Chapter Eleven
“You look as though you haven’t slept in days.”
“That’s because it feels as though I haven’t.”
Lucas didn’t turn at the sound of Henry’s voice, his gaze fixed on the window. If he so much as sat down, he would likely fall asleep in seconds—and he could ill afford that now. Not when his mind had been tormenting him all night with thoughts of a certain brown-haired lady.
And not thoughts of consequence. Not her family’s scandal, nor her father’s false disgrace, nor even her precarious reputation. No—his thoughts had been far less rational.
He had been thinking of how beautiful she’d looked the previous night.
Of the fleeting moments when the mask had slipped and he’d seen the real Elowen Tremaine—the woman beneath the composure.
He’d wondered what might have happened if their conversation had taken a different turn, if they had found themselves truly alone.
Would he have kissed her, if only out of curiosity?
It was madness. She occupied his mind like an affliction, keeping him from the work before him. A dozen reports waited for his attention, yet all he could do was lie awake, restless, wondering if she ever thought of him at all.
He doubted it.
“Is this a bad time?” Henry asked behind him. “You don’t appear to be in the right frame of mind for company.”
“Your company will do,” Lucas sighed, finally pushing away from the window. “If I fall asleep in front of you, you may take it as a compliment.”
Henry chuckled and settled into one of the sofas. “Why so little sleep? You left Westbrook House at a reasonable hour. There was more than enough time for a good night’s rest.”
“Sadly, my mind refused to oblige.” Lucas pulled the bell and instructed the maid to bring tea and coffee before joining Henry opposite.
“And I suppose those restless thoughts have something to do with Miss Tremaine?”
Lucas groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Is it truly so obvious?”
“As obvious as snow in winter,” Henry said cheerfully. “Your eyes follow her across a room. You forget the rest of us exist when she’s near.”
“It is not what you think it is.”
“Then what is it?” Henry lifted a brow. “Because it looks remarkably like infatuation.”
“Not in that sense. I merely—well, perhaps I’d like us to be friends—”
“Friends?” Henry laughed outright. “Lucas, even you cannot believe that.”
“Is that why you came? To interrogate me about my intentions toward Miss Tremaine?”
“I came to visit a friend,” Henry said mildly. “And in the natural course of conversation, men do tend to discuss the ladies who’ve captured their interest. But if you’d rather I spoke of Catherine—”
“That will do,” Lucas cut in, scowling. “Go find her and spare me the torment. She is somewhere in the manor, I’m sure.”
“You’re in a foul mood.”
“You’re putting me in one,” Lucas replied, just as the maid arrived with the tray.
He poured himself coffee—his third cup that day—while Henry took tea.
“Mr Tremaine seems to hold you in high regard,” Henry remarked. “I assume your talk last night involved more than polite pleasantries?”
Lucas nodded. “He’s agreed to assist me with my investigation—into my father’s death and his family’s scandal.”
“What does he know?”
“Little as yet. I believe his investigation has only just begun. But I’m sure that, if we combine our resources, we shall make real progress.”
“Does the baron know?”
“Of our alliance?” Lucas shook his head. “I don’t think so, though William informed me that his father has been looking into things as well.”
Henry sipped his tea, watching Lucas over the rim of his cup. “With so many people poking into this matter, it is only a matter of time before someone notices.”
“I’m not afraid of that.”
“Perhaps not—but you should be cautious. This business involves the suspicious death of a duke. Whoever’s behind it has already shown what they’re capable of.”
“I’ll be ready for whatever comes.”
Henry nodded. “Then allow me to assist where I can.”
Lucas frowned. “That glint in your eye… Are you about something?”
Henry set down his cup before replying. “You said Lord Redley has appeared in your inquiries. He often frequents a gentlemen’s club I attend. After a few bottles of claret, he grows rather talkative. It might be worth paying him a visit there one evening. He may let something slip.”
Lucas straightened, fatigue forgotten. “That’s an excellent thought. We could go tonight—and bring William.”
“I was thinking the same. If fortune’s on our side, we might learn more than we expect.”
Lucas doubted fortune would be so kind, yet the spark of purpose was enough. He sank back into the sofa, coffee in hand, his mind already turning over possibilities.
At least he had a plan—and enough caffeine to see it through. He would rest later. For now, he would prepare. Tonight, he would need every ounce of strength.
***
Richard’s Gentleman’s Club wavered somewhere between an establishment for the lavish elite and a refuge for the disreputable. Its dim lighting and thick haze of tobacco smoke suggested the latter, yet the wine list rivalled that of any ducal cellar.
Had Lucas not been here on business, he might have indulged more freely. As it was, he kept to a single glass, taking measured sips—enough to blend in, but not enough to dull his mind. Henry and William, seated across from him, seemed to have adopted the same strategy.
“It has been scarcely an hour since his arrival, and he is already in his cups,” William observed, shaking his head in disbelief. He stared unabashedly at Lord Redley, who sat at a hazard table, dice in hand.
