Belmonde’s? Was that not a rather infamous gambling hell? She wondered if Barrett would actually take her to such a place. She turned to go, but Mr. Doyle’s voice called her back.
“Oh, Lady Barrett, I assume you have heard the dreadful news?”
“Dreadful? No, I believe I have not.” She could not imagine what dreadful news could be circulating now.
“Drat! What a deuced bad way to learn of it.”
She walked back to him, fighting a sudden constriction of her heart. Surely Doyle wouldn’t know anything about William? Or…or Hunt? “Tell me, Mr. Doyle. Please do not keep me on tenterhooks. It cannot be worse than my imagination.”
“Why, it is Captain Gilbert. And I fear it is the worst possible news. He is dead.”
“Dead?” She felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. He had been hale and hearty two weeks ago when they had docked. Perhaps a man of his age— “Was it his heart?”
Mr. Doyle’s eyes dilated slightly and she realized he, like so many others, relished the telling of bad news. “Gads, no. It was murder.”
She stared at him for a full minute before she could comprehend. “S-surely there is some mistake. He never spoke of enemies. Who would want to murder him?”
“They do not have any suspects,” Mr. Doyle told her. “They believe the motive could have been robbery, since Gilbert’s cabin was ransacked and he did not have any cash on him.”
“They?”
“Bow Street, madam. The metropolitan police.”
She pressed the sudden pain between her eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, to fight her tears. “I… I cannot believe this. He was such a good man. He always brought me papers and had a kind word. He was a good friend to me.”
Mr. Doyle looked discomfited by her tears. He reached into his jacket, removed a handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. “Here, now, madam. I did not mean to make you cry. I just thought you should hear the news. Wouldn’t do to have you read it in the papers, would it?”
“Th-thank you,” she replied, thinking how absurd it was to thank a person for such a thing.
“I knew you were close friends by the way you used to visit. And he had you to his cabin for dinner several times, did he not? I do hope you have some gift from him, some memento, to comfort you.”
“I…” She frowned. “I do not think so, sir. I cannot think of anything. He used to bring me newspapers….”
“Never mind, m’dear. ’Twas an idle thought. I am certain your memories alone will comfort you. Come now. Go along home, eh? Nice cup of tea should fix you right up.”
Tea? Was he jesting? She looked at him again and saw a touch of anger in his expression. He, like Barrett, had no patience with women. She dabbed at her eyes and held his handkerchief out to him.
He shook his head and waved her hand away. “Quite all right, madam. You can return it another time.”
She nodded and hurried toward Piccadilly Street, Anne behind her.
Hunt turned the wick higher on the lamp on his desk. He’d been poring over the ledger Charlie had brought him for over an hour. Remarkable. He had never suspected Charlie could be so bloody efficient.
He had the gist of it, but he wanted it in Charlie’s words. “So what does this all mean, Charlie?”
His brother leaned back in his chair and propped his heels on the edge of Hunt’s desk. “Well, when you compare—”
He waved his hand. “No. First tell me how you got this information.”
“When Lloyd’s heard that the Home Office was looking into the recent piracy, they were most cooperative. I vow, they’d have given me my own office if I had asked for it.”
“And?”
“And they sat me down with their books. They are devilishly hard to decipher until one begins to see the pattern. You see, beyond the primary register, there are dozens of other records and cross-references. Lloyd’s does not do the insuring. They have members—names, they call them—who do the actual underwriting. These are the companies and individuals who bear the risks. Each time an insured ship goes down, they stand the loss.”
He remembered this much from Eastman’s summary when he first urged Hunt to look into the situation on St. Claire.
“Take Auberville, for instance. He is one of the underwriters. When the Empire went down, he took a heavy loss, but when the Natalie Jean came in he made it up, and with a tidy profit. Not like—”
“Charlie, you are not using this assignment to look into our friends’ finances, are you?”
