Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Daniel followed Lucy’s carriage as it left the alley. Even after it was gone, he could still hear the echoes of its rattling.
“She’s gone,” he reassured himself.
However, as he spoke the words, he also felt bereft.
He had met the woman once, and she had somehow left chaos in her wake.
His blood was still humming, and it had nothing to do with the damp cold of London’s underbelly and everything to do with her honey-brown eyes.
He’d managed to guess who she was and how an innocent woman was about to knock on an escort’s door.
However, he also felt like she could still see through him.
He turned to St. Clair’s back door and slammed the brass knocker against the wood. Three quick raps. It was what he was told to make.
It worked. The door swung open almost immediately after the third knock.
Valentine St. Clair himself stood there, illuminated by the amber glow of candles.
He wore burgundy, which made Daniel wonder if Theo should be there at all with his pale blue suit.
Valentine, however, had his cravat undone. An air of decadence hung about him.
“Ah, the Duke of Stonewynn,” Valentine greeted, his eyes dancing in amusement and surprise.
He leaned against the doorframe, and Daniel wondered if it was because he was expecting someone—someone much smaller, more delicate, and more innocent. The man smelled faintly of brandy and perfume, and he held a crystal glass of the same spirit.
“St. Clair,” Daniel drawled.
“Come inside, although I must admit I was expecting someone with a much, er, softer disposition. A lady, perhaps? I was told it would be someone more cautious and sheltered. However, I am open to anything. Have you decided that ducal life had become so taxing and dull that it has become pertinent for you to seek my professional services?”
Daniel didn’t smile. He remained rigid and unblinking, but he accepted the invitation. He stepped inside, his massive frame forcing Valentine to step back.
“Do not flatter yourself, St. Clair. You are not my type, and I certainly don’t have the patience for your wit tonight.”
Valentine merely chuckled, unoffended. He turned to close the door and slide a heavy iron bolt into place.
“Few men have the patience at this hour. Come to the parlor, Your Grace. If you aren’t here to seek pleasure, I assume you’re here for something else I’m known for—secrets.”
Daniel squinted at the parlor. It was decorated with seduction in mind.
Every detail, such as the velvet upholstery of the chairs, the masculine scent of expensive brandy and tobacco, and the dim lighting, was carefully chosen to make a client come undone.
He thought of the woman who was supposed to enter this room instead of him, and his jaw clenched.
Valentine motioned for him to sit in a leather armchair while he moved to a sideboard laden with various decanters.
“Do you need anything to drink, Your Grace?” he asked smoothly, his hands already flitting over his bottles.
“Water, preferably, but brandy if you don’t have it,” Daniel drawled, keeping his posture rigid and ready.
He knew how to prepare himself for possibilities, especially the need to fight or flee. He wondered what Lucy would have done in a place still strange to her. How desperate must she be to escape her brother to find herself in Valentine’s lair?
“Unfortunately, I don’t have water on the ready. It is healthy, but it often destroys the illusion I am trying to make. Women often come here for a sip to ease their nerves, while others drink even more than I do,” Valentine explained as he poured two fingers of brandy for Daniel.
“The Wolf Duke mentioned you might come. I just didn’t expect you tonight.
I was waiting for a young lady someone else had arranged for to come, but she might have had cold feet.
Anyway, my address is only given to a few clients, and they pass it on to desperate young ladies, matrons, and widows.
Your brother-in-law said you were persistent. ”
Desperate.
Again, Daniel felt a strange protectiveness for his sister’s friend. A woman like her should have had no issues finding a husband, if not for her brother. The Earl seemed determined to keep her in a box.
He understood the feeling of being protective of one’s sister, but not of preventing her from finding happiness. Many of his sisters had found true love with men he had initially thought were cads or rakes, but everything turned out for the best. Much to his relief.
“It is the first time I am trusting Adrian’s connections in the underworld,” Daniel said after a sip of brandy.
He must admit that Valentine chose his spirits well. The amber liquid burned a smooth trail down his throat. Would Lucy have taken this drink?
“He said that you always have eyes and ears, even though you’ve chosen a new focus in your profession. You have managed to foster connections to both the ton and the underground. You can blend well in either when you choose to.”
Valentine looked as relaxed as ever. He was good at this. The man probably talked to people from all walks of life. Of course, he did.
“People tell me things they won’t ever tell their priest or solicitor,” he confirmed. It was not a smug declaration, just a fact. “What secrets are you here for, then, Your Grace, if you are not here to be entertained?”
Daniel inhaled sharply. Then, he rested his elbows on his thighs as he relayed his story.
“A year ago, a fire claimed my uncle—the late Duke of Stonewynn—and my cousin, his heir, in Suffolk. Everyone was quick to call it an accident. A misfortune. A blaze that spread too fast to be contained.” Daniel kept his gaze fixed ahead, though he felt the old heat rising beneath his skin, the remembered glare of flames against stone.
