“Dashing, too. You dash very well. Just like Robin Hood.”
He considered her words. “He has the advantage on me in dashing, for he does lead a group of merry men.”
“And you have Robbie and Brett playing sentry,” she pointed out.
He frowned at the reminder of his friend’s curricle, which followed them. He could not afford to take any chances, not with Maid Marian refusing to stay safely at home. “So they play the guards, I play the blackguard, and you play my lovely fiancée. Maybe we should practice our roles. As I have charming and dashing down, perhaps you should practice.”
“Oh? What should I practice?” She eyed him warily.
“Fawning and batting your eyelashes, looking suitably besotted, like you cannot wait to get your hands on me and—”
“Are you quite finished? Very amusing. Another one of your dreams?” She batted her eyelashes.
He snorted out a laugh. “It was one of my fondest ones, but I am revising it. Damned if your stare, direct and forthright, has undone me. That’s the look for me.”
“I think that is one of the kindest things you’ve said to me.” She beamed.
“Oh, come now, I have said some rather lovely things about your skin, your eyes, your . . .”
Laughing, she held up her hand to stop him. “We are slowing down. Save your charm for Mr. Shaw’s son or his wife, if she appears. Pity Shaw did not have a daughter. I have little doubt she would deliver the papers and whatever else you want after you flashed your smile at her,” she muttered.
“One smile?” Delighted, he cocked a brow.
Unfortunately, the door was opened and the step lowered before he could tempt her with his smile. Julia edged forward to be assisted down. He’d have to pursue the matter later, see if a few well-aimed smiles worked on getting his Julia to say yes. It sounded as if she gave them some heed if she believed they had the power to get women to do his bidding.
He stepped outside, meeting Brett and Robbie, who had drawn up behind them.
Martin Shaw, Abel Shaw’s middle son, resided in Russell Square, and while it was not the West End, it was a respectable address. Daniel could not fathom anyone following them here. Then again, he hadn’t believed his brother capable of fratricide.
“Robbie says the hairs on the back of his neck are crawling. He thinks you should turn around.” Brett lifted a brow, which conveyed his opinion on the matter.
“I did not say that,” Robbie snapped. “I said I have seen the same tilbury following us for a bit and driving to the inch to keep up with us. The horses don’t like it, feel crowded.”
Daniel nodded. “If it appears again, see if you can catch them. They might have useful information.”
“Right,” Brett said. “And if they have guns? I think we should be more concerned if they have those.”
“He has a point,” Julia said, warily eyeing the passing traffic.
Daniel frowned. “Just be aware of anything untoward. They’re not going to fire on us in the middle of Russell Square. This is not your Wild West.”
“True,” Brett agreed. “We’re in refined London, which happens to boast a history replete with plagues, decapitations, torture, dukes murdering their own brothers—”
“Just be alert.” Daniel cut him off. “We will leave the carriage at Shaw’s and have a footman pick it up. We can exit through the servant’s entrance and take a circuitous route home. Does that meet with your approval?”
“Fine,” Brett sighed.
As Brett returned to their curricle with Robbie, Daniel overheard Brett ask Robbie why the horses who felt crowded didn’t share their concerns with Brett. Robbie’s answer was a cuff to Brett’s head, knocking his top hat askew.
Julia slipped her arm through Daniel’s, gripping his forearm tighter than necessary. Cursing the situation, he led her up the front stoop to the entrance to Martin Shaw’s residence.
THEY WERE LED to a drawing room that was decorated with understated elegance, floral wallpaper, pastoral paintings, and a grand piano filling one corner. Sundry pictures and bric-a-brac competed for space on available surfaces.
Julia settled on the settee, while Daniel admired the painting of some nautical scene, yearning to escape into it with Julia.
They did not have long to wait. Abel Shaw’s son strode into the room, a tall, dark-haired man, whose brown eyes behind silver spectacles were sharp and narrowed on Daniel. He dipped his head in greeting. “I am Martin Shaw, Your Grace. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Something in the man’s reserve, an infinitesimal edge of hostility that emanated from him, and made Daniel cautious in his approach. No winsome smiles were going to win this man over. “Mr. Shaw. My apologies for calling without notice, and I will not take up too much of your time. Before I begin our business, allow me to introduce my fiancée, Lady Julia Chandler.”