“Of course,” Charlie replied with a grin. “And our enemies’, as well. If a name appears on the lists, I follow it to the final entry. I am looking into all the investors, Lord Lockwood.”
Hunt snorted at this acknowledgement that he was Charlie’s superior on the case. He looked down at the ledgers again—one for each investor in a pirated ship.
“The only way the underwriters profit is if the ships arrive safely in port. It’s the ship’s investors who stand to profit either way. If the insured ship arrives safely, the investor profits from the cargo proceeds. If the ship goes down, their investment is protected by the insurance.”
“Then I was wrong about tracking our traitor this way?”
“No.” Charlie looked excited now and removed his heels from the desk to sit forward in his enthusiasm. “Because there’s another link to trace. Say, if you only invested in ships that were never attacked, or if you invested in a ship and insured it, too.”
“Then you’d come out even?”
Charlie shook his head. “Not if you were the pirate. You’d have profit from selling the pirated goods and be paid back for your original investment by the insurers. Simple fraud. And, of course, piracy.”
And murder, too, Hunt thought. “Diabolical.”
“Wouldn’t say that. He’d just be damn clever.”
“I meant you, Charlie.”
His brother grinned from ear to ear. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s thought so.”
“How long will it take you to compare the lists?”
“A few more days. Then it will be up to you. I’m likely to come up with a dozen possibilities. You will have to determine which one is the traitor. I wouldn’t know who’d be in a position to traffic with pirates.”
“Get me the names, Charlie. I will do the rest. And tonight I shall reward your efforts with an excursion to the hells. How does Thackery’s sound? And Belmonde’s?” A knock on Hunt’s office door interrupted them. “Come,” he called.
His brother-in-law peeked in, donning his greatcoat. “Are you coming by for dinner? Sarah said your valet was still trying to make sense of your wardrobe and your cook hasn’t fully restocked.”
“She shouldn’t be overseeing my house and yours,” Hunt grumbled. “She has enough to do with the children.”
Ethan shrugged. “She’ll have it no other way. Says she is too used to looking after her brothers to stop now.”
“Aye, that’s why she’s bride-hunting,” Charlie said. “So she can hand us off to some other unwary female.”
“Tell her I’ll be there if she is not also having an unmarried female guest. Charlie, too.”
Ethan nodded, then hesitated. “Hunt, did you know a Captain Gilbert?”
“I sailed with him on the outbound voyage to St. Claire. Why?”
“Dead. Murdered.”
Gilbert? He frowned. “When? Who did it?”
“The same night he made berth. The killer is still unknown. Gilbert was found aboard his ship. The crew was on shore leave. His cabin had been searched and anything of value was gone. It looks like robbery.”
“How?”
“Knife. His throat was cut. Odd for a robbery, wouldn’t you say? If Gilbert resisted, he’d have been knifed from the front. A puncture wound is what we see in such cases. This looks more like someone surprised him from behind, then tried to make it look like a robbery.”
“So you think it wasn’t?”
“The circumstances are q
uite odd. Do you know of any reason anyone would want to kill Gilbert?”
Hunt shook his head, though instinct told him that this was far too coincidental to be a random event. The memory of killing Rigo and Lowe flashed through his mind. The pirates had known his name and his business on St. Claire. Surely it couldn’t be retaliation? But he was not close to Gilbert. If they had wanted to hurt him, they’d have gone after Elise.
Elise. She would be devastated when she heard this news. He felt an unwelcome twinge of sympathy for her. It would seem he hadn’t managed to hate her entirely.
Belmonde’s was everything Elise imagined it would be—lush, opulent and decadent. The proprietors allowed no reason for a patron to leave the confines of their walls. Every need was catered to, every wish granted, from food and drink to private games in private rooms such as the one Barrett and Mr. Doyle had entered when they’d left her alone more than an hour ago.
Before he’d disappeared, Barrett had simply warned her to stay in the main salon and not to wander upstairs. She had not needed money, since there were wine fountains at each end of the dimly lit salon and she had no idea how to play the varied games in progress at the tables.
