“Have you been following me, Lockwood?”
He nodded, seemingly not the least sheepish to have been caught.
“Why?”
“I was concerned. I heard you say that you wanted to walk, so I did not want to disturb you.”
She looked around him and saw his coach halt behind him. She tried to hide her smile at what an odd lot they must have looked—the coach following Hunt, Hunt following her and she with her head down in her own world.
“Were you going to follow me all the way home?”
“Or until you tired.”
She lifted the hem of her dark gown to display her wet slippers. “My feet are cold, Lockwood. If you are still of a mind, I could use a ride home.”
He waved his coach forward and opened the door. Rather than offer his hand to help her up, he lifted her in by her waist and followed quickly. She settled against the soft leather seat and sighed, trying to wiggle her toes.
He sat beside her and rapped on the roof. “Hertford Street, Anderson. No rush,” he called, then turned his attention to her. “Lady Barrett, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
“So courtly, Lockwood? Have I ever seen you so solicitous?” She began to doubt the wisdom of accepting his ride. What would Barrett say if he saw her getting out of a coach with the Lockwood crest?
“I doubt it, madam. It is the tears, you see. We men are notorious for not liking women’s tears.”
“Some do not mind in the least.”
Lockwood looked thunderous. His fists clenched and unclenched as though he longed to hit something. She hadn’t meant to elicit a response, and certainly not this one, but she did not know how to undo the damage.
“I pray you do not judge all men by your husband, madam. We deserve better.”
Lockwood did, and perhaps Captain Gilbert had, but they were the exception in her experience. Her father, her brother and now her husband had been indifferent at best. Abusive at worst. She looked down at her gloved hands, folded in her lap.
“Have you nothing to say to that, madam?”
“Please, Lockwood, I haven’t the heart for a battle today. Speak plainly.”
He raked his fingers through his dark hair and shook his head. “Do you remember what you said to me in the coach night before last?”
“Vaguely.” Oh, she hoped he was not going to remind her of her surrender to him. Of her wanton response.
“You told me everything, Elise. I do not think you meant to, but now I know why you came running back here, how Barrett makes you stay with him and what he holds over your head. I thought I would feel better if I knew those things, but I do not. You see, in the end, you were right. It makes no difference. You still belong to Barrett—just like his horse, his house and his jewels.”
She turned the narrow gold band on her finger beneath the glove and nodded. “I am painfully aware of that, my lord.”
He tilted her chin upward and looked into her eyes. “But I cannot bear seeing you with him, knowing he is the father of your child, imagining him in your bed doing the things we did.”
Her laugh was harsh as it echoed in the confines of the coach. “Believe me, Lockwood, if it is any comfort at all, he and I do nothing that you and I did.”
He lowered his mouth to hers and left the hint of a kiss on her lips—a bittersweet farewell. She slipped her arms around him, demanding another and he returned to her lips with a strangled moan. How could she ever let him go?
She wasn’t aware of the coach stopping until his driver opened the door and cleared his throat.
Chapter Nineteen
Charlie was the last man to arrive and he closed the door behind him. Hunt, Ethan and Auberville were already seated. He slid his ledgers across the desk to Hunt and took the last remaining chair. “Sorry I am late,” he said.
Hunt flipped the top book open and looked at the pages. “Save us some time, Charlie, and tell us what you’ve found.”
“Would if I knew for certain,” he said with youthful good cheer. “But have a look.” He opened another ledger and laid it beside the first. “There are some obvious patterns. I think I know what it means, but I want you to decide.”
Glancing at the legends, Hunt read them aloud for the others. “The first is a compilation of losses due to piracy, and the second is payoffs to investors of insured vessels.” He ran his finger down the first list and then the second. Charlie was right. There was a pattern. Two names jumped immediately to the fore. Langford and Doyle.
On closer inspection, a few other names were also prominent. Two were underwriters from Lloyd’s. Eastman made the list to a lesser degree, but who was Langford? Hunt tried to place the name. He knew he’d heard it, but where?
