“Terms?” The man had the audacity to laugh. “We are not at war. I am not your adversary.”
I laid my spoon down with a decided clack. “You wish to close my business. You are very much my adversary.”
“I am sorry you feel that way.” He took a sip of the Darjeeling, then rested his cup on his knee. “I heard about Edgar Bannister’s murder. I came to see how you fared.”
I swallowed and looked past him to my hanging fern. Several spindly leaves were brown; I should pick them out and water the poor thing. “I was not well acquainted with the boy.”
“No, but it must impact the investigation into his mother’s death, with which you are intimately involved.” He gave her a sad smile. “This latest tragedy must have affected you.”
I narrowed my eyes. He must have an ulterior motive. Our relationship was fractious at best. It seemed strange that he would come to offer sympathy. But even suspecting his motives, even knowing he wanted nothing more than to wipe my club off the map, his words still made the backs of my eyes burn. I didn’t have many people in my life to offer me sympathy. My nephew and his friends thought me stalwart, an emotional rock who never suffered distress. And for the most part, they were right. I rarely let life bother me.
But a young man had just been murdered. A man who’d had his whole life ahead of him. A man I’d suspected of the most dastardly deed. My emotions were not as rocklike as I might have wanted.
“I’m fine.” I inhaled sharply. “No, I take that back. I’m angry. There is little doubt in my mind that the same villain who killed Lady Richford also took the life of her son. Such depravity… offends me.”
The smile he gave me was warm, although I didn’t think our conversation warranted such a cheerful expression. “My dear Lady Mary, I do so admire your spirit. Even when I think it is misdirected, you are a force to be reckoned with.”
I sniffed, pushing my spectacles back up my nose. There was little worse than preparing oneself for a fight and instead finding one’s opponent all that is accommodating and flattering. It quite soured the mood.
Ryder finished his tea and set his cup on the desk. “I thought you would accuse me of penning that recent opinion piece inThe Times. If you did think I was the author, I wanted to assure you that I am not.”
I flapped my hand at him. “I know you aren’t the author. The manner of writing wasn’t your style.”
There was that lovely smile again. “And do you know who did write it?”
“Not yet.” My fingers dug into the fine china of the teacup. “But I have my suspicions. The writing was in the style of another opinion piece recently in the paper.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Which…” His face cleared. “Lord Anglia. The man who wrote the vile piece about Lady Richford.”
I raised one shoulder. “As I said, it’s only a suspicion.”
“You need to take care.” Ryder frowned. “That piece was venomous.”
“I need to do a great many things.” I placed a wedge of apple cake on a plate, offered it to him, then set it in front of myself when he shook his head. “Taking advice from someone who wants to close my business most likely isn’t one of those things.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “If you won’t take my advice, perhaps you will heed a warning. This Mr. Cooke whom you’ve associated yourself with—”
“I’ve hardly done that,” I objected.
He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Cooke has an association with Lord Anglia. He controls the construction guilds that always seem to get the contract for the public construction projects Anglia so likes. Large sums of money are involved. You seem to have caught the eye of both these men, and their attention is best avoided.”
I put my fork down, the bite of cake uneaten. “How do you know this?” I knew Cooke was involved in many criminal enterprises; I hadn’t realized he was involved with the guilds.
“I like to keep an eye on Cooke’s activities.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Once upon a time, we used to be friends.”
I opened my mouth. Shut it. Mr. Ryder couldn’t have surprised me more than if he’d declared his undying love for me. “You. And Mr. Cooke. Friends.”
One edge of his mouth lifted. “I do have some. Even some with whom I maintain severe disagreements.” He sobered. “But I no longer count Edric among them.”
“Well.” I was confounded. The moralist and the ruffian. I suppose there were odder friendships, but I hadn’t yet seen one. I thought again about Mr. Ryder’s purpose for coming here today. Perhaps that was his tactic. Befriend the sinner, in his eyes at least, and try to redeem them with kind words and soft cajoling.
My back straightened. That wouldn’t be happening here. “Mr. Ryder, I—”
“You would not believe the impudence of some people.” Eleanor stormed into my office, gaze fixed on the cuff of her lavender gown as she swiped at it with a handkerchief. A large reticule knocked against her thigh. “I think someone threw a tomato at me. Or perhaps it was at Bernard. Either way, I might need a new pelisse. Bernand’s trying to clean it now.”
“A tomato?” Anger burbled in my stomach. First her skirts caught on fire at my club and now attack by nightshade? The protest out front had gone too far. I stood.
“Yes, a very ripe….” Eleanor finally looked up and caught sight of my visitor. “Oh. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
