“Well, there you are,” Braddon replied. “I’d rather it not be you, given that you have a past with Sophie, but you’re all I’ve got. I can’t ask David to go up the ladder, because he’s a priest, and besides, he didn’t answer my note either. Lord knows Quill is in a worse state than I am. He can’t climb a ladder.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Patrick said moodily.

“I’ll tell you what,” Braddon said, with a brighter note in his voice. “You can wear my mustache and cape, and she’ll never know who you are.”

Patrick poured himself more brandy. “Why should I?”

“What do you mean, why should you? Because we’re friends, that’s why. Because you’re practically my brother. Because you know what my mama’s like, and what she’s liable to do to me if Sophie gives me the bag!”

Patrick stifled a sigh. Braddon’s soulful eyes were fastened on him like those of a retriever that knows you’re holding a bone behind your back.

Well, what the hell. Sophie didn’t want to marry him, so why not act as a procurer for the man she did want to marry?

Braddon was still babbling away. “Look, look right here, Patrick!” He held up a large sack and pulled out a black thing that looked like a stubbly hedgehog.

“What in God’s name is that?”

“A beard,” Braddon said happily. “I bought it from the very best, Henslowe, the man who supplies all the Drury Lane costumes. And there’s a cape too. Look—”

Patrick grimaced and drank some more brandy. So what if Lady Sophie York was suddenly wishful to ruin her reputation by eloping? What was it to him? Nothing. Not a thing. Why shouldn’t he fetch her from the bloody ladder?

Braddon had been looking at him inquiringly and saw the telltale signs. “You’ll do it!” He whooped out loud. “I knew it, Patrick. I knew I could count on you. Damn it, man, but you’re up to the rig on every suit!”

“Insane, more like it,” Patrick said. He cast a nasty glance at Braddon’s leg. “How long do you have to wear that thing anyway?”

“Oh, a couple of weeks,” Braddon said airily.

Patrick leveled him a glance under inky brows. “I thought it took six weeks for a broken limb to heal.”

“You’re probably right,” Braddon agreed. “But you’d better be off, Patrick. Sophie is expecting me up the ladder at midnight—cursed late hour for eloping, if you ask me—and it’s twenty to the hour now.”

Patrick fingered the black hedgehog Braddon threw to him. It fell into two parts, revealing itself to be a beard and a mustache. Braddon then tossed him a small bottle. “There, stick it on with this stuff. You can use the mirror over the fireplace.”