“Five men,” he mused aloud. “By comparing the lists, these are the men who profited both when a ship arrived safely and when it was pirated. But which of them were in a position to know beforehand? Charlie, have you looked at the bank records yet?”
“Haven’t had time. Now that we have names, that is next. I will check the ledgers against withdrawals and deposits. They should match, but…”
Auberville leaned back in his chair. “And who do you favor, Charlie?”
“Hard to say. Lord Eastman’s position in the Foreign Office would suggest he is trustworthy, eh? The Lloyd’s underwriters appear a bit suspicious, but I still cannot figure how they—indeed, any of them—could know in advance which ships would arrive at their destinations safely, and which would fall prey to pirates. Would that not require access to shipping schedules and knowledge of the cargo? And would that also not require communications with the pirates, alerting them to which ships were worth the risk and which to allow safe passage?”
“Exactly,” Hunt confirmed. He turned to Ethan and Auberville. “I told you the lad was bright.”
Charlie laughed. “But how will we ever prove such a thing?”
“There will be a trace of it somewhere. The trick is in knowing where to look. And now we know where to look.” He pointed to the names in the ledgers.
“Of all the names on that list, I think Doyle is most likely to be involved,” Ethan said.
Hunt silently agreed, but his opinion was more rooted in instinct than evidence. “Why do you say that?”
Ethan shrugged. “I studied him when we were debauching with Barrett. He pretends to drink and carouse, but he is always watching everyone else. I think he calculates his every move and his every word. Only a man with something to hide would be that deliberate.”
Auberville shot Hunt an amused glance. “He might not necessarily join in, but he would try to make us feel at ease in doing so ourselves—perhaps to catch us unguarded. And speaking of that, Hunt, why are we debauching with Barrett?”
“I…want Barrett to be home as little as possible.”
“Especially at night,” Charlie guessed.
Hunt gave him a chilling glance and, by Charlie’s faint nod, knew he would not mention what he’d seen at the musicale.
Ethan was the first to speak. “Sarah confided that she believes Barrett may be committing violence against his wife.”
Bloody hell! The bruise at the base of Elise’s throat rose to his mind like a reproach. He’d known that Barrett was a bully, but he hadn’t quite believed the man was stupid enough to abuse his wife right under the nose of society. And yet…
This morning when he’d left her at her house, he’d have sworn he saw a curtain move in the window. Someone had been waiting for Elise. Pray it was not Barrett, and pray he had not seen that last kiss. There wouldn’t be another. Hunt hated that he was an interloper and had no rights where she was concerned. He could not keep torturing himself that way.
Or he could kill the son-of-a-bitch. He’d killed men for less.
Auberville’s quiet voice cut through the awkward silence. “Easy, Hunt. By the look on your face, I can guess what you are thinking. But consider carefully before you do anything rash. It is one thing to love the lady, and anothe
r entirely to compromise her by challenging her husband.”
Was it so obvious, then? If his friends had recognized it, was all of the ton whispering behind closed doors? “Compromise be damned,” he growled. “She is married and there is not a damn thing I can do about that, but you cannot expect me to stand idly by while he abuses her at will?”
“You must,” Ethan muttered with a lack of conviction.
Even Charlie nodded.
But, judging by the looks on their faces, it was clear that none of them believed he would.
Elise glanced at her reflection in the looking glass over the foyer side table. She secured the remaining emerald earbob and then shifted her gaze to Barrett’s reflection behind her. “Will the emeralds do, or have you brought something else?”
His eyes swept her with the hint of insult. “You think I’ve been ostentatious, do you not? But I think there is no harm in showing the ton that you and the jewels are mine again.” He flicked the earbob with his finger. “You are mine again, are you not, Elise?”
There was something nasty in his voice and she turned to him. “I am here, am I not?”
“I give you a little rope and watch whilst you hang yourself, m’dear. I saw Lockwood’s coach bring you home, and the little pause before you emerged. Then I realized what has been bothering me. You knew him in St. Claire.”
