“Well said, even if it is too early in the morning for such things.” Lucas chuckled; it was a well-placed toast.
Heathcliff gave a swift nod and set down his now empty glass. “I’ll send word when I have the information.”
“Very good. I thank you, my friend.” Lucas nodded.
“Well, it wasn’t a total damn waste of time. Till later.” Heathcliff gave a curt nod and quit the room.
Lucas sighed and thought over what was needed in order for his plans to fall into place. So far, so good.
But the day was young . . . enough.
He rang for his butler, ordered his carriage readied. It was close enough to noon that he could depart and arrive a little early, giving him time to collect his thoughts.
He only hoped Meyer dared meet him at all.
Only time would tell.
Chapter Thirty-one
Lucas selected a spot opposite the Grosvenor Gate. It was a warm day that had the scent of rain lingering in the air from earlier that morning. Being noon, it wasn’t the fashionable hour and the park was sparsely populated, which served Lucas’s purposes quite well. The trees gave unnecessary shade along the path and several squirrels ran from one tree trunk to the next.
But no sign of Meyer.
Lucas took the path that would wind toward Rotten Row, but turned back before he went more than thirty paces, wanting to remain near the gate should Meyer make an appearance.
Sure enough, just after Lucas checked his gold pocket watch for the third time, he noted a black carriage of quality roll up the street, pausing before the gate. Meyer stepped from the conveyance, and immediately spotted him. Lucas took measured steps to meet up with his intended guest. Suspicion, anger, and cool distance all reflected in Meyer’s expression. It was a warranted and deserved reception.
As Meyer closed the distance, Lucas offered a nod, only to be given a cut as Meyer refused to acknowledge the greeting. Lucas slowed his approach, then halted completely as he noted the increase in Meyer’s pace. Before he could ascertain his motive, Meyer reached out and gave a solid roundhouse to Lucas’s left eye.
Lucas took the hit with practiced calm—it was not the first, nor probably the last time he’d engaged in fisticuffs—but rather than beat Meyer to the ground, he simply shook off the hit and regarded the man. “Are you finished or would you like another shot?”
Meyer worked his jaw, irritation and anger evident in his gaze. “I could bloody well beat you and it wouldn’t be justice enough for the likes of you, Heightfield. And you’re a blackguard of the worst sort if you think you’re not deserving of it.” Meyer almost spat the words.
Lucas glanced around, thankful for their lack of audience. This wasn’t exactly the best way to start out an alliance. “I’m fully aware, thus why I didn’t defend myself, or knock you out in return,” Lucas answered calmly, his eye swelling as he regarded the man before him.
Meyer’s expression gave nothing away.
“I was rather hoping we could have a calm and rational conversation, one that I hope you will find to be in the lady in question’s best interest.”
“Believe me, I think you’ve done quite enough to the lady in question,” Meyer retorted.
Lucas breathed out a frustrated sigh. “No one is more aware of this than I. May I continue?” he asked, trying to keep the exasperation from his tone.
Meyer paused, then nodded once.
It was enough, Lucas decided.
“What do you know of your estate’s situation?” Lucas asked quietly, gesturing for them to take a slow stroll. If they walked, it would look less suspicious should anyone happen by.
Meyer fell into step beside him, his gaze confused. “And why is it of your concern?”
“Do you remember when I mentioned your father’s substantial bet?”
Meyer’s face lost some of the color it had carried from the altercation.
“I’m assuming that is a yes.” Lucas nodded. “It would seem that your father doesn’t have the collateral to back up his bet.”
Meyer met Lucas’s gaze. “That simply cannot be the case. He does nothing but hire more servants and speak of his grand plans for his estate. If there is nothing in the coffers, then how—”