It was one thing to hear rumours of a gentleman’s vices; another entirely to witness them firsthand. The rate at which Lord Redley descended into drunkenness was almost impressive. He laughed the loudest, lamented the fiercest, his moods shifting with every toss of the dice.
“How much do you suppose he’s lost already?” William asked.
Lucas reached for his wine. He knew that William had gone off to Oxford at a young age, so he couldn’t quite tell if this was the young man’s first time in a gentleman’s club. Especially a club like this one.
“Likely a couple hundred pounds,” Henry mused, his gaze steady.
“Hundred?” William exclaimed. “Surely he hasn’t that much to lose?”
“You would be surprised how quickly men who gamble conjure up money they would not otherwise have,” Lucas told him. He, too, watched Ambrose from across the room. They’d been discreet at first but, as the hazard game grew rowdier and Ambrose grew drunker, they weren’t the only ones looking at them.
“We should get closer,” Henry suggested. “We’re too far to hear anything other than his shouts.”
“Which certainly aren't far and in between,” William commented.
“It’s too early,” Lucas disagreed with a shake of his head. “And he is far too absorbed in his game to focus on anything but. Best wait until he pauses for breath—then we approach.”
“I hate to disappoint, Your Grace,” William sighed, “but I doubt Lord Redley intends to pause at all.”
Lucas grimaced in agreement. At this rate, the evening was beginning to feel like a wasted effort. He had hoped for some indiscreet revelation, but perhaps that had been too much to expect.
Then William straightened suddenly, his expression sharpening. “I know that man.”
Lucas followed his gaze. A gentleman had approached the hazard table, his back to them. Lucas didn’t recognise him, but William’s unease was unmistakable.
“Who is he?” Henry asked, lowering his voice.
“I do not recall his name,” William said slowly.
“But I remember his face. He once attended a meeting with my father—one of those meetings my father had allowed me to sit in on, in the hopes that I would learn about his trade, and this gentleman had been determined to oppose every one of my father’s inquiries. At the time, it struck me as peculiar.”
“Was this before the accusations began?” Lucas asked.
William nodded, eyes fixed on the table. “And it appears he and Lord Redley are already acquainted.”
Indeed, Ambrose seemed to have sobered up considerably now that this gentleman had joined the table.
They sat across from each other, with the gentleman’s back turned to Lucas and Ambrose within full view.
Lucas didn’t miss the way Ambrose’s eyes darted back and forth between the dice and the newcomer, almost as if he wasn’t certain if he should continue.
He wasn’t given much of a choice when the gentleman scooped up the dice and placed his bet. A new game began, but with the rigidity of Ambrose’s shoulders, despite the smile that was now on his face, Ambrose wasn’t very happy about it.
The game went on for a while until the gentleman won, and Ambrose’s despair quickly morphed into desperation. He demanded a rematch, claiming a much higher bet and stating that he would win back all that he had lost this time.
Five minutes later, he was reaching for his glass of wine to drown out yet another crushing defeat with alcohol.
Then the energy shifted in the room. Lucas frowned slightly, noticing that a number of the gentlemen present were looking at the door, and the hum of chatter in the room grew slightly louder.
“It’s Lord Orvilleton,” Henry murmured.
Colin Alton, Earl of Orvilleton, cut an imposing figure as he strode toward a shadowed corner. He sank into a leather armchair, snapping his fingers for service. A footman hurried to place a bottle of whiskey before him.
“It seems he, too, is a regular,” Lucas observed quietly. His gaze drifted back to Ambrose. “And his arrival does not appear welcome.”
Indeed, moments later, a footman approached Lord Redley and murmured something in his ear. Ambrose blanched, set down his glass, and rose without protest. He crossed the room toward the earl. Another player immediately claimed his seat at the table, indifferent to his departure.
“I did not realise the two were acquainted,” Henry said, frowning. “Though admittedly, this is my first time seeing Lord Orvilleton here.”
“What do you suppose they’re speaking of?” William asked.
They could not hear the words, but the exchange was anything but cordial. The earl’s expression darkened, gestures sharp and impatient. Ambrose sat bowed, visibly cowed. Each time he attempted to speak, the earl cut him off with a curt flick of the hand.
At last, Orvilleton dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Ambrose stumbled away toward the bar, where the barkeep poured him a generous measure of whiskey and watched with something like pity as he downed it in one draught.
“Clearly Lord Orvilleton keeps him on a short leash,” Lucas murmured.
“Something tells me Lord Orvilleton is tied to all of this somehow,” William said grimly. “My father always believed the accusations were driven by a few powerful men—and from what we’ve just seen, Redley may be little more than their pawn.”
Lucas nodded in agreement as he finished his glass of wine.
He could see the pieces of the puzzle drifting together, desperate to find their places.
They were right in front of him, and yet he couldn’t quite understand where to put them.
Colin Alton was a part of this somehow, but where did he fall?
Whose command did he take, if any? Was he the mastermind behind it all?
They had not managed to speak to Lord Redley this evening, but the night had hardly been wasted. A new player had stepped onto the board. And Lucas meant to find out precisely what part Lord Orvilleton had played in his father’s death.