“My family had given no cause for hatred. No public enemy. No quarrel worth blood. And yet, as the house burned, I saw a man run for the woods.”
The image had never loosened its grip on him. The silhouette. The deliberate pace—not panic, but escape.
“I did not ask to inherit any of it,” he continued evenly. “When my father died and left me the marquisate, I learned soon enough that rank is seldom a reward. And when my uncle and cousin perished, the dukedom fell to me because I was the nearest male relative. Nothing more.”
His jaw tightened, though his voice did not falter.
“Stone does not surrender to flame without assistance. Not so swiftly. Not so completely. That fire was fed. Directed.”
He turned his attention fully forward now, resolve settling into something cold and immovable.
“I want the name of a man who understands such craft. Someone capable of discerning how stone was made to burn as though it were tinder. I will not have vengeance born of ignorance. I intend to uncover the truth. With precision.”
The humor on Valentine’s face quickly vanished. Suddenly, the air became chilly. The man might be paid to entertain, but he certainly looked too grave for that now. He set his glass down with a loud clink. His eyes were on Daniel, as if gauging what his true intentions were.
Daniel knew that he was now facing the man who had links to the underbelly of London and its suburbs, and not the one who peddled pleasure.
“Dying by fire is a nasty way to go,” Valentine murmured.
His brow furrowed, and with him looking serious, he appeared to be older than Daniel had initially thought.
“Your uncle and cousin were good men, but perhaps they had come by information they should not have had. I might say the same for you, if you want to pursue this.”
“So, do you know anyone who could help me? Do you know anyone who likes to play with fire?” Daniel pressed, his voice lowering to a growl.
“Your Grace, London’s underground has become a teeming jungle.
However, there are a few men even seasoned criminals fear.
These are those who are cold and calculated and willing to kill.
There’s one in particular who has risen among the ranks in terms of eliminating problems. He is known to eliminate people who know too much,” Valentine confided, his face etched with worry, as if his very words could get him murdered in his bed that very night.
He moved to a small writing desk. He dipped his quill and scribbled something on a piece of paper. Daniel imagined the man also wrote little love notes to women who wanted the full experience of courtship.
Eventually, Valentine handed him the paper.
“This man here. People say that he does not just kill, but also erases. Completely.”
Daniel looked at the paper.
Moses Gordon.
He stared at the name. It seemed like an ordinary name for someone who could wreak havoc. The paper felt heavy in his hand.
“Where can I find this fire starter?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
“Wait,” Valentine said, lifting a hand. His expression did not soften. “You must understand something, Your Grace. This is not a ballroom. This is the sort of world where men act because they have something to lose. Or because they are paid by those who do.”
He drew a slow breath.
“The man you’re asking about works for powerful patrons. People with reputations, fortunes, and influence at stake. When a problem threatens them, he removes it. Quietly. But he himself is a ghost. He moves unseen, does what must be done, and leaves no trace. That is why he survives.”
“Therefore, I need the name of the man more than ever,” Daniel insisted.
Valentine sighed, perhaps because he would not back down. The hunt will be happening, and danger will be close.
“You are a duke. Searching for this man will be difficult for you, while it will be easy for him to sense someone like you. However, you can try looking for him in The Iron Hand, a gambling den in Shoreditch. It is where people, especially men, lose their souls. He may be there, looking for men who may need him. Men who can give him bigger jobs.”
Valentine’s eyes searched Daniel’s.
“You may also have sightings by the docks. He likes sticking around there. He has been linked not just to arson but also to smuggling. You will need someone to accompany you on such missions, and do not go as you are—no, not as a duke. Not as a member of the ton.”
Daniel folded the paper in his hand and rose. He wanted to hunt for this Moses Gordon now. He needed answers now more than ever. The feeling burned hot within him, which was the complete opposite of the cold emptiness he had felt all year long.
“I truly appreciate your assistance, St. Clair,” he said gruffly.
“Tread lightly,” Valentine responded as he walked him to the door. “Vengeance itself can be a blaze some people don’t need to dabble with. It may burn you as much as the other person. I don’t want to have to see your sisters wearing black and seeking me for their own revenge.”
“I will be careful,” Daniel promised, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. “Thank you once more. I will be off.”
He was out into the night and felt that the chill had descended harder with the growing fog. The lamps glowed but cast blurry halos. Daniel could not see clearly either.
He sought his carriage and rode it in silence. He had the most discreet coachman, Thomas, who could also handle himself in a fight if need be.
However, as the carriage rattled away from the dark alley behind Valentine St. Clair’s house, his mind was not on Moses Gordon.
Rather, it was on Lady Lucy Coulson.
Valentine worried about him pursuing his family’s murderers, and yet he didn’t know that a woman had been there not too long ago. She was also in danger just by being there. Just by being a woman.
Daniel told himself that it was the only reason he was still thinking about Victoria’s friend.
It was a strange thing, because for a long time, his mind had been focused only on revenge.