Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Max sent his carriage out with a footman posing as him. A half-hour later, he came back. “Followed?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Max drew in a deep breath. Lord Whitehouse knew they were here. It was noon, and part of him thought he ought to wait until dark, but he had a great deal of business to attend. Moving through Ironheart’s garden, Max slipped out through the back gate, traversing several alleys before he came to a main thoroughfare and hailed a hack.
His first stop was Lady Tabetha’s. He didn’t call upon her. Instead, he skirted around back, entering the kitchen. At this time of day, deliveries were being brought in, and the kitchen was the busiest room in the house. He recognized the butler from his first visit. The man sat in his small office just off the kitchen recording the deliveries and paying vendors.
Max waved to him, and the other man’s eyes lit up with recognition. “My lord. What brings you here?”
Max grimaced as he handed the note to the butler, Sophie’s feminine scroll decorating the front. “From Miss Wren.”
The man nodded, his eyes holding questions that he was well-trained enough not to ask. “I’ll see Lady Tabetha receives this post haste.”
Max nodded and turned to leave.
His next stop was home, where he collected every spare coin he could muster. He’d paid for the townhouse outright with his earnings from his time in the military. He could surely sell for a profit now. That was a problem for another time. He grabbed the deed from his safe. If Whitehouse killed him, Sophie would need it.
Drawing in a breath, he looked around his simple home. He felt little affection for the place. It had served him, but if he didn’t come back, he wouldn’t miss it. With a salute, he turned and left, staying in the shadows.
Then he made his way to his final errand—Lord Cranston.
Max knew the property well enough, as he’d been here many times before delivering messages for the club. He donned his mask and rang the bell at the front door. While he’d already revealed his identity to everyone in the club, he wanted to appear as though he was there on club business, which he supposed he was. Investigating Lord Whitehouse had been for the benefit of the Duke Fraternity, even if his investigation was decidedly more personal now.
He stood on the steps waiting for a minute and then two. He rang the bell again, and that’s when he noticed the curtain next to the window flutter.
“Open up, Cranston,” he said. The curtain dropped and a moment later, the door opened.
“You spoke,” Cranston murmured as he appeared at the door, waving Max in. “I didn’t know.”
Max shook his head. He had spoken and he was honestly as surprised as Cranston. He hadn’t even thought about it, but he’d had multiple, albeit short, conversations with multiple strangers.
When had he become this man? He knew it was because of Sophie. Her acceptance helped him relax and be more comfortable speaking, and doing so clearly and without his stutter.
“I need to speak with you about your father.”
Cranston shivered. “Must we?”
“Yes.”
“What do you wish to know?” Cranston turned and led him through the house. The curtains were drawn in every window, and no fires were lit in any of the grates. Some of the furniture was covered, and other pieces were layered with dust. It looked like the man hardly lived there. Cranston turned into a back study. A fire burned there, and the furniture was uncovered and free of dust. It was the only room in the house that looked inhabited.
Cranston sat in one of the armchairs, gesturing for him to take the other. “It’s good that you came.”
Max’s brows lifted at the marked change in attitude.
Cranston rose again, moving to his desk and pulling out a folder. “My childhood had little joy, as you can imagine. My father insisted that his children live righteously, and he was generous with the whip when we failed.”
Max grimaced. He knew about stern fathers.
“My mother died when I was eight. Banged her head falling down the stairs, they said. I never believed it, not even at eight. I’d heard the arguing right before it happened. I knew the truth.”
Max sat up, his fingers gripping the arm of the chair. It was possible the woman had fallen while trying to escape her husband.
“My little sister was next. Tipped off a balcony.”
Max’s jaw grew granite hard as he thought of little Abigail being in that man’s house.
“And then when I was sixteen, my younger brother fell from his horse. I was already at school, of course, and rarely went home. It ate at me. He was just twelve and I should have been there.” Cranston handed Max the file. “I’ve been a coward, I know it. I’m only alive because I was his heir, but I think…” Cranston tapered off, looking into the fire. “I know the killings were meant to send me a message.”
Or to disguise his son’s murder, or a bid to eliminate the club? Perhaps it was all of the above. “I’m trying to s-stop him. Any advice?”
Cranston nodded. Standing again, he crossed to the desk, pulled a pen from its inkwell, and scratched it across a piece of vellum.
Then, dusting it, he handed it to Max. “The address of his warehouse.”
Max took the paper, not folding it so the ink could dry.
This was the clue he’d been waiting for.
* * *
Sophie paced the library, trying to calm her fears. Max had been gone for a long time. He ought to have returned by now. Ironheart had attempted to comfort her multiple times but had given up and now sat by the fire, sipping at a drink.
After making her hundredth pass, he loudly cleared his throat. “Come. Sit.”
“My apologies, my lord. I?—”
“Sophie. It’s Ironheart. Or Caden, if you’d like to get very comfortable.”
