“I have never properly thanked you for the care you took of me and this entire household over the last year. Thank you for keeping things afloat while I wallowed. I am in your debt.”
Townson cleared his throat. “Not at all, my lord. It is my honor to serve the Dukes of Hartwick.” He bowed and hurried from the room.
Hart’s lips turned up into a smile at the man’s retreating back. He had probably embarrassed the old guy, but the thank you needed to be said, should have been expressed earlier. Unfortunately, the conversation hadn’t revealed any new information. Once again, he was at a dead end.
Hart knew what he had to do. He really did not want to speak with his half-brother. But the smug bastard did seem to know more about his family than anyone else. He quickly penned a note requesting a meeting and addressed it to the Blue Angel, hoping that Seaton would receive it. As he stepped out of the room, his wife came down the corridor wearing a loose-fitting tunic over a pair of pantaloons. Her mind focused on whatever was making her frown, she stalked past his study without seeing him.
Quick as a wink, he snagged her elbow. “Where are you going, wife?”
Lucy blinked up at him, her eyes cleared, and she smiled. “Oh, I was going to work with my staff for a bit. I haven’t even touched it since our wedding day.”
Seeing her shapely legs encased in the tight-fitting trousers was making him semi-hard already. He slid a hand around to squeeze her behind and pull her against him.
She giggled. “You like my outfit?”
His hand flexed again on her soft backside. “Yes, where did you even find a pair of pantaloons that would fit you?”
“Helen assessed some of the old livery made for the footman and found a pair in my size. Do you want to spar with me? I could teach you a few of the movements.”
“No, thank you. You go think things through in your way, and I will go think things through in my way.” He smiled and ran a finger down the slope of her nose.
“And what is your way to think things through?”
“Sit with a glass of wine and stare out the window at the falling rain.”
“You mean isolate yourself and brood,” she quipped.
“I think I made it sound rather more romantic.” He patted her backside one more time. He couldn’t wait to peel her out of those later. “Go on. Have fun with your big stick.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and then disappeared down the hall. Hart gave over his note to a footman and returned to his study. The afternoon had indeed turned rainy. He twisted his desk chair around so he could look out at the back garden as a steady summer rain made all the plants glisten.
Barely twenty minutes had passed when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called out.
Townson entered. “A Mr. Seaton to see you, sir.”
“Show him down.”
“No need.” Seaton strolled in from behind Townson.
The butler’s eyebrows lowered, but he stepped back through the threshold and shut the door.
Hart stood and came around his desk. “That was fast. I just gave the note over to a footman. He couldn’t have made it to the Blue Angel already.”
“He didn’t. I was nearby, and I intercepted the boy. I told you my job is to stay near and keep you safe.”
Well, that was unsettling. Hart waved to the two chairs by the fireplace. “Please sit. Wine? Brandy?”
Seaton shook his head. “I don’t drink alcohol.” He crossed to sit, arranging his long, rangy body casually in the chair, one ankle crossed over the other knee.
Hart grabbed his wine glass and sat opposite him. “Where were you the night I got stabbed?”
Seaton actually winced. “I was on the roof havin’ a smoke. I didn’t think the back entrance to a toff club would be so dangerous. My mistake.”
Hart studied the man across from him. That day in the park, he hadn’t really looked at the man. Emotions had been too high. But now he could see Seaton had the same grey eyes as him and the square jaw that ran in the family. That was where the resemblance ended though. Seaton was fair, his golden blond hair cropped short, his skin almost as pale as Lucy’s, and his features were softer than the sharp lines of the Hartwick men. He had a long, thin scar that ran down his left cheek and pulled up at the corner of his lip, making him look like he was permanently snarling.
“I have questions,” Hart said.
“I figured you would.”
