The cold air outside did nothing to cool his heated thoughts. Every interaction with Louise left him more unsettled, more desperate for something he couldn’t allow himself to have.
The walk to the Boar’s Head gave him time to rebuild his defenses. By the time he arrived at the dingy pub in Southwark, Aaron had forced thoughts of Louise aside, focusing instead on whatever news Howlett had to share.
The pub was dim and smoky, filled with the low murmur of men conducting business best left unexamined. Aaron spotted Howlett in a corner booth, nursing an ale and trying to look inconspicuous despite his obviously professional bearing.
“Your Grace.” Howlett rose slightly as Aaron approached. “Thank you for coming.”
Aaron settled across from him, noting the tension in the man’s shoulders. “Your note suggested urgency.”
“Indeed.” Howlett leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’ve had word about Lord Sulton.”
Aaron’s attention sharpened. “What kind of word?”
“He’s been seen.” Howlett pulled out a small notebook, flipping to a marked page. “Three days ago, at the docks in Wapping. Meeting with a man named John Wigram, who runs operations out of the East End. Has connections that make even the Runners nervous.” Howlett’s voice dropped further. “Your Grace, if Lord Sulton is involved with Wigram, this goes beyond mere gambling debts.”
“You think he’s backing the operation?”
“It would explain how he’s been funding his losses. Smuggling pays well, if you don’t mind the risk of hanging.” Howlett closed his notebook. “I could look into it further. Perhaps speak with Lord Sulton’s accountant, see if there’s a paper trail.”
“No.” Aaron’s voice came out sharper than intended. “I’ll handle the accountant myself.”
Howlett raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“What’s the accountant’s name?”
“Seamus Hargrave. Keeps offices in Cheapside, and he’s known to be discreet about his clients’ affairs.” Howlett slid a folded paper across the table. “The address is there.”
Aaron pocketed the paper without looking at it. “If you hear anything else about Wigram’s movements, or Lord Sulton’s whereabouts, send word immediately.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Aaron stood, tossing coins onto the table to cover Howlett’s ale and then some. “Thank you.”
“Your Grace?” Howlett’s voice stopped him before he could turn away. “A word of caution, if I may.”
“Speak.”
“Wigram isn’t a man who forgives debts or forgets slights. If Lord Sulton has crossed him or taken something that belongs to him …” Howlett let the implication hang in the air. “It might be wise to find the young lord before Wigram does.”
Aaron nodded once and left the pub, stepping out into the gray afternoon. The cold air bit at his face as he walked, but he barely noticed.
The Earl of Sulton, George Burrows, was a smuggler.
It shouldn’t have surprised him. The man had shown time and time again that he possessed neither sense nor scruples. But if George were caught, the scandal would destroy what little remained of Louise’s reputation.
She and Emily would be ruined. Cast out of society entirely. No amount of protection Aaron could offer would shield them from the taint of a brother executed for crimes against the Crown.
He had to find George before anyone else did. Had to extract the fool from whatever mess he’d made and clean it up quietly.
The accountant would be his first step. If George was funneling money through smuggling operations, there would be records. There were always records. And records could be destroyed if one moved quickly enough.
Aaron hailed a passing hackney, giving the driver the Cheapside address. The visit to the accountant couldn’t wait. Every hour George remained entangled with Wigram increased the danger.
As the carriage rattled through London’s crowded streets, Aaron’s thoughts drifted despite his best efforts.
Louise in pearl silk. Louise laughing at Emily’s antics. Louise looking at him with those green eyes that saw too much, wanted too much, deserved far more than he could offer.
But God help him, he wanted her.