She recognized several men from various functions she’d attended since returning to London, but none of the women were familiar. When she’d seen a sporting young buck take one woman’s hand and lead her up the stairs, she guessed at the purpose. Yes, Belmonde’s knew how to keep their patrons happy.
She found a bench in a quiet curtained alcove and simply watched the people. Barrett’s game of flaunting her everywhere he went was wearing on her nerves. The humiliation was her penance, but she would gladly face much worse to be with William again. The moment she found him, she’d find a way to leave Barrett.
When Mr. Doyle and her husband reappeared, they came toward her but entered an adjacent alcove and began whispering. She could not hear most of their conversation until Mr. Doyle raised his voice in an urgent whisper.
“By God, your wife was right. You have the devil’s own luck! That was all I had, Barrett. You’ve cleaned me out.”
“Stay away from my wife. I heard how you came when she called at the canal this morning, just like a whipped dog. But she’s mine, Doyle, and I’ll cut down anyone who interferes.”
Elise found no pleasure in being right about Anne reporting to Barrett. And she was not in the least surprised at Barrett’s possessiveness. Jealousy, not love, was his motive, along with a desire to punish and isolate her.
Mr. Doyle’s answer was typically diplomatic. “I assure you, the lady has no interest in me, nor I in her. We are only connected by our voyage.”
“Well, then, pay up what you owe, Doyle.”
There was a short period of silence, and then Mr. Doyle’s voice came again. “Give me a chance to win it back, Barrett. I swear I’m good for it.”
She closed her eyes and said a little prayer for Mr. Doyle. He had the sound of a man obsessed, and if he’d fallen victim to Barrett, he was lost.
“I have some investments. I could give you a share.”
“Why should I risk a share in your investments when I can have your cash?”
“No risk,” Doyle assured him. “And I’ll pay you half again what I owe.”
Disgusted with her husband and embarrassed for Mr. Doyle, Elise could not listen to more. She stood and walked to the wine fountain at the far end of the room.
The sound of masculine laughter from the foyer drew her attention. Lockwood’s brother-in-law entered the main salon, followed by two young men who looked remarkably familiar. A moment later, Lockwood and his brother, Charles, joined them. She smiled. No wonder the men looked familiar. These were the infamous Hunter brothers. The two she hadn’t met, James and Andrew, if she recalled, had the same dark good looks as Hunt and Charles. She turned away when she realized that Ethan Travis had not brought his wife. No, this would not be the sort of place anyone would bring a wife. Anyone but Barrett.
Embarrassed to be found there, she filled her glass and skirted the edge of the salon to find another empty alcove. Alas, her plan went awry when Barrett spotted her and raised his voice.
“Where have you got to, woman?”
She changed direction and hurried to join him and Mr. Doyle. Perhaps she could steer them away from Lockwood’s group.
Unfortunately, Lockwood was almost as determined to embarrass her as Barrett. He led his group in a path to intercept her and bowed. “Madam,” he said with a sharp bow, his gaze snagging on her low décolletage.
She dropped a proper curtsy. “Lord Lockwood.”
“I believe you’ve met Mr. Travis and Charlie? May I present my wayward siblings, James and Andrew? Lads, this is the legendary Lady Barrett.”
James came forward first, lifted her hand to his lips and bowed. When he looked up at her over her hand, his eyes startled her. They were so exactly like Lockwood’s that she nearly melted. He grinned and passed her hand to Andrew.
The family resemblance was not quite as strong in him and his eyes were a deep impenetrable brown. Andrew, she thought, would be a hard man to know.
As he released her hand and stepped back, he said, “Charmed to meet you, Lady Barrett. I must say that I am a bit surprised. I have heard of you—who has not?—but I never expected you to be so…”
“Charming?” Lockwood supplied with an edge to his voice.
“Beautiful,” Andrew finished.