“Caden? Unusual name…”
“Yes. It’s a good story, and I’ll tell it to you if you come sit.”
She sighed as she walked over to him, perching on the edge of the chair, her hands clasped.
Ironheart assessed her for a moment and then stood, pouring a second glass of the amber liquid. He returned, handing one to her.
“Oh, thank you, but I don’t…”
“Today you do. Drink.” He sat back down in his chair.
She took a sip of the liquid. It managed to be both sweet and burn her throat at the same time. Choking it down, she made to set her glass aside, but Ironheart held up a hand to stop her.
“More.”
“But, my…Ironheart…it tastes awful.”
He laughed then and she found herself returning a small smile before she covered it by taking another tiny sip. “It will help you relax and endure the waiting.”
“I think I’d rather pace,” she muttered, but she took a tiny bit more, the warmth of it sliding down her throat.
“I’d rather you join me in drinking.” He set his glass aside, rubbing the spot between his eyes.
She set hers on the table between them as well. “I don’t mean to add to your fear. I just…”
“You’re worried. I am too. I actually like that big lug.” He picked up his glass again and took a healthy swallow. “But as neither of us is with him, there is nothing to do but pass the time while we wait.”
He was right, which is why she relaxed back into her chair, picking up her glass again. “You said you had a story for me, Caden?”
He gave her a wink then, the half-smile curling his lips sin incarnate. This man must have his choice of women. Not that it had much effect on her. Her heart firmly belonged to Max. If something happened to him, she didn’t know how she’d go on. She’d have to, for the sake of Abigail, but the idea of marrying another man left her hollow and empty. Then again, they had no formal promise, just an admittance of feelings. It all unsettled her.
“So, the story of my name. Let’s see. First, it’s an important detail to know that I had an older brother. I was never supposed to be the duke.”
She gasped, her hand coming to her chest. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He waved his hand. “I hardly knew him. I was a toddler when he died. But my mother, hating my father, and having delivered an heir, set about having a very public affair with a known rake and philanderer by the name of Thomas Caden.”
The glass paused halfway to her lips, her eyes going wide. “Oh, Ironheart.”
“Might as well call me Caden, we’re in it now.” He smiled, but the expression held no joy.
“She gave me the name to rub my father’s nose in it, I’m certain. But it all fell apart when the real heir died, and they were left with me. A bastard who was inferior in every way except for the part where I managed to keep living.”
Her heart ached for him. She took another sip, noticing that her limbs were relaxing. “Life does like to present its challenges, doesn’t it?”
“It surely does.” He sighed. “I know you care for Max.”
“I do.”
He gave a small jerk of his chin. “But if the worst happens, I’ll see you settled, Sophie.”
“Thank you, Caden.”
“Caden?” Max rumbled from the doorway.
She nearly spilled the glass in her haste to set it on the table, and then, lifting her skirts, she ran toward him, vaulting herself into his arms. “You’re unharmed.”
He caught her, settling her close to his body, his nose settling into her hair. “I’m here.”
“Thank goodness.” Her feet dangled off the ground, her arms about him as he squeezed her tight to his chest.
Finally, he lowered her to the floor, easing back far enough to look down into her eyes. “I have to go out again.”
She sucked in a breath, her heart aching. She didn’t wish him gone from her side any more today, or tomorrow, or the next day for that matter. But she had no claim to make such demands. Her face, however, surely betrayed her, because he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll be safe.”
“Please don’t go.” She couldn’t quite hold back the words.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he whispered before he eased back.
Then he crossed to Ironheart, and taking her glass, downed most of the liquid in a single swallow. She stood by the door, one hand holding her other elbow as she tried to control her feelings.
“Where are you going?” Ironheart asked, with a tip of his glass.
“Cranston gave me the address of a warehouse. I’m going to investigate.”
Ironheart pushed out of his chair. “I’ll go with you.”
Her breath caught. She knew Max had only found her because he was investigating Lord Whitehouse, but watching him put himself in danger was too much. Tears welled in her eyes. Max and Ironheart came toward her. Her breath stuttered as she drew it in, trying to think of the words that might sway him.
He stopped in front of her, and reaching into his overcoat, he pulled out a hefty bag of coins.
“What is that?”
He reached for her hand, pulling it toward him, and placed the bag in her palm.
Then, he let go, and reached into another pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper.
“It’s the deed to my townhouse,” he said, holding her gaze. “Sell it or live in it.”
Her mouth hung open. This was…it was…she just… “Max?”
“I will be back. We’ll talk then.” With a kiss on her forehead, he was out the door.
She stood there, overwhelmed with emotion. Fear, gratitude, and love vied in her chest as she stared down at the gifts he’d bestowed upon her.
“Please come back,” she whispered into the empty room. She sank to her knees to pray.