” Adelaide demanded.
    “Winters knows that every time you go into a brothel you court disaster. He would never agree to help you take such a risk.”
    “Because if something goes wrong with a strategy that he had helped plot he would feel responsible?” Adelaide asked.
    “Yes,” Pierce said. “But there is another consideration as well. If word got out that he was behind an assault on one of Luttrell’s establishments, it would shatter the Truce.”
    Adelaide flicked the fan, irritated. “He did mention the Craygate Cemetery Truce. Somehow, it is difficult to take an agreement between crime lords seriously.”
    “I assure you, the Cemetery Truce is an agreement that we all take extremely seriously,” Pierce said evenly. “The open warfare that was going on between Winters and Luttrell in the months following Forrest Quinton’s death affected many of us whose businesses were only on the sidelines.”
    “Who was Forrest Quinton?”
    “The undisputed emperor of London’s underworld,” Pierce said. “He ruled for nearly three decades. Collapsed and died of a heart attack several years ago. It is generally assumed that the man who took over his organization arranged his very convenient death.”
    “Luttrell?” Adelaide