“Don’t I know it.” Finebridge waggled thick eyebrows as he poked Bram’s chest—or tried to. His finger slid off his ribs. “Now I remember, you’re the fellow Trestwell badgered at the door. Ho ho! If you knew what I know about that man, you’d have not been so civil.”
Bram tossed back his punch, debating if he ought to engage in a conversation with a fellow merrier than he should be for so early in the evening.
Curiosity won out. “What do you mean?”
“Why—” Once again Finebridge pounded his chest, staving off another round of hiccups. “Trestwell’s the fellow who cut that rope at Bonfire Night.”
Bram tensed, unsure how much truth could possibly be in a drunkard’s words. “How do you know?”
“Watched him do it. Watched you sail away with that pretty filly as well.” He twirled his finger upward in the air with a whistle.
A spark lit in Bram’s belly. Trestwellhadbeen skulking about that balloon just before he and Eva had entered the basket. And the balloon master had said it was impossible the rope could have broken on its own, though after he’d examined it, he had admitted it was one of his older ropes. Still, the prospect ought to at least be entertained, and the more he thought on it, the more he believed it could be true. “Thank you for the information, sir.”
Bram stalked into the crowd, craning his neck to spy a certain pompous man in a dark blue frock coat with a cruel line to his jaw.
There. Standing near the hors d’oeuvres table with a puff pastry in hand, Trestwell conversed with a shorter fellow who looked as if he’d welcome a reprieve.
Bram closed in on him. “I would have a word with you, sir.”
Trestwell’s dark eyes raked over him, one of his brows rising like a black cloud. “Ah, Webb. I see you’ve lost Miss Inman so early in the evening. Do you need me to give you some guidance in matters concerning women?”
Bram flattened his hands against his thighs to keep from throttling the man. “What I need is to know if you cut the rope to the balloon on Guy Fawkes Night.”
His left eye twitched as if a nerve had been struck. “Why would I involve myself in such an affair?” The words were barely past his lips before he turned to continue talking with the other fellow.
Though Trestwell hadn’t admitted anything, it appeared Finebridge had been right.
Bram spun the scoundrel around. “I’ll tell you why. Because you are a sore loser, a low-lying serpent who strikes only in the shadows. Miss Inman and I could have been gravely injured.”
Trestwell wrenched from his grip. “Then she never should have accompanied you.”
“So you admit to such skullduggery!”
“I admit to nothing.”
“Of course not. It takes a man of honour to own up to his deeds, which we both know you are not.”
Trestwell shoved his face into Bram’s, the pastry in his hand crushed to crumbs and raining onto the carpet. “I take offense at your words, sir.”
“And I take offense at you.”
Trestwell’s nostrils flared, the jut of his jaw diamond hard. “Then perhaps we should settle this outside like men.”
Good. With the rush of fury running through his veins, the thought of a fight suited him very nicely. “I would not decline the invitation.”
A snort huffed out of Trestwell. “Excellent. Then Miss Inman will finally see you for the fool you truly are. She needs a man of substance, not a scholar seeking treasures where none exist.”
“Miss Inman deserves respect, which you clearly lack.”
“Respect?” A feral smile sliced across Trestwell’s dark countenance. “You’re one to talk respect, considering your history—or shall I say your mother’s?”
Bram’s hands curled into fists, clenching so tightly his fingernails cut into his palm. Where the deuce had Trestwell dug up such information? Then again, rats always snuffled about in dark corners. There could still be an older woman or two yet alive who held their suspicions about his mother. “Neither my history nor Miss Inman has any bearing on the treachery you committed. You sabotaged that balloon because you lost at the archery tournament. We could have been killed.”
“Too bad you weren’t. It would have saved me a heap of trouble, but I am more than willing to rectify that now. You should have packed up and left when your dig site was sabotaged as well, but you always were a dullard.”
The dig site?
Bram sucked in a lungful of air, the realization so stunning, he could hardly breathe even with the action. “That was all you?” He threw back his head, laughter shaking him to the core.
