Chapter 3 #2
“I heard the masked man referred to as Night Roamer,” one of the blokes said. “’Tis like he is a knight who is the people’s hero. Kind of makes you want to root for him, don’t you think?”
Ah. They probably meant Knight Roamer—not that Eric was a scholar, but Auntie had insisted he learn to read and write. “You must also speak proper like,” she often said. “So that someday you can leave Whitechapel.” Like that would ever happen.
One of the blokes inclined his chin toward the women in the ring. “Coach’s daughter is fighting well.”
Thankful for the change of subject, Eric’s gaze slid to the females.
Rendered awestruck by the raw power emanating from their petite forms, he couldn’t peel his attention from the scene.
In his humble opinion, both women were exceedingly skilled.
The redhead was quick on her feet, and the brunette threw deadly fast combinations.
He wouldn’t want to meet the end of her hook, not for a plate of sausage, and lord knows he coveted his spicy meats.
“The Stone,” someone said.
Although Eric had only heard the voice once before, he recognized it instantly. While watching the women, he’d let down his guard, giving Hugh Fletcher the opportunity to corner him in front of a dozen individuals. Exhaling, he faced his stalker.
“My name is Hugh Fletcher, and as you know, I have been trying to speak with you for days.”
Eric steadied his voice. “Say your piece.”
“’Tis a private matter,” Fletcher said.
If the man thought to lure him somewhere without witnesses, he should rethink his plan. “You can say it here, or sod off,” Eric said.
Fletcher’s resolve did not falter. With a confident lift to his chin, he stepped closer. “As you wish. I work for your father, and he wants to meet you.”
Eric’s jaw clenched. “I don’t have a father.”
“Imagine that,” one of the dumbbell curlers said.
“Everyone has a father,” Fletcher said. “Just some of us know who he is and some of us don’t.” He shrugged. “You have been blessed with a chance to meet yours.”
Beyond befuddled, Eric stood in the middle of the gymnasium, gawking like a pudding-headed fool.
Eric sat in the back corner of a tavern, a mug of ale in his hand, and a thief-taker seated across from him.
“So, you see,” Fletcher said, “the marquess kept detailed records of his indiscretions. He hired me to track down his by-blows so that he can apologize for abandoning them. I’m unsure if you’re aware, but Chesterhill is extremely wealthy, and if you are willing to meet with him, he intends to compensate you generously.
I assure you, he has no intentions other than assuaging his guilt and doing right by the children he sired, then abandoned.
At first, I struggled to find you because his records indicated he paid your mother to set herself up in a small cottage outside of London.
It seems she never did that.” Fletcher’s voice softened.
“I’m sorry to hear of what truly befell her. ”
His mother would never have abandoned Auntie and the other girls. So what had happened to the blunt, if the marquess had indeed given it to her?
Eric swallowed the lump in his throat. “And how do you know for sure that I am one of his bastards?”
“Besides the records indicating he often sought the company of Cleopatra at The Pink Petal and some letters your mother wrote to him, you look like your half-siblings. You have different coloring, but the resemblance is unquestionable. I ought to know since I am married to your half-sister.”
Dumbfounded, Eric stared at his apparent brother-in-law.
“I know ’tis shocking,” Fletcher said.
Startling, inconceivable, and unexpected.
Caroline Bisoff, a pretty barmaid approached, with a second mug of ale for Fletcher.
Her belly was round with child, and her gaze was filled with affection for Eric.
Luckily, the baby was not his. He had not lain with Caroline in almost two years.
He had not bedded anyone before Caroline, or since the last time they were together.
She’d been besotted. He’d been lost and fighting his demons.
“Thank you.” Fletcher handed her coins. “A little something for the babe.”
“Thank ye, sir.” She smiled at Eric. “Would ye like another, too?”
“No, thank you,” he said.
She smiled down at her belly. “I got married. His name is George, and he works on the docks.”
“I’m happy for you,” Eric sincerely said.
She deserved love. He simply hadn’t been the right man for her.
Hell, he wasn’t the right man for any woman.
The intimacy required in a relationship made him want to run for the hills.
More importantly, if he ever treated a woman he cared about the way men treated prostitutes, he couldn’t live with himself.
“I heard you left the docks,” Caroline said. “Heard you are a champion fighter. I’m not surprised. I knew you would make your dreams come true.” Smiling warmly, she brushed her fingers over his forearm, then moved on.
Fletcher raised a brow. “I won’t ask.”
Good. Because his past relationship was none of the investigator’s business.
“Do you have any questions for me?” Fletcher asked.
One very important question. “Is Chesterhill missing fingers?”
Fletcher’s brow furrowed. “No. He has ten fingers, two hands, two feet, and one head. Why do you ask?”
Eric shrugged. “No reason.”
“Will you meet with him at his country estate?” Fletcher asked.
“I promise, you won’t regret it now that his evil wife is locked away.
You’ll have a comfortable chamber and as much food as you require.
You can leave any time you like, and his solicitor will see that you receive your share of Chesterhill’s wealth. ”
If this were true, Eric might finally be able to afford a home for Auntie. The girls would no longer have to sell their bodies to lecherous men. He tamped down his excitement because this was too good to be true. There had to be a catch—a sell your soul to the devil kind of arrangement.
“I can leave the estate whenever I want?” Eric asked.
“You have my word as your half-brother-in-law.”
Eric traced the rim of his mug as he contemplated all the things that could go wrong with this offer. Lying aristocrats. Ambushes. Exaggerated wealth. Kidnapping. Although who would want to kidnap him?
“Would this wealth I am receiving buy a large home, in let’s say, Chelsea, and feed a dozen individuals?” Eric asked.
Fletcher nodded. “If you are asking me if you will be wealthy enough to free everyone who works at The Pink Petal from a life of servitude, the answer is yes. Twice over.”
Leaving the city until things blew over with Knight Roamer was probably wise. The excursion might even distract him from his desire to walk past the Mayfair beauty’s house a hundred times a day.
“I have things I must attend to first,” Eric said.
“We leave for Chesterhill Manor two mornings hence,” Fletcher said. “Does this suit?”
“Yes.” Eric held out his hand. “Deal.”