He stroked her cheek. “Rest, lass. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Her answer was a soft wisp of a snore.
His lips twitched. Because he’d gotten the last word… finally.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
At eleven o’clock the next morning, Richard accompanied Kent to Garrity’s room. They arrived just as another one of the guests, a respected member of parliament, was leaving. The nobleman kept his eyes averted, mumbling a greeting as he passed.
A pair of burly guards flanked the entrance to the moneylender’s suite. The one with a scar on his chin took Kent and Richard’s names and told them to wait. He disappeared into the room.
“’Tis easier to get an audience with the king,” Richard muttered.
“Aye.” Kent took out his notebook, rifling through it idly. “I have a feeling this interview will require stamina. I trust you rested well last night?”
Richard’s jaw heated; did the other suspect his nighttime activities? But, no, Kent was scanning his notes, clearly just making small talk.
“Tolerably well, thank you.” Richard cleared his throat. “You?”
“Slept like the dead.”
The cutthroat returned, waving them in. “Mr. Garrity will see you now.”
The spacious suite assigned to the moneylender attested to his power and status. The silk-covered walls, enchanting vista of the surrounding fields, and majestic balcony suggested that this might have been a state bedchamber at one point. Garbed in a burgundy velvetrobe de chambré, Garrity looked like a king in his high-backed chair by the fire.
He waved them into the adjacent seats.
“Gentlemen,” he said pleasantly, “what may I do for you?”
Although Richard had met the other once before—during the tense visit he’d paid to Garrity’s office to speak about Wick’s debt—the moneylender showed no sign of their having a previous acquaintance. Richard was relieved that the other’s famed discretion held up in the present situation. He had no wish to rattle his brother’s skeletons in front of Kent.
“Billings has asked me to follow up on the matter of Madame Monique’s passing,” Kent said.
Garrity’s dark brows inched upward. “I thought it was an accident.”
“I’m speaking to anyone who had a connection to the deceased. Tying up loose ends,” Kent said easily.
“I see. And you wished to speak to me because…?”
“I’m given to understand that you had a longstanding professional relationship with Monique de Brouet.”
Garrity steepled his hands. His expression was as smooth as silk. “I don’t speak about my professional relationships, Mr. Kent.”
“In this instance, I’m sure you can make an exception. Seeing as how your client is dead.”
“I make no exceptions. That is how one runs a successful enterprise.”
“Another way to run a successful enterprise is to avoid being suspected of murder.” Although Kent’s voice was calm, his manner conveyed steely resolution.
“So theaccidenthas now become murder.” Garrity sounded more resigned than surprised. “How… unfortunate. And you think I am somehow involved?”
“I am here to gather facts, sir. I will make no conclusions without them.”
Garrity drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. “Very well, then. I will speak in hypotheticals, and you may draw whatever conclusion you wish. If Monique de Brouet was my client—and had been for a goodly number of years—why would I kill her? One does not slaughter a goose that lays golden eggs.”
Richard spoke up quietly. “What if she didn’t pay her debts?”
“Anyone who didn’t pay their debts, my lord, would not be my client for very long.” Garrity’s smile was razor-sharp, his meaning even more lethal. “As for my long-term patrons, they are a select bunch. I consider them investments. Like prize crops, they yield bounty time and again, and thus I tend to them, ensure that they continue to produce.” He paused. “Indeed, certain exceptional clients become my ambassadors of goodwill, so to speak, spreading word of my services to echelons that might otherwise lay out of my reach. In return, I reward them with a reduction of their loan or even a small commission for any business that they bring to me. A woman such as Madame Monique, with her access to Society, would have been, hypothetically speaking, a valuable asset. Killing her would be cutting off a valuable stream of income—something I assure you I would not do,” he said coolly.
