Chapter Thirty-Five
Three nights. Three days. No news.
Max nearly put his fist through a wall. He would have enjoyed throwing a bottle of wine at someone or smashing the teapot into smithereens.
Instead, he sat at his father’s desk staring at stacks of correspondence that had been completely ignored and wishing he could set fire to the entire room.
Unfortunately, Westminster was not a location that could be set alight without significant pain to the country.
He bloody well didn’t care what pain it gave his father.
Three nights ago, his father had collapsed before Max could beg, barter, or beat the man for information on what he’d done to Yihui.
He’d do so now if the man weren’t a furious lump of man trapped in his bed.
Indeed, Max had tried, but the duke spread hatred around with equal measure these days.
And that included refusing to do anything useful out of spite.
The duke was a powerful man frozen in a body that only responded to partial commands.
His entire right side was sluggish at best. But what he did with his left was villainous.
He threw food at people, he cursed them in incoherent screams, and he refused to interact with anyone but his valet.
And that man was on the verge of quitting, despite years of faithful service.
Meanwhile, Max had scoured London looking for a Chinese woman secreted away somewhere. Anywhere. He had all his contacts looking, called in all his favors, and even paid a Bow Street runner for leads. They’d come up with nothing and he’d been furious enough to contemplate patricide.
Unable to stomach one minute more with doctors or his fretful mother, Max had gone to his father’s office in Westminster.
There was a great deal of business here or so his father claimed.
Papers regarding the management of the country.
Treaties on the proper commerce of corn or cotton or slaves.
All of it bore his father’s characteristic hard slash of commentary.
Max had come here to find any information he could about where Yihui had been taken. What he found instead lit the last flame that burned down any respect he had for his own father.
He found a haphazard pile of unopened mail shoved into a drawer.
Closer inspection revealed them as reports, questions, and demands all regarding the family’s properties.
Most were from their stewards, some were from solicitors regarding a legal requirement, and a few were unpaid bills that had gone neglected for months.
Max thought of all the times he had begged his father to turn over the management of the estate to him.
How he’d worked to prove his intelligence, to show that he’d studied the latest farming techniques or land management theories.
His father had steadfastly refused to consider turning over any management because Max was too immature to be capable, too lazy to do the hard work, or just plain wrongheaded in his ideas.
That was what his father had said. Now Max knew his father had been shoving reports into a desk drawer to gather dust. The duke had chosen to do nothing rather than allow his son any scrap of control.
A quiet knock sounded at the door. Max rounded on it with a snarl but held back the bulk of his fury.
Whoever was on the other side of the door didn’t deserve what was boiling inside of him.
He took a moment to compose himself, then bid whomever to enter.
And if God was smiling on him, it would be Chris with news of Yihui.
God was not smiling. Neither was the man who opened the door.
Major Gabriel Michael Lance was the bastard son of the Duke of Torbay and famous courtesan Triana Sabate.
He had a blunt nose and full mouth beneath his light blond hair.
And though his dark-blue eyes were always deferential, no other aspect of his body gave quarter to anyone. Except to Lord Benedict.
He was Lord Benedict’s right-hand man. If anyone could find an answer, it would be him. And since he would not normally be here, knocking on the duke’s office door at Westminster, Max felt a surge of hope.
Max immediately snapped to attention, though it was the other man who hailed from the military. “Good afternoon, Major. Have you come with news? Or does Lord Benedict require—”
“Nothing, my lord. I’m here with news.”
Thank God! “Please, come in.”
Typically, the man never overstepped, never went where he wasn’t invited.
At least not when being observed. What the major did unofficially was another matter entirely, but Max knew better than to ask about that.
There were darker sides to diplomacy, and the major was the man Benedict turned to whenever that was needed.
If anyone could find Yihui, it was Major Lance. But getting the man to speak was always a problem. Max restrained his impatience while the major shut the office door and settled into a parade rest.
