“You would be surprised how quickly men who gamble conjure up money they would not otherwise have,” Lucas told him. He, too, watched Ambrose from across the room. They’d been discreet at first but, as the hazard game grew rowdier and Ambrose grew drunker, they weren’t the only ones looking at them.
“We should get closer,” Henry suggested. “We’re too far to hear anything other than his shouts.”
“Which certainly aren't far and in between,” William commented.
“It’s too early,” Lucas disagreed with a shake of his head. “And he is far too absorbed in his game to focus on anything but. Best wait until he pauses for breath—then we approach.”
“I hate to disappoint, Your Grace,” William sighed, “but I doubt Lord Redley intends to pause at all.”
Lucas grimaced in agreement. At this rate, the evening was beginning to feel like a wasted effort. He had hoped for some indiscreet revelation, but perhaps that had been too much to expect.
Then William straightened suddenly, his expression sharpening. “I know that man.”
Lucas followed his gaze. A gentleman had approached the hazard table, his back to them. Lucas didn’t recognise him, but William’s unease was unmistakable.
“Who is he?” Henry asked, lowering his voice.
“I do not recall his name,” William said slowly. “But I remember his face. He once attended a meeting with my father—one of those meetings my father had allowed me to sit in on, in the hopes that I would learn about his trade, and this gentleman had been determined to oppose every one of my father’s inquiries. At the time, it struck me as peculiar.”
“Was this before the accusations began?” Lucas asked.
William nodded, eyes fixed on the table. “And it appears he and Lord Redley are already acquainted.”
Indeed, Ambrose seemed to have sobered up considerably now that this gentleman had joined the table. They sat across from each other, with the gentleman’s back turned to Lucas and Ambrose within full view. Lucas didn’t miss the way Ambrose’s eyes darted back and forth between the dice and the newcomer, almost as if he wasn’t certain if he should continue.
He wasn’t given much of a choice when the gentleman scooped up the dice and placed his bet. A new game began, but with the rigidity of Ambrose’s shoulders, despite the smile that was now on his face, Ambrose wasn’t very happy about it.
The game went on for a while until the gentleman won, and Ambrose’s despair quickly morphed into desperation. He demanded a rematch, claiming a much higher bet and stating that he would win back all that he had lost this time.
Five minutes later, he was reaching for his glass of wine to drown out yet another crushing defeat with alcohol.
Then the energy shifted in the room. Lucas frowned slightly, noticing that a number of the gentlemen present were looking at the door, and the hum of chatter in the room grew slightly louder.
“It’s Lord Orvilleton,” Henry murmured.
Colin Alton, Earl of Orvilleton, cut an imposing figure as he strode toward a shadowed corner. He sank into a leather armchair, snapping his fingers for service. A footman hurried to place a bottle of whiskey before him.
“It seems he, too, is a regular,” Lucas observed quietly. His gaze drifted back to Ambrose. “And his arrival does not appear welcome.”
Indeed, moments later, a footman approached Lord Redley and murmured something in his ear. Ambrose blanched, setdown his glass, and rose without protest. He crossed the room toward the earl. Another player immediately claimed his seat at the table, indifferent to his departure.
“I did not realise the two were acquainted,” Henry said, frowning. “Though admittedly, this is my first time seeing Lord Orvilleton here.”
“What do you suppose they’re speaking of?” William asked.
They could not hear the words, but the exchange was anything but cordial. The earl’s expression darkened, gestures sharp and impatient. Ambrose sat bowed, visibly cowed. Each time he attempted to speak, the earl cut him off with a curt flick of the hand.
At last, Orvilleton dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Ambrose stumbled away toward the bar, where the barkeep poured him a generous measure of whiskey and watched with something like pity as he downed it in one draught.
“Clearly Lord Orvilleton keeps him on a short leash,” Lucas murmured.
“Something tells me Lord Orvilleton is tied to all of this somehow,” William said grimly. “My father always believed the accusations were driven by a few powerful men—and from what we’ve just seen, Redley may be little more than their pawn.”
Lucas nodded in agreement as he finished his glass of wine. He could see the pieces of the puzzle drifting together, desperate to find their places. They were right in front of him, and yet he couldn’t quite understand where to put them. Colin Alton was a part of this somehow, but where did he fall? Whose command did he take, if any? Was he the mastermind behind it all?
They had not managed to speak to Lord Redley this evening, but the night had hardly been wasted. A new player had stepped onto the board. And Lucas meant to find out precisely what part Lord Orvilleton had played in his father’s death.
Chapter Twelve