She nodded and pushed a handkerchief into her reticule, praying that he hadn’t seen them kiss.
“How well did you know him?”
“He only arrived on St. Claire a week before I left.”
“Not an answer, wife.” He circled her, looking her up and down as if inspecting her before allowing her out of the house. “At first, I thought he disliked you. Now I am wondering if there is more to it than that. Something—” he bent close to her ear and placed his hands on her bare shoulders “—intimate. Did you spread your legs for him, madam?”
She fought her rising panic. Surely he couldn’t know such a thing? She lifted her chin. “Your vulgarity astonishes me, Barrett.”
“Or perhaps it is Doyle I should worry about. Was he not assigned to St. Claire for two or three years?”
“I believe so. But we did not mingle in the same circles. I only got to know him shortly before my return.”
“How very coincidental that you should return at the same time, and on the same ship. Did you share a cabin?”
“Why are you so obsessed with my virtue or lack of it, Barrett? It is not as if you are in love with me. I should rather think you would be anxious for me to take a lover so that I would not care about your own carousing.”
“Do you care, my sweet?” His upper lip curled in a sarcastic sneer. “Perhaps my carousing has been a mistake. Perhaps I should stay home more and give attention to my love-starved wife.”
“Not if you value your life.”
“Interesting. I notice how you refuse to answer my questions regarding Lockwood and Doyle. If I should find out, madam, that you have made me a cuckold, I shall kill you with my bare hands.” He circled his fingers around her throat and applied pressure.
Elise stood very still. This was Barrett’s favorite way to provoke her fear, but she would not give him what he wanted. That would only feed his sadistic appetite. She waited until he eased his grip and then asked, “Are you finished, Barrett? I believe the coach is waiting.”
He slipped his fingers over her shoulders and squeezed her upper arms before dropping his hands to his sides. “You think I am a fool, madam? We shall see who the fool is. You do not care for yourself? Well, that makes two of us. But I know what you do care about. Your sniveling little cub.”
She feigned a weary indifference. “You would not kill your heir, Barrett, no matter what you tell me. There would be too many questions. Too much gossip. As a peer, you would have to answer to the king himself. And I am tired of listening to your absurd threats.”
Barrett narrowed his eyes. “We shall see about that, madam. Perhaps I will bring him here to live. Then you would see what I dare.”
It had never occurred to her that William might be safer as a hostage than he would be in his own house. The thought was sobering. And terrifying.
“But then you would leave, eh? Once you had him back, there’d be no further inducement for you to stay.”
She swirled her fur-trimmed cloak around her shoulders and tried her own ploy. “Do warn me when you next intend to bring William to visit, Barrett. I shall be very busy in the future. I am joining Lady Sarah’s Wednesday afternoon reading group, and I have decided to volunteer at the foundling hospital.”
“Anything that will keep you away from home? Very clever, m’dear. And what if I brought William every day?”
She laughed as she opened the door to the street. “You would do something like that just to spite me.”
“I shall bring him tomorrow, madam. See that you are here, or it will be his last visit.”
Elise said a tiny prayer of gratitude as Barrett entered the coach ahead of her and waited for the driver to hand her up. She would send a note to Sarah the moment she arrived home.
Hunt gave his coat to the footman in Thackery’s lobby and waited for Andrew to follow suit. They’d been looking for Doyle all night. Now that the investigation had narrowed to a scant few men, he wanted to keep a close watch on them. Eastman was content at home most evenings, Charlie was off trying to find out who the devil the Langford person was and Hunt had assigned runners to watch the two underwriters. That left Doyle. And Hunt planned to ask about the investment Doyle had dangled in front of him.
Andrew straightened his jacket sleeves as he joined Hunt. “Too bad Ethan and Auberville decided to stay home with their wives tonight. I must say, they haven’t been nearly as entertaining as they were when they were unshackled.”
Amused by Andrew’s assessment, Hunt laughed. As the second-born son, there hadn’t been much that Andrew hadn’t indulged in. As he was quick to point out, he did not have to uphold the family name or reputation, and he took his career as the black sheep very seriously. Someone had to do it, he said.