Julia rose at his introduction and came to stand beside Daniel. She dipped into a curtsy, her smile bright. “You have a lovely home, Mr. Shaw. I do hope we are not causing too much of an interruption in your schedule, but I encouraged Bedford to make this visit, as it is a matter of some delicacy that has been festering for a few years.”
Shaw raised a brow, but held his silence. No bowing and scraping or scrambling to do their bidding. He bent enough to incline his head toward Julia. “Lady Chandler, it is a pleasure.” As the silence stretched, he felt compelled to offer them a seat.
Daniel waited until they were all settled before he leaned forward, choosing his words carefully. “Mr. Shaw, I understand that after all these years, my visit is untoward. However, your late father was my father’s solicitor for decades, and I wanted to offer my condolences to you for your loss. I have fond memories of him, for he always had a kind word for a boy and the unending patience to teach me vingt-et-un.”
Shaw’s smile was brittle, stopping short of his eyes. “Yes, well, my father had a fine hand at cards. But a decade has passed since his employ with your father, so I should be honored that you deigned to take the time to remember him, considering you have not all these years past.”
Daniel heard Julia’s intake of breath as Shaw’s words held a wealth of condemnation, clearly not honored by Edmund’s visit or condolences. This would take more than charm. He edged forward. “Yes, well, let me begin by saying that I was not myself after my own father’s death. Over the years and with Julia’s encouragement, I have come to regret some of my hasty actions in dismissing so many of those loyal to my father. Please accept my sincere apologies if it caused undue grief to your father during his retirement.”
Mr. Shaw straightened, apparently nonplussed at the belated apology. Sighing, his tension appeared to ease. “Yes, well, I should offer my apologies as well. While the last years were difficult for my father, and I’d like to place the blame elsewhere, my father shouldered most of it. As you know, he had a love of cards, and therein lies the true root of his difficulties. I don’t doubt he would have landed on the same unfortunate path regardless of whether or not he remained in your employ.”
Daniel heard the sadness underlying Shaw’s words and cursed his need to press into unhealed wounds. “I did not realize his habit was so consuming. I now understand why I never won a hand from him,” Daniel ruefully conceded.
“Few could. He had an uncanny ability.”
“Edmund, why don’t you share with Mr. Shaw the letter you received? We don’t want to make this visit more difficult than it has to be.”
Daniel tamped down his revulsion at her use of his brother’s name. “Mr. Shaw, my brother received a curious letter from your father. It was mailed to his Boston residence a few months ago. It was rather cryptic. He wrote that it was time for him to return home and claim his destiny, and that your father would explain more when ah . . . when Lord Bryant arrived home.” He cursed the trip over his own bloody name.
Shaw furrowed his brow and nodded. “Yes. It is similar to what he kept murmuring those last days. I am afraid I gave it litt
le heed, for you must understand my father was never the same after he left your father’s employ. And not just due to his gambling or his fight to keep creditors at bay and stay out of gaol.”
“How so? That is, if you don’t mind my asking.” Daniel found himself edging forward on his seat.
“He kept rambling on about a betrayal, and how it would be the death of him. That he would pay the price for it, had a corner in Hades reserved for him and some doctor.” He shrugged. “My apologies, but I always assumed he was referring to you, the betrayal being your dismissal of his services.”
“A betrayal? Was my name, ah my brother’s name, that is, ever mentioned?”
“No. Not until the last. He mentioned a need to speak to Lord Bryant. He was quite insistent upon it, but he never mentioned a letter or anything about a destiny to be claimed. That is all I know. I regret that I can not be of more help.”
So am I. “You have been of great help. Did your father leave any papers or anything else from his days working for my father?”
