“I haven’t an inkling,” he answered honestly. “Now kindly take Lady Virtue to your room, if you please, while I see this matter sorted.”
At least his sister had the common sense to cover herself with a dressing gown. He had no doubt that it was new and had cost him dearly, but at least half the footmen weren’t gaping up at her. He cut his gaze to the shocked domestics gathered, the size of which was growing by the moment.
One of the footmen finally reached Trevor, rushing forward with the fire poker he had requested. He accepted it and returned his gaze to the man at his feet who, it was more than apparent by this juncture, was dead.
He’d likely broken his neck in the fall.
For once, the stone steps which had been the pride of his father and which Trevor had always loathed—they were so damned cold and hard, just like his sire’s heart—had actually proven beneficial. Difficult to credit, but there it was. The former Duke of Ridgely was likely turning in his grave at the prospect.
“What shall I do, Your Grace?” Ames asked.
Trevor looked down at the dead man at his feet and made a sudden, unwanted realization. First the blow he’d taken to his head the other night, now a knife-wielding assassin in his chamber in the midst of the night. These were not poorly timed coincidences.
Someone was trying to kill him.
Someone wanted himdead.
Dead enough to attempt to murder him in his own bed.
Was it just the man on the floor before him, or were there others? Trevor knew not. All he did know was that there were few men on this earth he trusted like the men who had been a part of the Guild. They were like brothers to him, in bond if not blood. He needed them at Hunt House, and he needed them now.
“Send word to Logan Sutton and Archer Tierney,” he told his butler. “I want them here first.”
“Right away, Your Grace,” Ames said.
* * *
“Dead, is he not?”Trevor asked of the sleepy-eyed friends who had dashed to Hunt House at his request.
And in the very bowels of the night, no less. Thank God not everyone in London thought him a base scoundrel. Then again, perhaps these two did, but he would entrust his very life to their hands, and he was damned glad they had answered his call.
They were gathered at the base of the stairs, where a coverlet had been summoned to cover the body of the man in question. The better to assuage the tender sensibilities of the servants and ladies of the household, all of whom had been told to remain in their quarters until any traces of lingering danger could be assessed by Trevor, Sutton, and Tierney.
Tierney sank to his haunches by the still, blanket-clad form and flipped back the corner to take a look within. “Quite.”
“Gone to Rothisbones,” Logan Sutton concurred grimly, gazing down at the body. “Didn’t know you were in the business of hushing calls, Ridgely. I thought you were only in the flesh trade.”
He ignored the jibe, for he employed no prostitutes at The Velvet Slipper.Saint’s teeth, it was a club. A very exclusive one which catered to very particular tastes, but a club nonetheless.
“I didn’t kill the bastard,” Trevor said. “He did, however, try to kill me.”
Tierney rose, his expression grim, his green gaze sharp and intelligent. “Tell us what happened, from beginning to end.”
Trevor relayed the tale, from waking in the night to the sound of someone entering his room, to the subsequent battle for his life, the lost knife, and the assailant’s frantic attempts to flee.
“Which ended,” Trevor gestured to the body on the marble hall, “in this fashion, as you can see. He slipped on the stone stairs and couldn’t right himself in the darkness. Broke his neck in the fall, unless I’m mistaken.”
“Do you recognize ’im?” Sutton asked.
A man born and raised in the rookeries, Logan Sutton’s roots sometimes showed in his speech patterns and odd turns of phrase. One look at the auburn-haired man before him, however, and no one would see Sutton as anything but the elegant gentleman he appeared to be. Trevor, however, knew what Sutton was capable of. He was clever, loyal, and fearless.
Well, he’d been relentlessly loyal to the Guild until he’d met his wife. Now, Mrs. Sutton retained much of the loyalty Sutton had once devoted to the Guild, and the Guild had been disbanded.
Love, or some such rot.
“I’ve never seen him before,” Trevor said of the bastard who would have slain him. “Do either of you recognize him?”
He was thinking of their former work for Whitehall, of course, and the many criminals they had dealt with during the time they had operated the Guild.