“Have you found her, Major?”
“Yes.”
Max leaped up from his chair, ready to dash away. He only needed the address. But before he could demand it, the major held up his hand.
“You cannot go to her, my lord. This information is for your peace of mind only.”
“The devil you say! Tell me where she is!”
“I will not, my lord.”
Rare was the soul who could stand in apparent ease before an angry peer of the realm. Max gathered all of his consequence about him and tried to intimidate the major with the force of his next words.
“You will tell me everything, Major. I am not in the mood to give quarter.”
“Even if it is expressly against her wishes? You have her best interest at heart, do you not? You wish for her safety? Her happiness?”
It was the word safety that stalled him. And that left room for the question of her happiness to truly penetrate his thoughts. First things first, though.
“Is she in danger?”
“No.”
Always short and to the point, but Max wanted details. That meant making sure the major was comfortable enough to share them. So he gestured at the seat across from the desk and then reached into the back depths of the lowest desk drawer. “Please take a seat, Major. Care for some Scots whisky?”
The man visibly brightened. “Thank you, my lord.”
“It’s the best thing that comes out of our northern estate.” He poured them both a healthy measure. Whisky wasn’t his favorite drink, but he appreciated its hard burn.
The major, on the other hand, didn’t seem to savor the alcohol, but slammed it back with unusual speed. Max felt his brows rise in surprise. The normally unflappable major appeared to be…flapped.
“I think you’d best tell me what is going on.”
“Miss Wong is safe and well. Indeed, I’ve spoken with her, and she said she’s content. And that she doesn’t want to see you.”
Max shook his head. She must be confused. “It was my father who abducted her. I didn’t do it.”
“She knows.”
“I’ve been spending the last several days trying to find her. I still haven’t heard from Chris, and he went out that very night.”
The major nodded but didn’t respond.
“Doesn’t she know I tried to stop it?”
“Yes. I told her all of that.”
Max stared down at his drink, then emptied it. The burn didn’t ease any of his confusion, but it certainly focused his attention—momentarily—on something other than feeling completely betrayed.
“I’ve been trying to find her.” That was why he’d come to his father’s office. He’d wanted to search for information on Noah Pearson. His father had to have some record of how he’d found the man, how he’d used him to grab Yihui. “Is she well?”
“Better than well, my lord. She’s healing and seemingly happy.”
“Happy?” She was happy? When he was steeped in misery and frustration?
“She sends her regards, my lord. She is very aware that you saved her life in more ways than one. She knows that you had nothing to do with her abduction, but she has found her feet…so to speak. She is well and…” His voice trailed away.
“And what?”
“And she wants no more to do with men of any kind.”
“I’m not any kind!” he snapped. “I’m… I’m…
” What was he to say? He was the one who touched her in ways that had thrilled them both.
He was the one who planned to set up her apothecary shop.
And he was the one who alternated between nightmares of what might be happening to her and memories of what they had shared. “I’m her fiancé.”
“She believes—rightly, I think—that with her disappearance, the prince will not hold you to any engagement. You are free, my lord, to marry whom you wish.” The major frowned at Max. “She gave me the impression that was exactly what you wanted.”
“What?”
“To marry someone else. Lady Kimberly, I believe.”
“Kim has thrown me over.”
“My condolences.”
Max dismissed that with a sloppy jerk of his hand. “She was right. We don’t suit.” But he and Yihui always had.
Logically, he knew that was a ridiculous thought.
He’d only known Yihui for two weeks, probably the most difficult weeks of both their lives.
It had certainly been an impossible one for him.
Together, they’d found a rhythm. He’d always been able to talk with her.
She made him smile and he thought he’d brought some lightness to her.
Though, damn it, the truth was that she’d been in an impossible situation. Any man who didn’t hurt her was an improvement on her situation. So whereas he’d found her to be a delight, she had probably been grateful to survive until the next day.
