“What did you call me?” Carlisle scowled.
“Not you. It’sactuallyWick. I think I see him in the courtyard!”
He spun around, and they both rushed to peer over the balcony. ItwasWick, she saw with relief. His movements were furtive as he made his way down the walking path. A minute later, he turned into the amphitheatre.
“What’s he doing?” she said.
Carlisle’s eyes blazed with hellfire. “I don’t know, but I’m bloody well going to find out.”
Chapter Seventeen
Richard shoved open the door of the amphitheatre. He was alone; Violet had been waylaid by her chaperone, and for once he was glad for it. He was about to deal with his little brother, and he didn’t want Violet around if things got messy—hell, he didn’t want Violet involved in this businessat all. But she’d been dragged into this mess by her loyalty to Wick.
Wick hada lotof explaining to do, and Richard meant to get answers, one way or another.
In spite of the dim lighting, he spotted his brother right away. Wick was sitting at the center of the stage, his back slumped against what appeared to be a massive oak wardrobe. His clothes looked bedraggled, as if he’d slept in them, and he’d lost his cravat, his collar hanging open. He seemed to be staring out at nothing as he lifted a silver flask to his lips.
“Where the bloody hell have you been?” Richard snapped.
Wick’s head jerked up. His gaze—bleary and slightly unfocused—met Richard’s. “Oh. It’s you, Carlisle.”
“Yes, it’s me, and I’ve been looking all over for you.” Richard took the steps up to the stage two at a time. Towering over his sibling, he repeated, “Where in blazes have you been?”
“Perdition, ol’ boy. That’s where.”
Hearing the other’s slurred tone, Richard reached out and grabbed the flask.
“Give that back,” Wick protested. “It’s mine.”
“You’ve had plenty. We’re going to talk right now, Wickham. Where were you last night?”
“What business is it of yours?” Wick retreated into belligerence. “I’m six-an’-twenty. Sick an’ tired of being ordered ’bout like a witless child.”
Then don’t bloody act like one.Richard strove to hold onto his patience. “Listen, and listen carefully. Something bad happened last night. Do you know that?”
“Bad… yes. Very.” Wick hiccupped. “I was verra, verra bad.”
Sleet coated Richard’s gut. “What do you mean?”
Wick crooked a finger at him.
His skin prickling, Richard crouched so that they were eye to eye.
“Broke in,” Wick said in confiding tones.
“Where?”Please God, don’t let him say the library…
“Woodcutter’s cottage. Or maybe it was the gamekeeper’s. I dunno,”—Wick shook his head sadly—“somewhere out in the woods.”
“You were there all night?”
“Left before supper. Couldn’t stand to be here.” Before Richard could feel relieved, Wick added sullenly, “Didn’t want to seehim, did I?”
“You mean Garrity?”
“Who else? Bastard.”
“Did he approach you?” Richard demanded.
