Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dominic left Shadowmere before sunrise, the letter heavy in his pocket, the secret weighing more with every mile. The countryside offered no absolution. Daphne’s scent clung to him, stubborn as guilt.
He should be at the cottage, not riding to London on a road slick with mist, not breaking his oath before dawn. She would not forgive him, not in this, but he would rather risk her wrath than her life.
London announced itself with smoke and noise and the sour stench of the river. The streets churned with carts and curses. As a boy, he’d learned how quickly the city could swallow you whole. He’d never be that powerless again.
The Moseleys did not deal in dockside shadows. They kept an office in Drury Lane, wore tailored coats, and counted other men’s misfortunes. A man given a nine o’clock appointment did not arrive late, nor did he show his full hand.
Dominic tethered his horse in the yard of the Royal.
Hawkers touted their wares as theatre girls drifted home in crumpled clothes. Yet the brothers’ brass plate gleamed as though it belonged in Mayfair.
Crooked headstones crowded St Martin’s Burial Ground, the dead packed tight beyond the railings. They said many of the Moseleys’ unpaid debts lay beneath that soil.
Daphne would not lie among them.
Inside the office, a clerk with a scarred brow and missing teeth looked up before Dominic spoke. He required no introduction.
“I’m sure you know how this goes, Mr Hawke,” he said in his broad Stepney accent. “I’m told the guests at Shadowmere submit to the same searches.”
“Prudence is a useful habit in any establishment.”
Dominic hung his hat and greatcoat on the stand beside the desk, clasped his hands behind his head and let the lanky fellow frisk him.
The man’s bony hands worked along Dominic’s coat, slid down his ribs, then climbed back to his collar. His fingers slipped beneath the cravat, brushing the gold ring he wore on a chain.
“Touch that again and you’ll count with fewer fingers.”
The clerk stepped back, palms raised. “Come this way. I’ll show you to Mr Moseley’s office. It’s almost time.”
Dominic followed him down a narrow corridor, the boards groaning beneath their feet. Moseley would know of his arrival. The man left nothing to chance.
Somewhere deeper in the building, a long-case clock struck the hour. The clerk waited for the final chime before lifting his hand to knock.
Dominic admired the theatrics. He knew every trick to unnerve a man: the red walls, the dark-stained floor, the drawn shutters. The only thing missing was a coffin in the corner.
Eric Moseley sat behind a bare ebony desk, the elder brother, no taller than a woman and as pale as parchment.
“Mr Hawke.” He let the name settle, gold flashing on his fingers as he beckoned Dominic forward. “I’m impressed. Mrs Haggert seldom troubles herself on another’s behalf. Her insistence alone was worth the appointment.”
Moseley gestured to the leather seat. Dominic sat. He did not dwell on how many men had died in this chair. “Mrs Haggert champions the needy.”
“You? Needy? Come now, Mr Hawke. I’m told you could buy half the city if the mood took you.”
“I’m not here for myself.”
Two women occupied his thoughts. One bound to him by blood. The other by something he would not name.
Moseley watched him over steepled fingers. “Mrs Haggert tells me you’ve taken an interest in Lord Harland’s debt. She mentioned a connection to your mother. God rest her soul.”
Dominic gave a single nod. Nothing more. Moseley wanted something. It showed in the sharp glint of his eyes and the slow curl of his mouth.
“Your business is your own, of course,” he continued, “but I deal in facts, Mr Hawke. Much like your friend at The Sentinel. I’ll need more than a nod if we’re to come to terms.”
“What’s said in this room stays here.” He met Moseley’s gaze evenly. “The Sentinel serves its own interests. As do I.”
Moseley braced his elbows on the desk. “But you’re willing to trade favours, I presume. Else why are we here?”
Favours? Moseley would strip a man to the bone if he scented profit.
“I’ll settle Harland’s debt. In full. Today.”
Moseley’s gaze sharpened. “And in return you want … what, Mr Hawke?”
“Your word Miss Harland has not inherited her father’s obligation.” A man like Moseley kept his promises. That alone put him above most titled men.
Moseley reached into his desk and withdrew a thick ledger. Dust rose as he turned the pages. “With interest, the debt is fifteen thousand. Are you certain the girl is worth that much?”
The cost was of no consequence. Not where she was concerned. He’d not put a price on her head.
Dominic met his gaze. “My mother died because of debts she couldn’t pay.”
“She’s blood, not your enemy’s daughter.”
“Miss Harland is in this predicament because of me.”
