Cursing, he scrubbed a hand over his face.Pull it together, man.Being targeted for murder was no excuse to turn into a maudlin fool. The world be damned: he would take matters into his own hands as he’d always done. If he’d learned anything, it was that the only one he could rely upon was himself.
Take control and take action: that was his motto.
He’d already retained Runners to hunt for Silas Webb and the missing maid. He’d hired on extra footmen for personal security. At this point, there was naught to do but carry on; he wasn’t going to let the threat of murder interfere with his routine.
He was considering a stop at Gentleman Jackson’s or the newer Apollo’s Academy for a round of boxing when a carriage led by matched grays stopped in front of his steps. The man who descended was tall and fit, dressed with puritanical severity in a dark jacket, trousers, and an unadorned waistcoat. The only note of color was the tawny hair curling beneath the brim of his plain hat.
Minutes later, Alaric received his visitor in the study.
He’d met Gabriel Ridgley, the Marquess of Tremont, at Oxford, and the two had become fast friends. Back then, Tremont had been the spare to the title, and he’d left midway through his studies to live with some wealthy relative abroad. He and Alaric had lost touch; not until last year had they come into contact again. Alaric had been surprised by how somber his once mischievous friend had become.
Now Tremont didn’t game or drink to excess and dedicated himself to the restoration of his estates. Although his wife had died some time ago, there were no rumors of him taking a lover or mistress; he was either a monk—which Alaric doubted—or perfectly discreet. Owing to his exemplary behavior, thetonhad dubbed Tremont theAngel Marquess.
Time hadn’t eroded all of Alaric and Tremont’s commonalities, however. They discovered an avid shared interest in business. Unlike other peers who didn’t deign to dirty their hands in business matters, the two spent many a night at their club discussing the merits of various financial schemes. When it came to money, they had a similar philosophy: the more the better.
After exchanging greetings, the men settled into the wingchairs by the fire.
“How are you, Strathaven?” Tremont said.
“I’m fine,” Alaric said curtly. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Because of the scandal.” Tremont leveled a grey gaze at him. “The gossips are saying someone stepped forward with proof that you were involved in Lady Osgood’s death.”
Bloody Emma Kent. I’m going to wring her neck.
“The testimony is utter claptrap.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Tremont steepled his hands. “Unfortunately, it’s having an impact on our venture.”
Hell’s teeth.The news pierced Alaric’s gut like an arrow. Tremont had been one of the first investors he’d tapped to join the United Mining venture, and their partnership had proved fruitful. In just over a month, they would hold a General Meeting to finalize an expansion plan that would include the purchase of several key mines in Scotland. When the vote went through, Alaric was certain stock prices would hit the roof.
Everything had been going according to plan… until now.
“How bad is it?” he said grimly.
“We’ve lost a half-dozen investors, Surrey and Burrowes amongst them.”
“Damnation.” Alaric’s hands clenched the arms of the chair at the mention of two of their scheme’s largest investors.
“That might only be the start. Noblemen catch a whiff of scandal, and they bolt like it’s a fire. No one wants to be caught in a burning house.” Tremont paused before saying bluntly, “You should know that the current business has also resurrected talk about your previous marriage.”
From the grave, Laura’s twisted beauty taunted him.
You don’t love me—you’re not capable of it! You’re selfish, cruel, and black-hearted.Her cornflower eyes glimmered with rage, her red lips taking on a malignant curve.I’m going to make sure everyone knows what a bastard you are.
Cold, unadulterated fury clawed at Alaric. Control was slipping from his grasp, chaos swirling around him. Clara was dead, a murderer on the loose. His business plans were suddenly in jeopardy. And now his past was rising like a dark tide...
All because of Emma Kent—the lies she’d told about him.
All of this washerdoing.
“I’ll see to it that my name is cleared,” he vowed. “Whoever poisoned Clara and me will be brought to justice.”
The marquess’ brow furrowed. “An attempt was made onyourlife as well?”
Alaric hesitated before saying, “Yes.”
Both he and Tremont were men who valued privacy, and they did not typically discuss matters outside of business. Given the scandal’s impact upon their venture, however, Alaric decided to make an exception and gave Tremont a brief summary of events.