Elise was momentarily taken aback by his reference to her scandal, but there was something almost liberating about having it openly acknowledged rather than skirting the issue and making everyone uncomfortable.
“You must excuse Andrew, madam. His manners were neglected in our youth. Likely because he discovered a talent for avoiding our tutor.”
She was about to reply when Barrett and Mr. Doyle joined them.
“Here you are, madam. Did I not tell you to stay put?”
“I went to fill my wineglass.”
Her husband looked angry but could not express it in the face of so many witnesses. She supposed she would pay for her words on the coach ride home.
“A beautiful woman should not have to refill her own glass. I shall be pleased—”
“Do not make trouble, Andrew.” Lockwood glanced at Barrett, clearly concerned that Barrett would issue a challenge.
Doyle stepped between the men and placed a hand on Barrett’s shoulder. “We were just going to rejoin a game of vingt et un. Come, let’s make a group, eh?”
Lord Ethan was quick to take up the invitation. “Lead the way, Doyle. But I warn you, we’re a determined group.”
They began to move away, but Hunt remained where he was.
“Coming, Lord Lockwood?” Doyle asked.
“Go on without me. I’ll be along in a moment. I have some business to take care of.”
Chapter Sixteen
Hunt’s conscience tweaked him when Elise turned and hurried away. Aware that he was being watched, he went in search of rye whiskey. He needed something strong to kill the bitter taste of gall at seeing Barrett assert his ownership over his wife.
He turned around in time to watch the embroidered hem of her lilac gown disappear into an alcove. Good. They would be alone. He did not relish giving her the news of Captain Gilbert’s death, and he certainly did not want to subject her grief to public scrutiny.
With a glance over his shoulder to be certain they would not be observed, he found her as she sat. She was startled to find him standing there and not altogether pleased, judging by the look on her face.
“I apologize for Andrew. He has not learned when baiting will not serve him.”
“Baiting? I thought he was teasing Barrett.”
Hunt laughed. “Not Andrew. He hasn’t a frivolous bone in his body. He seems to have taken a dislike to your husband. He was trying to provoke him.”
Elise’s lips parted in surprise. “I misread him completely.”
“Most people do.”
“Bu
t I think I haven’t misread you, Lockwood. You are here to cause trouble, are you not? If Barrett comes back—”
“Do you think I give a damn what your husband thinks?”
She winced. “No, I suppose not. In fact, if I had a pence, I’d wager you do not.”
“You’d win.”
“What do you want? Why did you follow me?”
“I thought you might want to know that your friend, Captain Gilbert, is dead.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “I know. It is insane. Why would anyone kill him?”
He removed his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and lifted her chin on the edge of his hand. She did not resist when he dabbed at her eyes. “I am sorry for your loss, Elise. I know he was a good friend to you for many years. How did you hear? I gather it has been kept from the papers.”
“Mr. Doyle informed me of it this morning.”
“He called on you?”
“I met him skating on the canal when I was on my way back from shopping.”
What bothered him more? That Doyle had known about Gilbert before he had, or that Doyle had been with Elise? Whichever, it put him on edge. “Does your husband know you were with Doyle? He does not seem as if he would tolerate your friendship with any man.”
She looked a little bewildered by that, too. “He and Mr. Doyle have struck up their own friendship. It was Barrett who asked Mr. Doyle to meet him here tonight.”
“And, of course, Doyle was only too glad to do it. How better to be close to you? And me, Elise? How shall I get close to you?”
“Please, Lockwood.” She cast a panicked glance at the crowd in the salon. “Someone will see.”
He closed the heavy velvet curtain over the alcove with a snap of his wrist. The space instantly became more intimate. “Now they will not.”
“If only it could be that easy,” she murmured. Her hands shook as she brought them up to press her temples. “What do you want from me, Lockwood? Answers I cannot give? Everyone wants something. An apology? An act of contrition? Do you want me to suffer? I think I can manage that, my lord.”
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