Moseley gave a mirthless chuckle. “She was ruined long before you claimed her as your mistress.”
The word hit like a fist to the chest. He kept his expression neutral, but every muscle in him tightened. Moseley had no idea what she was to him. Neither did he, if he was honest.
Still, he admired his instinct for precision.
“A man must make peace with his conscience.”
“Paying the balance won’t bring her papa back. I’d wager you marked his card when you revealed your little secret to the ton.”
His throat felt thick. “Secret?”
He’d be damned before he named it.
“That you knew the identity of your mother’s lover.”
The remark stoked a fire in his gut. “You mean the bastard who used her? Who forced her to sell everything”—he stopped short of saying herself—“to repay my father’s debt to him?”
Moseley leaned back in the chair, hands braced across his abdomen. “Your father owed many men money. I believe Harland was just the spawn in the pond.”
Every limb felt heavy. He’d been chasing the information for years and had never found proof. “You know the names of these men?”
The moment the question left his mouth, he knew Moseley would use it.
“I acquire debts for a living, Mr Hawke. Have for almost two decades. I know of every seedy transaction that takes place in this city. Your father took out private loans to claim back his vowels. Personal transactions that left no trail.”
Dominic had come to the same conclusion. It was a loan his mother fought to repay, not gaming debts. Harland was the benefactor. But not the only one. Someone else had slipped a noose around her neck.
Moseley wasted no time laying his cards on the table. “Pay Harland’s debt and you may do as you please with his daughter. Our claim will be satisfied.”
Dominic sensed there was more.
“Of course,” Moseley continued, moistening his lips as if preparing to feast, “I can share something I do know. It may put certain questions to rest. Perhaps bring you the peace you crave.”
Dominic firmed his jaw. One wrong move and the cost would be high. “And you want something from me in return?”
Moseley shrugged a shoulder and smiled. “That’s how bargains are made, Mr Hawke. One good deed for another.”
“Then name your price and I’ll weigh the odds.”
He braced himself. It would be steep. He had no doubt.
“Miss Harland,” Moseley began, and the words chilled Dominic’s blood, “has an admirer. Let us call him a common enemy.”
There was only one man as taken with her as Dominic was. “You speak of Mr Irving, owner of—”
“Irving & Sons Ammunitions. Yes.” Moseley’s upper lip curled, baring his teeth. “I dislike men who imagine distance frees them from obligation, Mr Hawke.”
He stifled a smirk, keeping the stone mask in place. “Irving owes you money?” If so, fortune had dealt him a better hand than he’d expected.
“Not me. My brother invested in one of his enterprises. I would prefer Irving remain in England until matters are resolved.”
Dominic would prefer Irving board the ship and die on the crossing, but Moseley’s solution had a certain elegance.
“I also deal in facts, Mr Moseley. What is it you require?”
Moseley removed a leather portfolio from his desk drawer. “A word to your contact on the Secret Committee. Place this before Chairman Sterling and express a few quiet concerns. Any contract signed in India will become little more than waste paper.”
Dominic reached for the portfolio but did not open it. He regarded it a moment, allowing silence to suggest hesitation. In truth, Moseley had handed him exactly what he needed. Even so, interference in Crown business carried its own dangers.
“Agree to this, and I’ll tell you what connects Miss Harland’s mother and yours.”
Dominic shifted in the chair, firming his grip on the portfolio. “Very well. I’ll ensure the right people see these documents, but will deny all involvement if asked.”
Moseley nodded. From his coat, he withdrew a letter and slid it across the desk. The edges were frayed, the paper foxed. “I keep everything, Mr Hawke. In my business, you never know when it may prove useful. It’s yours now.”
The letter was dated a decade ago, written in his mother’s elegant hand. The tone was desperate. He could almost hear the strain in her voice, see the shadows beneath her eyes, feel the weight of the debt.
The ring at his throat felt heavier, and he silently cursed his father to the devil.
“She sought a loan,” Moseley said. “She preferred my terms to those of the lord who’d made life unbearable. Unfortunately, she died before I could reply.”
His heart pounded so hard it rang in his ears.
“She never named this lord?”
Moseley gestured to the letter. “Everything I know is in there.”
“But you mentioned Miss Harland’s mother.”
“She came to me for a loan to silence a blackmailer. A lord who made her life unbearable.” He paused, watching Dominic as the words settled. “Unfortunately, she had no means to keep up the payments. I run a business, Mr Hawke. Not a charitable foundation.”
Moseley made his skin crawl.
But then the rogue handed him a boon.