Quinten’s heavy brows furrowed in contempt.
“This is ghastly behavior for gentlemen,” he whispered loudly, glaring from Adrian to Damien. “Ghastly, I say!”
“Keep avoiding Redgrave’s questions and you will find that our behavior may go far beyond ghastly, Quinty,” Damien warned.
Adrian watched as his friend’s hands tightened on Quinten’s shoulders, knowing how painful that grip felt. As avid proponents of both boxing and roughhousing, Adrian and Damien had practiced together since they were young lads, and he had been on the receiving end of Damien’s choking grip. Damien, as well, had been on the receiving end of Adrian’s. Now, when they practiced, they usually had to simply tap out, with no winner declared, because their strength was evenly matched.
“That pain you are feeling radiating into your collarbone?” Adrian asked as agony washed over Quinten’s face. “It will only get worse. I have seen His Grace break melons the size of your head in a single squeeze of his grip. Imagine what he could do to you.”
A choked sound of pain rose from Quinten’s throat as his face grew beet red and his breath became ragged.
“All right, all right. I will tell you everything I know! Just please… Let me go,” Quinten gasped.
Damien removed his hands from Quinten’s shoulders in an instant and took the seat next to him. Adrian felt a well of relief rise up in him as his friend gave him a satisfied smirk. They might not be brothers by blood, but they did share the same birthday and an unbreakable bond. Damien had loved Evander like an older brother as well, and Adrian knew he was just as determined to find his killer as he was.
“Speak,” Adrian demanded, his tone low and deadly. “And no more lying.”
“The reason why your brother and I left the gaming hell that night was because of the Earl of Winslow,” Quinten confessed, keeping his voice low among the hum of the busy gaming hell.
Adrian’s muscles tightened.
The Earl of Winslow? That pompous old geezer?
“The Earl is worse at gambling than I am,” Quinten went on. “He had been losing to His Grace for weeks, and that night, your brother had demanded payment. They got into a horrible quarrel that got them both removed from the premises.”
“That is all? You know more,” Adrian stated when Quinten fell silent. “Reveal everything you know about that night now, or it isyouthat will be removed from these premises, and I cannot assure you that you will return.”
Quinten gave him a dirty look, but a glance over at Damien had him turning red.
“Even though the late Duke was a formidable man and most of the men here feared him, the Earl of Winslow is known for his bad temper,” Quinten went on. “So, when His Grace’s demands started to escalate, it surprised no one that the Earl began threatening him. He was drunk that night, but he had done it to so many others before, and no one paid him much mind.”
Adrian’s hands balled into fists as he leaned over the table, growing impatient.
“You will tell me exactly what he said,” he demanded.
Quinten swallowed as his gaze fell to the table; their game of cards was now long forgotten.
“The Earl threatened to have your brother killed if he did not stop badgering him,” he answered, his tone quiet.
Then he looked up at Adrian with pleading eyes.
“You must understand, Your Grace, the Earl is a blowhard. No one thought that he meant it. Even after your brother passed, I did not believe it could be the Earl. He is a mean old codger, but the most frightening thing about him is his words. He is too busy gambling and whoring to ever make good on any of the threats he has issued.”
Adrian’s jaw ticked with irritation; his teeth threatened to break from grinding them so hard. He did not care about Quinten’s excuses. Only that it took so much to get one small detail from the weasel of a man. A detail that was glaringly crucial to Adrian’s investigation. The men in such establishments were surprisingly hard to speak up about anything, even when threatened.
He rose from the table, his jaw still locked tight, and drew a black velvet bag of coins from his inner jacket pocket. Quinten’s brows drew down as he looked up at Adrian, then they flew up as Adrian tossed the bag toward him.
“Most likely not enough to save your daughters from your mistakes,” Adrian said coldly as Quinten slowly reached for the purse. “But I did promise to settle your night’s losses if you spoke the truth.”
Before Quinten could close his fingers around the bag, though, Damien snatched it and upended it on the floor as he stood. Like a starving rat, Quinten sprawled to the floor, quickly going after the coins that had scattered.
“Pathetic,” Damien murmured, glaring down at Quinten.
“Let us go,” Adrian insisted, nodding toward the door.
Damien spent another moment looking down at the man desperately scraping the coins together, then joined Adrian athis side. Together, they walked through the crowded gaming hell, its many occupants completely unaware of what had just happened. As they made it outside to the balmy summer air, Adrian drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, ran a frustrated hand through his raven black hair, and let out a snarl.
Damien leaned his well-dressed, muscular body against the wall of the gaming hell, steepling his fingers together quietly as he let Adrian process his rage.
