“And that is?” Lucas asked, rotating his neck, trying to work the kinks out of it.
“It would seem that . . . well. We have a leak.”
“Leak?” Lucas blinked in confusion. “Damn rain. In the roof?”
“No. As in leak of information. Holy hell, you’re slow this morning.”
Lucas swore under his breath. “Tell me you didn’t say anything to Ramsey.”
“Do I look like an idiot?”
“Ye—”
“I’ll answer that for you. No. I’m damn brilliant and I kept my mouth shut.”
“For once.”
“That and Ramsey would be hotter than Hades about this. You know how he hates anything that whispers the wordscandal—”
“Which is the fullest of ironies, that he’s participating in this club.”
“I never said the man made sense.”
“Here, here.” Lucas knocked his fist on the desk. “But the man’s brilliant with numbers—so let’s just keep this bit of information to ourselves. What do you know?”
Heathcliff strode to a chair opposite Lucas’s desk. Sprawling on the piece of furniture, he shrugged. “It would seem that last night several young men asked for entrance. None had paperwork or invitations, and neither were their families on the docket for invitation.”
“Damn.”
“Exactly.”
“And right before the masquerade.”
“This poses a bit of a difficult security threat.” Heathcliff leaned forward. “I think we should simply double the guard in front, and check all vouchers. No one gets in unless they have their golden invitation.”
Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Several gentlemen will not appreciate that. They expect their level of membership to entitle them to—”
“It’s the masquerade.” Heathcliff shrugged. “We simply explain that such an . . . event . . . requires additional security. That way no one is the wiser.”
“Yes. Yes. That might work. It has to. We’ve no other option.”
“See? Problem solved. You’re welcome. Now . . . get dressed. We have work to do and you smell and look like hell.” Heathcliff rose, his loud footsteps echoing as he quit the room.
Lucas watched his retreating back, thankful to have solved the immediate issue. Yet the greater one at hand still plagued him.
Who was leaking the information—and how could it be controlled?
The clock chimed, reminding him of the ungodly hour, and with a groan, he twisted his back once more and then left his study. He ascended the stairs and proceeded to his rooms. “Duff?” he asked as he swung open the large double doors. Moments later his valet approached, a knowing quirk of an eyebrow as he assessed Lucas from head to toe.
“Study again, my lord?”
“Indeed. Now if you’ll help me dress quickly, I’m in dire need of some hot tea.” Lucas started to tug loose his white shirt.
“Of course,” Duff replied, his hands moving far swifter than Lucas’s.
“And you’ve prepared my evening kit for tonight?” Lucas asked as he shrugged into a new shirt.
“Complete with your mask, my lord.”