Hunt scanned the crowds at the tables and then glanced up at the mezzanine to see who might be watching from above. “Busy tonight,” he observed.
Andrew nodded. “Brisk. I’ve seen two and three men deep at the tables and the management opening the private rooms upstairs to accommodate the overflow.” He snagged a glass of wine from a passing footman and asked, “Doyle, eh? What happened to Barrett? I thought that little maggot was our game. Amusing in his own way, but tiresome after a few hours. Keeps up, though. I have to give him that.”
“Tonight, I am after Doyle. You take Barrett, if we should come across him.”
“Oh, we will. I saw his coach in the queue outside.” Andrew narrowed his eyes as if that would help him see through the perpetual gloom of half-light. Where Belmonde’s was all glitter and light, Thackery’s was dim and secretive.
Hunt could not curb his curiosity. “What does Barrett talk about? What occupies his mind?”
“Mind? He has a mind?” Andrew gave him a lopsided grin. “I thought all he had was a toothsome wife.”
“Drew…”
He held one hand up. “Aye. I’m not slow-witted enough to have missed your interest, Hunt. But I must say I am surprised. Not your usual sport, to fish in the married pond. I do not mind keeping him out of the way for you whilst you dally, but one day you will have to repay me in kind.”
“I have not…” Not entirely true, Hunt realized. He had dallied. “It is not to keep him out of my way, but hers.”
Andrew returned to the original question. “What occupies his mind? Hmm. Not much beyond the next debauchery. He is somewhat creative there. I gather the filles de joie draw lots to see who must accommodate him. One is left to conclude that he is a bit rough on them.”
Hunt remembered Elise’s soft question in the middle of the storm. Will you hurt me? He wished, again, that he could thrash Barrett soundly. “So when I see the lad
ies flock to you, Drew, what should I assume?”
Another lopsided grin. “That I pay well, perform well or am at least amusing?”
“Must be the money.”
Andrew chuckled. “I shall remember you said that when I am occupying Barrett. And speak of the devil…”
Hunt followed his glance. Standing at a rouge et noir table, Barrett was laying a wager while Elise seemed in her own world, stroking the line of a necklace that lay against her chest, a large tear-shaped emerald at the center. And suddenly, Hunt understood why Barrett made her wear the jewels. They branded her as his property.
He started toward them but had taken no more than two steps before Andrew stopped him. “Let Barrett come to us. ’Twill give him something to think about, eh?”
“And if he doesn’t come?”
“He will. He fancies he can beat me at my own game. He will not pass up an opportunity to try.”
“Your game, Andrew? Dare I ask?”
“That might not be wise, Hunt. Come. Shall we go upstairs? Barrett has just spotted us and will follow presently.”
Hunt suspected he would. The rooms off the mezzanine were given over to very private and high-stakes games, and the salon at the head of the stairs was the exclusive purview of the crème de la crème of the demimonde. Undoubtedly Barrett would not be able to resist the lure.
A voice called to them as they reached the foot of the stairs. “Lockwood! Drew!”
They turned and found Gavin Doyle coming toward them. Just the man he was hunting. “’Lo, Doyle. Care to join us? We were just going upstairs.”
Doyle glanced upward and smiled. “Hold that thought, Lockwood. Must find Barrett first. I was supposed to meet him here an hour ago, but I got caught up elsewhere.”
Hunt followed Andrew up the stairs. The multitude of private rooms opening off the mezzanine were all closed for serious play and they were able to make a circuit of the balcony overlooking the main salon before joining the boisterous laughter and general hilarity of the demimonde’s salon.
From his vantage beside one of the potted palms placed at intervals along the railing, Hunt could see Barrett and Elise quite clearly. He watched while Doyle joined them and saw, as well, the way Barrett’s fingers dug into Elise’s arm as she moved slightly away from him. Her eyelashes fluttered, but her expression did not betray pain or annoyance. God! Barrett was draining the life from her!
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