Page 54

He stepped back, discomfited by the familiarity. The gesture, once welcome, now struck him as absurd. How had he ever thought her touch beguiling? Honey and cheerful conversation and soft kisses, those were the scents that lingered in his thoughts now.

“Feel free to visit, Brendan,” she said lightly. “There is no need to be a stranger. Now that you are respectable again.”

Her tone was light, but the insinuation struck like a whip. He narrowed his eyes.

“That will not be happening.”

Harriet’s mouth curved into a smile both coy and cruel. “We shall see. The little debutante is bound to bore you. And now that you are a married man … Why, it is all rather perfect, is it not?”

Before he could respond, she turned with practiced grace and mounted the carriage steps, vanishing behind the velvet curtains as the footman shut the door.

He stared after her for a moment, not with longing but with grim clarity. He would not chase her. To do so would draw attention, and he refused to create a scene in the middle of St. James’s Street. Let her have her games.

Brendan turned and strode toward the club, jaw tight. He would be better prepared next time they crossed paths. But right now, he had far more urgent matters at hand—namely, the safety and happiness of the only woman who had chosen him for all that he was, and not what he could give.

Brendan made his way inside, quickly spotting his party seated at a corner table set a modest distance apart from the other patrons. As he crossed the floor, he became aware of conversations pausing. Several gentlemen turned in their seats to track his progress, eyes narrowing with unspoken curiosity. He kept his gaze ahead and his expression unreadable, pretending not to notice.

Upon reaching the table, he pulled out a chair and sat with a little too much force, exhaling as he settled. The low hum of conversation resumed cautiously, as if the room itself were deciding whether to treat his presence as scandalous or simply noteworthy. Brendan suspected that, in several corners, he and Lily were already being discussed.

“Thank you for meeting me.”

Briggs inclined his head. Richard, seated beside him, was fiddling with his snow-white cravat, an unmistakable sign of agitation. Halmesbury remained the most composed of the trio, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, the navy sleeves of his coat stretched taut over his broad shoulders.

“Is Lily in danger?” The question shot from Richard like an arrow, his emerald eyes sharp with concern as he leaned forward on the table.

Brendan answered with quiet urgency. “Something happened last night that confirms Briggs’s suspicions. I judged it wiser not to discuss the matter where servants might overhear. There is no direct threat against Lily, but I am grateful you arranged for the Johns to be present. Until we know more, caution is essential.”

Richard exhaled heavily and slumped back in his chair, his brows drawn tight with worry. “We should have taken steps sooner. If anything happens to her …” He trailed off, waving a hand as if swatting at the dreadful possibilities. “Sophia would be beside herself.”

Briggs cleared his throat gently. “If I may, your lordship, what occurred?”

Brendan rubbed at his temple, then recounted the events of the early morning hours with precise brevity. As he finished, a stillness settled over the group.

Halmesbury rubbed his jaw, his gray eyes narrowing in thought.

Richard clenched his fists against the table, then abruptly raised a hand to summon a server. “I need a drink.”

“It is barely past nine.” Halmesbury arched one brow.

“A small one. But a drink nonetheless.” Richard’s tone was dry, laced with fatigue. “This feels far too reminiscent of the mess Sophia and I endured last year. I would like to settle my nerves before facing her with this.”

“Your wife will have opinions about you imbibing,” the duke murmured with some amusement.

Richard sighed, lifting a hand to dismiss the server before placing an order. “She usually prefers that I maintain a clear head. And rightly so. These past two weeks have been unrelenting. Still …” He drew a long breath. “Clarity is vital now.”

Brendan turned to the runner. “Where do things stand with the servants?”

Briggs appeared to be chewing over the question. “I am still investigating Stanley and David, but as of now, Michaels is the only one with any discernible motive. The baron has not set foot in Town in two decades. It complicates matters. If something has been stirred up, the roots may be older than we can estimate.”

“Are there others to consider? Visitors to Somerset, those with homes in the area?”

Briggs gave a slow nod. “Perhaps a handful. But it is unclear if any would have cause to act.”

Halmesbury leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “What if this is not recent at all? What if the cause lies buried in the past? Briggs suspects Michaels because of decades-old grievances, but what do we know of the baron’s history here in London? Could he have made enemies … ones who might hold a grudge these many years?”

The table fell into contemplative silence again, the soft clink murmur of conversation around them a contrast to the weighty thoughts now threading between them.

Brendan cocked his head, considering whom the baron might have encountered during the brief window he had spent in London prior to his death. “He might have visited the tailor for a final fitting. His coronation garments were made in Somerset, but his valet could not say with certainty if he had any final alterations completed here in London. Naturally, he would have spoken with the household staff and the coachman, which Briggs has already been investigating. Beyond that, the only setting where he might have mingled was at the coronation itself. The lords were seated together at Westminster Abbey, were they not?”