Epilogue
Matthew
The hazard tournament had been fruitful for Matthew’s pockets but not for the information they’d been hoping to uncover.
The Earl of Cornwall had never appeared.
Since speaking to him and finding out why he had not attended the trip to the hunting lodge, especially after inviting Nathanial’s to the lodge, had been the point of attending, that was disappointing.
When Christian had finally been able to obliquely question the man’s friends, they all swore they were surprised by his absence; as far as they knew, he’d planned to attend.
He, Drake, and Christian had seen through the rest of the night, as leaving at that point would have been suspicious. Matthew was too close to winning to leave without comment.
When the Tramp and his lady indulged in their usual voyeuristic show after the end of the tournament, he quickly took his winnings and got out the door while everyone was distracted, Christian and Drake on his heels.
“I do not suppose you could try to lose every once in a while,” Christian grumbled. “Sometimes it is unlucky to be winning, especially when it draws the ire of every man in the establishment.”
Matthew shrugged.
“That’s not how it seems to work.” In truth, he had no idea why his luck always worked out like that. Sometimes, he considered it fate’s apology for saddling him with his father.
“Well, I’m off to home. It’s late.” Drake made a show of yawning widely.
“I as well.” Christian shook his head. “My carriage is down this way. Do either of you need a ride home?”
Taking ducal carriages into the Warren was not wise—one was likely to return to find the coachman gone or dead and any ornamentation on the thing stripped.
But Drake shook his head.
“I have one at the end of that street.” He gestured vaguely in the opposite direction that Christian had indicated. “I will likely see you tomorrow or the day after.”
“Good night,” Matthew said, frowning, because something about Drake’s demeanor was bothering him.
“Good night,” Christian echoed, and looked at Matthew as Drake ambled off down the street, hand stuck in his pockets. It was so very casual. Too casual. “What about you?”
“Ah…” Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled out his lucky coin, causing Christian to groan.
“You cannot even take a ride home without using your coin?”
“I am not sure I am ready to go home.”
“You cannot be serious. You cannot stay here; you will be coshed and robbed.”
“That does not sound like the kind of luck I have.” Matthew grinned at his friend.
Being hit over the head and his pockets emptied was not something he’d ever worried about, no matter the sum of money he carried or where he was.
He’d never had it turn out badly before; why would things change now?
Sadly, the same could not be said for things like his carriage, which is why he’d taken a hackney into the Warrens.
He flipped his coin into the air.
Should I follow Drake?
The question did not need to be asked aloud, thankfully, since he did not know what Christian would think. He was not entirely sure he understood the impulse to follow his friend and see what he was about. The man had just turned down another street.
The coin landed in his hand, and he swung it over to lay it flat on the back of his opposite wrist.
Heads.
He was to follow Drake.
Shrugging his shoulders, he grinned at Christian.
“It seems my night is not over yet.”
Rolling his eyes, Christian shook his head.
“If it was anyone but you…”
“But it is me. I will be fine.” He was a touch concerned about Drake, though. “You are more than welcome to accompany me if you are worried about it.”
Christian hesitated, then nodded his head, sighing again.
“I am going to beat you if I end up being the one coshed and robbed,” he grumbled as Matthew turned to go in the direction Drake had departed, and Christian joined at his side.
“You can always go home.”
“No, because if you do end up dead in the streets tomorrow morning, I’ll be furious at myself for not having been at your side on the night your luck ran out, and everyone else will be furious at me.”
Matthew chuckled. It was not like Christian to be alarmist; of all his fellow dukes, Christian tended to be the one with the most sense of adventure, which just went to show exactly how dangerously Matthew was behaving right now. But such was his confidence in his luck.
“I will do my best to keep us from becoming another set of tragic dukes,” he said.
Though, of all of them, Christian had the least responsibilities, other than to his tenants.
Matthew had his grandmother to take care of.
Both of his sisters, neither of whom he’d been close to, had been married off years ago by his father, the same years as their debuts.
Christian had no older relatives living with him nor had he had any siblings.
