Ridiculous. He had everything he needed, and then some. He was reading too much into his recent behavior—because of his argument with the earl.
He picked up the ale, considered the foamy brew, then set it down with too much force, sloshing liquid onto the glossy wood.
Hell. Coming here had accomplished nothing. He rose to leave when a familiar voice called to him from the open doorway of the sitting room.
“Thurgood? It is you. I didn’t think to see you ‘til God knows when, since you disappeared to God knows where, as per usual.”
An echo of his grandfather’s sentiments. Zeke forced a jovial smile and extended his hand to his life-long friend, Viscount Sterling Randall. “Randall. The earl told me you’d left town.”
“I made it back only this morning.”
“Fortuitous, then, as I arrived early last week. What’s brought you to London this time of year?”
Randall shrugged. “Business at the bank. You?”
“Between trips. Thought I’d check on the earl.”
“Looks like you were on your way out. Stay for one more?” Randall gestured toward a small, ornate bar, where one man lingered over a nearly empty cocktail.
“Why not?” Zeke retrieved his abandoned ale.
Randall ordered a stein from the barman then turned his attention on Zeke.
“You look troubled, my friend. Rather unThurgood-like. Let me guess.” He narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching with amusement. “Couldn’t be woman trouble, unless we’re talking about one you can’t shake off.”
Zeke snorted.
“Let’s see. Gaming debts are off the table. Cuckolded husband, as well. A foiled business venture is simply unimaginable. That leaves Caden or the earl. My money’s on Caden.”
“I haven’t seen Caden since my return. The earl, however…” He thought of how he’d left things. Of his own randy behavior of late.
He couldn’t discuss such private matters, even with Randall, and certainly not here, where the walls had ears.
But Kit was another matter entirely. “Perhaps you could help me solve a little puzzle.”
“I love a good mind bender.”
“The earl’s got himself a tiger. A young man who’s supposed to be his personal assistant, but seems more like a pet monkey.”
“And this bothers you precisely why?”
“Because Kit isn’t a servant. He’s”—he grimaced—“I don’t know what he is, but the old man dotes on him like he’s another grandson or something. Tell me, have you heard rumors about any”—he broke off, lowered his voice—“mistresses Caden may have left in a delicate condition?”
“Caden?” He scoffed. “What about you?”
“I’d know if something like that happened. Besides, the lad’s coloring’s all off.”
Randall laughed. “Perhaps the old man is simply lonely. Neither you nor Caden sticks close to home of late.”
“He isn’t lonely,” Zeke said, though he didn’t meet Randall’s eyes.
“Perhaps he likes having a companion at his beck and call?”
“A damned odd companion. The boy’s”—He shrugged—“far too proper.”
A pale-skinned, wiry man, of average height and with close cropped brown hair leaned across the bar to flag their attention. “Excuse me. What did you say this errand boy was called?”
Zeke didn’t answer. Instead he studied the man with narrowed eyes. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