Shaw was already shaking his head and looking pained. “My eldest brother inherited most of my father’s effects, which in the end was not much. Anything of value went to pay off my father’s creditors. You are welcome to speak to my brother, that is if you can locate him. I regret to say, Charlie inherited my father’s proclivities toward gambling. It nigh on broke my mother’s heart before her passing. Charlie periodically returns, but more often than not, he is lost to the gambling hells and a world from which I keep a safe distance.”
Daniel frowned. “And your younger brother would not be of any assistance?”
“George? Oh no. Like your brother, he has found his fortunes in America, been there these eight or nine years past. It is unlikely he would be of any help to you.”
It helped only in that it was one less visit they had to make. He wondered if when they located the elusive Charlie he’d still possess his late father’s papers. Daniel feared that what they sought was long lost and their search futile. However, if Edmund was still intent on pursuing this search, Daniel refused to give up the chase. Not yet.
“I appreciate your taking the time to answer my questions. I will not keep you further.” He stood.
Julia came to her feet and smiled at Mr. Shaw. “Thank you for your time.”
Daniel paused and attempted a sheepish look. “I was hoping we could slip out your garden gate. There were a few cronies that recognized my coach and were hoping to have a word.” He smiled at Julia. “I promised my fiancée my undivided attention for the remainder of the day, and I would like to keep my word.”
“Of course; I understand.” Mr. Shaw grinned. “If you will follow me.”
They made their way outside, Julia’s hand on Daniel’s arm, where it was a perfect fit. He warily eyed the back alley before venturing forward.
“Not the most informative of visits. I doubt we will get much more from the gambler, but it’s still worth pursuing, for it is our last lead.” He could not keep the glum tone from his voice. Julia remained silent. “I will ask Robbie to keep searching the gambling hells to see if he can locate Charlie Shaw.” He stopped and grinned at Julia. “Actually, I have a better idea, it might cost a pretty coin, but it might be faster.”
Julia was casting furtive glances around, her hand tightening on his arm. “What is it? If it gets answers more quickly, it is money well spent.”
“I was thinking of hiring our infamous village poacher. Weasel could catch a rabbit in the desert. I am sure he could trap one cardsharp in a gambling hell. And he deserves the money after what my brother did to him.”
Julia squeezed his arm. “He does. Another brilliant business investment. Hire him, Daniel, so we can get answers and end this. This talk of betrayals frightens me.”
“Yes, ‘something is rotten in the state of Denmark,” he murmured, recalling having uttered the prophetic words when he had visited the grounds of Bedford Hall. Whatever the betrayal was, he worried that his father had planted the seeds that had grown into an “unweeded garden” with Edmund. He commiserated with Hamlet, hoping his father’s ghost would not return to haunt him.
“True. ‘Things rank and gross in nature,’” Julia rejoined.
He clamped his jaw at the despair in her voice, cursing himself for allowing her to be drawn into this quagmire. Seeing her fierce resolve, he knew he never had a choice. Warriors did not stay home, nor did his Maid Marian—as much as he wished it otherwise.
He hoped this last venture proved lucrative. Because Shaw’s bloody letter had been right. It was time.
Chapter Twenty-four
JULIA’S steps were as heavy as her heart as they climbed the stairs to Keaton House. She ought to be worried about her ruination and the ensuing scandal, or her decision to accept Daniel’s proposal. Minus the ruination and scandal bit, that was what occupied the minds of most young women. Instead, she sought proof a duke was indeed a murderer and the motives behind his reasoning.
Daniel did this to her. From the moment he had stormed into her life, he was like a gust of wind that scattered her thoughts and swept her feet out from under her. She used to be a calm, responsible young woman. Now she was Maid Marian chasing after windmills. She pressed a hand to her temple, for she was mixing up her literary allusions. She needed time to herself to sort out all that Shaw had imparted, for something about it nagged at her.
However, the time was not now, for the minute the front door opened, she knew something was amiss. Burke, a butler known for being as unflappable as stone, was gray-tinged and wide-eyed. “Thank the lord,” he blurted, shocking Julia so much that she stood dumbfounded.