“If it comes down to it, let me take the fall,” Christian murmured, as if agreeing with Matthew’s thoughts. “I would rather die than have to explain myself why I let you die to your grandmother. No one will miss me if I am gone.”
Shooting him a look, Matthew frowned as they reached close to the area where Drake had turned. He was not sure which of the narrow streets the other man had taken. The area was not well lit, and the fog on the ground was thickening, giving the Warrens an extra eerie feel.
“All of our friends would miss you just as much as they would miss me.”
“Yes, I meant… well, you know what I meant.”
Matthew was not sure that he did, but there was no use pressing Christian to talk about it, that he knew. The other man did not enjoy talking about serious matters. Which Matthew did not blame him for, it was hardly his favorite thing either.
Which street, the first or the second?
Should I take the first street?
He flipped the coin over onto his wrist.
No.
“Why are you flipping your coin over streets?” Christian asked.
“This way,” Matthew said, nodding at the second street. “I want to know what Drake is up to.”
“He’s going to his carriage…” Christian’s voice trailed off, and he frowned as he realized that the direction they were going in, the direction Drake had headed in, was taking them deeper into the Warrens.
Matthew knew that’s what Christian was thinking because he was thinking it, too. “What the bloody hell is he up to?”
They’d lost sight of him, but it did not matter.
There were times that Matthew did not need his coin, times that he could feel his path as if fate was guiding him down it.
This was one of those times.
He turned again.
And again.
Christian followed him silently, without complaint.
Suddenly, Matthew stopped, holding out his arm and barring Christian from moving forward as well.
Light suddenly illuminated through the fog, revealing a shadow standing in a doorway. No, two shadows.
One of a large man, a guard at the door.
The other was Drake.
“You have the Devil’s own luck, I swear,” Christian murmured.
Not only had they not been coshed and robbed, but they’d also caught up to Drake, even though they had not been able to see him until this moment.
Drake and the man exchanged words, then the guard stepped back, letting him in. That feeling of impetus, of forward motion, pushed at Matthew, and he stepped out as the door closed.
Christian’s hand caught his arm.
“Wait… how are you going to get in there?” he hissed.
“I am going to use Drake’s name.”
“What if that doesn’t work?”
Matthew shrugged. He would figure it out then.
“Are you coming, or not?”
Groaning, Christian released Matthew’s arm.
“I want to know what he’s doing, too.”
Leading the way to the door, Matthew knocked on it with confidence, ignoring the way Christian was muttering under his breath behind him.
The door opened, revealing the same man who had been there before.
He was a big bruiser with a cauliflower ear and a nose that showed signs of having been broken more than once.
“We’re here with Ormonde,” Matthew said simply, before the other man could speak.
The bruiser gave both him and Christian a once-over, then nodded, stepping back.
“Seriously,” Christian muttered once they’d walked past the bruiser and into the hallway. There was another door at the end of it, and Matthew sauntered confidently to it. “The Devil’s own.”
Glancing over his shoulder at Christian, Matthew grinned as he put his hand on the doorknob and opened it.
What they walked into on the other side was not at all what he would have expected.
Matthew had heard that Drake was frequenting houses of ill repute, but this was more than a bawdy house.
There was an aura of darkness and desperation in the air.
The waitresses were walking around the scattered tables with a hollow-eyed look, barely flinching when a man groped her or swatted her ass.
Other women, the actual brothel tarts, were smiling, but they had the same look in their eyes as the waitresses.
As much as Matthew wanted to intervene, he could not take on the entire crowd. His jaw clenched as he moved through the men, looking for Drake. For all of Drake’s rebellions, he could not imagine his friend here, in a place like this, indulging in pleasures of the flesh with these women.
This was the kind of place anyone with any sense of morals eschewed.
At the far end of the room, there was a stage, tattered and ratty, with a crowd drawn round it. Matthew thought he saw Drake near it, but then someone walked in front of him, cutting off his view.
Growling under his breath, he darted around the man and kept walking toward the stage, ignoring Christian’s curse from behind him.
They needed to find Drake, ask him what the hell he was doing here, then go home. Why his coin had indicated he should follow, Matthew had no idea. This was certainly the most confounding path it had ever sent him down.