“He’s still hunting.”
“Aggressively. Whatever Lord Sulton took, Wigram wants it badly enough to risk exposure.” Howlett tapped his pencil against the notebook. “His usual business has suffered from the distraction.”
Aaron considered this. Ernest’s suggestion gained merit with each detail. “I want you to shift focus. Stop searching for Sulton directly.”
Howlett’s expression sharpened with interest. “Your Grace?”
“Follow Wigram instead. Document his movements, his associates, his operations. If Sulton surfaces anywhere near Wigram’s enterprise, I want to know immediately.”
“That’s dangerous surveillance.” Howlett chose his words carefully. “Wigram has killed men for less than watching him too closely.”
“Then be careful. But be thorough.” Aaron pulled out a leather purse, substantially heavier than usual. “Hire whatever additional men you need. Trustworthy ones.”
Howlett accepted the purse. “I’ll need a week to establish proper surveillance. Maybe two.”
“Take whatever time is necessary. But when Sulton appears, we need to move quickly.”
“Understood.” Howlett rose, tucking the purse inside his coat. “Your Grace, if I may … Lord Sulton’s sisters. Do they know how deeply he’s involved?”
Aaron thought of Louise in his chambers, trembling as she absorbed the truth about her brother’s crimes. “They know enough.”
“It’s just …” Howlett shifted uncomfortably. “Men like Wigram don’t forgive debts. Even if we find Lord Sulton, even if we clear the financial obligation, there’s the matter of whatever he took. Wigram will want blood for that betrayal.”
The words confirmed what Aaron already knew. Finding George was only the beginning. Keeping him alive would require either Wigram’s death or displacement, neither easily accomplished.
“Let me worry about Wigram’s forgiveness.” Aaron moved toward the door, indicating the meeting’s end. “Focus on findinghim. When George surfaces, contact me immediately, day or night.”
Howlett departed with promises of regular updates. Aaron remained in the empty room and thought of Ernest’s uncomfortable truths.
His friend saw too much and understood too well the battle raging inside him. Every moment with Louise weakened his resolve, made him want things he had no right to desire. Last night, with her in his bed, her trust absolute, her pleasure his only focus, he had felt something dangerous.
Complete.
As if all the fractured pieces of himself suddenly aligned, creating someone worthy of the faith Emily and Louise placed in him. But morning always came, bringing with it the weight of reality. His father’s legacy. The impossibility of their situation. The knowledge that wanting her was selfishness disguised as affection.
Aaron left White’s, instructing his driver to take a circuitous route home. He needed time to rebuild his walls before facing Louise again. Time to remember why maintaining distance protected them both.
But as the carriage rolled through London’s streets, he pulled out Emily’s gift, feeling the lumpy contents through the fabric.
Perhaps Ernest was right. Perhaps being aware of his capacity for destruction made him different from his father. Perhaps wanting to protect Louise rather than possess her meant something.
Or perhaps that was simply another lie he told himself to justify the unjustifiable.
He would find George. He would secure Louise and Emily’s future.
And then he would let them go, no matter how much it destroyed him to do so.
CHAPTER 22
“That woman’s pelisse is an absolute crime against fashion,” Lady Merrow delivered her verdict while maintaining a perfectly pleasant expression, nodding politely at the lady in question, who passed them on the frost-covered path.
Hyde Park stretched around them in winter splendor, bare trees etched against a pearl-gray sky.
Louise glanced at the offending garment, a vivid purple creation with enough trim to outfit a small regiment. “Perhaps she enjoys making a statement.”
“The only statement that makes is that her modiste despises her.” Lady Merrow adjusted Buttercup’s lead as the dog investigated a nearby tree. “Although I suppose we should be grateful. Someone needs to make the rest of us look elegant by comparison.”
They walked in companionable silence for several minutes, their boots crunching on frozen grass. Other fashionable Londoners took advantage of the brief respite from snow, couples strolling arm in arm, children racing ahead of harried governesses.
