“I should return to Emily,” she managed finally.
“Of course.” He moved to open the door for her, ever the gentleman despite the tension crackling between them. “We dine at eight. My aunt insists on formal dinners, I’m afraid.”
“We’ll be ready.”
As she passed him in the doorway, she caught his scent again. Something woody and warm that made her want to lean closer. She forced herself to keep walking.
“Lady Louise.”
She paused, turning back.
“Your brother is fortunate to have you.” His expression had softened slightly. “Most siblings would have given up by now.”
“Family doesn’t give up on each other,” she whispered.
Something shifted in his face, perhaps pain or longing. “No. I suppose they shouldn’t.”
She left him there, standing in his study doorway, and wondered what ghosts haunted the Duke of Calborough. Whatever they were, she recognized the look of someone who understood abandonment.
Perhaps they had more in common than she’d thought.
CHAPTER 6
Late that morning, Aaron left Calborough House under the pretense of business with his steward, but his carriage turned instead toward Bow Street.
The cold wind cut through the narrow streets, carrying with it the familiar tang of coal smoke and stale river air. He had not visited Bow Street in nearly a year, not since the last time Mr. Howlett had reported on an illegal scheme Aaron once, foolishly, agreed to help expose.
Howlett looked much the same as he had then. The Runner rose when Aaron entered the cramped office.
“Your Grace,” Howlett said, inclining his head. “Wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I’m not here on ducal business,” Aaron said, closing the door behind him. “I need information. Quietly.”
That earned Howlett’s full attention. “Name the man.”
“George Burrows.”
Howlett’s brows shot up. “The Marquess of Sulton? Thought he’d gone abroad.”
“So did half of London.” Aaron crossed his arms.
Howlett hesitated, then opened a drawer and withdrew a narrow ledger. “His name crossed my desk two nights ago. A fight at a gambling den in Covent Garden. Bad one.” He tapped a line with his finger. “Sulton fled before we could question him. Vanished into the alleys like smoke.”
Exactly what Aaron feared.
“Was anyone injured?”
“One man with a cracked skull. Another with a knife wound in the arm.” Howlett’s voice lowered. “Rumor is Sulton wasn’t fighting for sport. Looked cornered.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened. “Can you dig deeper? Discreetly.”
“Of course.” Howlett closed the ledger with a snap. “Same arrangement as before?”
Aaron slipped a folded note across the desk, heavier than necessary. “Find him. Quickly.”
Aaron stepped back into the bitter afternoon wind with the noise of Bow Street swelling around him. He climbed into his carriage without a word, rapped on the roof, and let it carry him toward White’s.
A drink, he told himself.
