Seducing the Viscount by Alexandra Ivy Page B

expansive stables that now contained only a handful of horses. He even had enough sense to halt in the tack room and grab a leather satchel.
    Halting in the shadows he pulled a folded playbill from beneath his jacket and studied the gaudy painting of two Greco-Roman wrestlers. He had never heard of the London theatre that was listed or the strange performances that were printed on the back. Certainly it was not a licensed theatre or the usual plays expected by London audiences.
    It could be nothing, of course, but it had captured his attention hidden among the other magazines and letters that had been stuffed into his father’s desk in the conservatory. And he had spent enough time in the more disreputable parts of London to know that such follies could be true dens of iniquity. Perhaps his father’s deeply held secret was connected to such a place.
    It was at least a place to begin.
    Thank God, Mercy had not realized he was stealing the damnable thing when she had entered the conservatory and . . .
    Oh, for Christ’s sake.
    Shoving the playbill into the satchel, Ian went in search of a servant. Maybe if he kept moving he could put the damn wench from his mind.
    It took only a few moments before he managed to corner one of the grooms tending to his aunt’s matching pair of grays.
    â€œYou there,” he called softly. The fewer who knew of his visit to the stables, the better.
    The thin, young man with a shock of red hair and a spotty face dropped the brush and stepped from the stall. His muddy brown eyes widened as he realized who had interrupted his duties.
    Ian hid a wry smile. For all his father’s less-than-admirable traits, there was no doubt he had ensured that his bastard son was treated with nothing but absolute respect by the staff. Ian could not remember a moment when his requests were not attended to with gratifying eagerness.
    â€œAye, sir?” the groom demanded, his gaze lingering for a wistful moment on Ian’s elegantly tied cravat before returning to regard him with an expectant expression.
    â€œI have a task for you.”
    There was no hesitation as the groom gave a nod of his head. Obviously the boy had been taught that Norrington’s bastard son was to be obeyed without question.
    â€œVery good. How may I be of service?”
    Ian held out the leather pouch. “I wish you to take this satchel directly to Mr. Raoul Charlebois in Drury Lane.”
    The brown eyes widened in wonderment. “Raoul Charlebois, the actor?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBloody hell.”
    Ian smiled. Even in the midst of the country, his friend managed to inspire a reverent awe.
    â€œDo not allow anyone to open it.” His narrowed gaze warned that this included the groom. “And for God’s sake, do not lose it.”
    The servant appeared suitably offended as he reached to take the satchel. “Certainly not, sir.”
    â€œWhen you reach Mr. Charlebois, I want you to tell him it is from me and that I wish to know everything there is to know about what is inside.” He held up a hand at his companion’s puzzled expression. “He will understand, trust me. Can you remember all that?”
    â€œI’m to deliver this here satchel to Mr. Charlebois in Drury Lane and tell him to find out whatever he can about the thing.”
    â€œWell done.” Reaching beneath his jacket, Ian extracted a coin from his pocket and pressed it into the groom’s hand. “If anyone is to ask, I sent you to London with a missive for my mistress.”
    The groom shrugged, clearly unperturbed by the request. “Aye.”
    â€œMake the journey as swiftly as possible and there will be another shilling for you.”
    A glint of anticipation brightened the brown eyes. “Aye, sir. Very generous.”
    Assured that the playbill would soon be in Raoul’s hands, Ian turned and made his way out of the stables. If he were quick enough, he might have time to search