The words blurred as he read over the first statement.
He was a wiry man with a shock of red hair; I’d recognize him if I saw him again.Very small, easy to slip between carriages undetected, I suppose. I saw him go into Hollins right after he had passed by Her Grace’s carriage. He seemed familiar with the place.
Gabriel cursed violently. How could he have missed that detail? The statement had come in a couple of days ago, and he had not been sleeping a lot, nor eating much, and the words had blurred more times than they had been clear, but he should not have missed such an important detail.
He shot out of his chair, uncaring that he ought to bathe or make himself look presentable. His father would be ashamed, but without Sibyl, Gabriel cared for very little.
He tore through London’s streets, focused solely on getting to Hollins, a tavern where fairly respectable people often dined.
It was not a place where he thought a criminal would go, but perhaps that was the point. Plenty of lords dealt in crime, their hands far from clean.
He slammed the tavern door open, his eyes searching the faces.
“I am looking for a man,” he announced to the small room. “Red hair, short and thin, might frequent this place often.”
As soon as he spoke, a chair scraped back, the person rising from it moving so fast that he knocked it over. Gabriel’s eyes caught sight of the red-haired man right as he sprinted out of the dining area and made for the bar.
Gabriel shot after him, a familiar emotion rising in his chest: pure anger.
He followed the man beyond the bar, then to a door that led out into the street. The man was fast, but Gabriel was angrier and faster. He caught up to him, grasping his collar and slamming him against the nearest wall.
The man whimpered when Gabriel snarled in his face. “Who are you?”
Another whimper came, and Gabriel shoved him harder against the wall.
“I-I am Lord Samuel, Your Grace. Th-The younger brother of?—”
“I do not care about that,” Gabriel hissed. “You were seen tampering with the Duchess of Stonehelm’s carriage.Why?”
Lord Samuel’s eyes widened.
Gabriel slammed him against the wall again, the man’s head hitting the brick with a satisfyingthud.
“I was friends with Edmund, and I do not like how quickly Her Grace discarded his memory. I wanted vengeance for Edmund’s debts, for how you worked with her to write my friend off. I do not believe that what happened was fair. Edmund was a good viscount, a good man. I do not care about being caught. If you think you can intimidate me with that, you cannot.”
“You ran rather fast for a man who does not care,” Gabriel drawled.
Still, something niggled at him.
The fear in Samuel’s voicewasreal. But if he wasn’t afraid of being taken to the authorities for attempting to harm a duchess, then whatwashe afraid of?
It was only when Gabriel handed him over to the authorities and returned home, trying to feel a glimmer of triumph for finally catching the culprit, that he realized something.
Samuel claimed to be Edmund’s friend, yet he had called him aviscount.
Gabriel poured himself a drink, unable to ignore the feeling that something was not right. The numbness eventually took over, and he fell into it, wondering why this victory did not feel as good as it should have.
“Let us drink, Cousin!”
Gabriel looked up from his desk right as Preston walked into the study. He realized that he had once again slept in the same clothes, although he felt restless as ever.
Preston paused, raising an eyebrow. “Heavens, you don’t seem to be doing very well. You have worn yourself out searching for the culprit.”
“And I found him.” Gabriel’s words were confident, contrasting with the numbness in his chest.
“As the entirety of London is finding out in today’s papers. Which is why I have brought champagne. We shall drink to your victory. It looks as though you desperately need it.”
Gabriel glared at him. “I am not in the mood to deal with you or your cheer.”