“I have to speak to her,” he said. He had to see if what he felt for her was a reflection of his unsettled life or if there was genuine feeling between them. “She’s still my fiancée.”
The major’s face tightened. “My lord,” he began, then he softened. “Max, what are you about? She’s a foreigner, and you’re a duke’s son. There can be nothing between you. I came to tell you that she is safe and happy. You can ask for no more than that.”
“How did you find her?”
“How is your father?”
“The same. By which I mean he is debilitated and furious. As far as I can tell, his mind is whole which makes it all the worse. He can think, he can want, but he cannot express himself well. The only mercy is that he tires easily.”
The major nodded even as his gaze swept across the disaster that was his father’s desk. “Do you need help with this lot?”
“This?” he asked and pointed at the piles of treaties, proclamations, and whatnot.
All of his father’s most important political maneuvering.
“It can go to the devil, for all I care.” He’d never enjoyed his father’s politics and couldn’t care less about them now.
“But this lot…” He pulled up one stack of unopened mail from their various properties.
“This shall require a man with a steady hand, clear head, and a mind for figures.” Unfortunately, he seriously doubted he was such a man.
He understood it, could eventually sort through it, but the sheer volume of work defeated him.
He poured himself another glass.
“You need help with it, my lord.”
“Do you know anyone?” He knew the major was too busy with his work for Lord Benedict to spare the time.
“I might—”
“The person you find can’t be political. The last thing I want is one of my father’s cronies pressuring me or anyone who works for me—”
“I know of a man. He’s common but brilliant with numbers. Don’t know anything about his education, but he was damned brilliant in the army.”
“What did he do?”
“Quartermaster, mostly, but not in the usual way.”
“What does that mean?”
“He found things that weren’t there, stopped things from going astray, and never failed to have another plan with things went bollocks.”
Max’s brows went up. Such a man would have found employment in any of a thousand of different places. “What is wrong with him?”
“He’s Irish. And mouthy.”
Max chuckled. “But he can handle numbers?” He looked at the mound of papers. “Lots of numbers.”
“He prefers them to people.”
“Excellent. Send him to me at the house.” He finished his whisky and capped the bottle.
Then he began gathering the papers into a satchel.
He might as well get started on them tonight.
The major took his cue, straightening up as well.
He still looked apologetic, but definitely more at ease.
Which made it the perfect opportunity for Max to strike.
“She’s at the Rose Garden, isn’t she? That’s how you know. Your mother owns that brothel.”
The major covered his reaction well, but Max had timed it perfectly. He saw the flash of shock in the man’s eyes quickly covered by a flat expression.
“I will not let this rest,” Max continued. Indeed, he was going there right now.
The man abruptly reached across the desk. His hand was large and calloused where it landed on Max’s arm, but it was not harsh. Indeed, it was almost kind.
“To what end?” he asked. “Think! It is best for both of you to let it be. She can move on with her life, and you certainly have plenty to settle in yours.”
Max shook off the man. “She’s in a brothel!”
“Not exactly!” The major huffed. “She’s not servicing customers. She’s doctoring the whores. She’s even getting an apothecary shop apart from the Rose Garden.” He looked hard at Max. “That’s everything she’s ever wanted, isn’t it? That’s what she told me.”
“Everything she’s ever wanted.” It wasn’t a question. He was echoing it to make sure the words sunk into his soul. He’d seen her mixing her teas. She’d been so happy then, likely in heaven right now if the major’s words were to be believed.
He swallowed. The logical part of his mind argued sternly that he should face the problems that had landed on his plate and not the woman who seemed to be happily settled.
He couldn’t do it. “I must see for myself.”
“And if you see her content?”
What would he do? Could he leave her to enjoy the rest of her life?
“She will hear no more from me.”
The major nodded, though the expression seemed resigned. “Then I will take you.” His gaze sharpened. “And once you have seen the truth of my words—”
“We will go home and drink the rest of my father’s whisky.”