Daniel grasped her elbow and practically dragged her inside, letting Burke slam the door behind them. “What is it? What has happened?”
Burke recovered his composure, but his expression was still grim. “Everyone is well. You need to speak to Taunton.”
“Bryant. Come with me. Now.” Her father was storming out from the foyer leading to the guest quarters, Emily on his heels. His hair stood up straight as if he had attempted to pull it out.
Without a word, Daniel followed her father from the room.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Emily’s arms were around Julia, squeezing her tight.
Julia assured her sister she was all right and gently drew away, her heart nearly at a standstill as she took in Emily’s pallor. “What is it? What has happened?”
“It is Brett. He is all right, just a broken arm.” She hitched a breath. “Doctor Malley is in with him now. Robbie brought him here. We have been keeping Doctor Malley busy. What is going on, Julia?”
“Please, I will explain everything later. I promise. Tell me what happened?”
“Apparently someone shot at them. In Russell Square, no less.” She shook her head, her expression incredulous. “Robbie saw something, for he dove on Brett, pulling him down, but the horses shied from the noise. Robbie got them under control, but the curricle tipped over. Brett’s arm broke in his landing. Apparently, he’s not as hardy as Robbie.”
“No one is,” Julia commented ruefully, noting Emily’s use of Brett’s given name. It was something to file away for later when she had time to ponder it.
“Robbie is checking on the horses again, but father is fit to be tied, for Brett was tight-lipped about what happened. You need to intercede.” Emily gave her a worried look.
She nodded, her mind already down the hall. Thank the lord for Robbie or the horses or whoever deserved the credit for suspecting they were followed. She swallowed, not willing to contemplate what might have happened otherwise.
A maid directed her to the room where they had settled Brett, and she lifted her hand to knock, but the door opened and Doctor Malley emerged.
“Ah, Lady Julia. A pleasure, despite the circumstances. Once again, my work is done here. The young man shall be fine with a little rest. Send for me if the pain gets worse, or if he starts asking for his mother or his horse, and not necessarily in that order.” Wit
h a wink, he made to turn away. “Is Lady Emily around? She was distraught; I would like to assure her that her young man is well. Jason, is it?”
“Excuse me?” Julia whispered, feeling the blood drain from her face.
“My apologies, is that not his name? That is what Lady Emily called him.”
Julia dumbly shook her head. “She was mistaken. It is Brett. Brett Curtis.”
“Ah . . .” He looked puzzled. “Well, she was upset. I shall speak to her.”
He turned away, leaving Julia staring after him. Emily had been doing so well. Was doing so well. She refused to believe that had changed, but she could not fathom why she would confuse Brett with Jason. They shared similar coloring, blue eyes and fair hair, but therein the similarities ended. Brett was a head taller than Jason. And American. She frowned, forcing herself to put the matter aside for now.
She opened the door to Brett’s room and stepped out of the calm and into the wrath of Taunton. Her father was on a tirade. She knew from past experience, it was best to wait until the brunt of his anger had passed.
“What the devil were you thinking? Attempted murder? Twice? You think you can resolve matters better than the authorities? Were you planning to use the Manton? And what would happen then? Bedford is dead without incriminating evidence implicating him in anything, and you are standing there with the smoking gun.”
He had a point. Her father was pacing and when his back was to her, she wiggled her eyebrows at Daniel, who stood with hands clenched, looking annoyed. At her look, he loosened his stance, a rueful grin curving his lips.
“I don’t know what to believe. All of these accusations based on the word of some Weasel? Who is he? What is he? A poacher, you say?”
She ignored her father, who rambled on, and crossed to the bed to assess Brett’s condition. His expression assuaged her worries. He was sitting up, his hair tousled, a dazed grin on his features, and appearing highly entertained by her father’s monologue. She surmised Doctor Malley had given him something to dull the pain, for his pupils were like pinpricks and lacked their usual vibrancy. His splintered and bandaged arm rested on the covers. A new bruise bloomed on the cheek opposite his bruised eye.
The Heart of a Duke Page 24