“That doesn’t mean you can’t dress with a little more flair when you visit such an establishment.” A sniff. “As your valet, I have a reputation to maintain.”
“God forbid I blacken your name.” The earl frowned inthought as he read over the page. “Now, kindly stubble the chatter. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“On what?”
Scowling, Wrexford put down his pen. “On why I don’t terminate your employment and send you packing without a reference.”
“Thatrequires precious little mental effort, milord,” quipped Tyler. “Who else would tolerate your ill humor? Not to speak of knowing the secret of shining your boots, no matter what disgusting substances you traipse through.”
“Be grateful my boots are exceedingly comfortable. Unlike you, I would find it a cursed nuisance to have to replace them.”
Ignoring the comment, Tyler moved to the earl’s desk and craned his neck to read what the earl was writing.
“Those appear to be notes on the recent murder.” The valet’s voice had lost its note of needling.
Wrexford grunted in affirmation.
Tyler’s expression turned serious. “I take it you’ve had a talk with Mrs. Sloane.”
He remembered with a start that his valet knew all of Charlotte’s secrets from his recent research.
“Yes. And it goes without saying, of course, that her real identity is a secret we both must respect. As of yet, she isn’t ready to share it with others.”
“Of course, milord,” answered Tyler quietly.
“As to the murder, Mrs. Sloane has not yet confided in me what her connection is to the victim and the accused,” he answered. “But it’s plain as a pikestaff that they are both very dear to her. She’s intent on proving Locke innocent, regardless of the damning evidence.”
His mouth thinned to a grim line. “I’m not quite as convinced as she is about the unbreakable bond between the brothers. Locke struck me as evasive during our brief interview. But as she’s hell-bent to plunge into yet another dangerous undertaking, I can’t very well let her do it alone.”
“Indeed not.” Perching a hip on the edge of the desk, Tyler leaned in for a closer look. “How can I help?”
“I’m not yet sure.” Wrexford shot another look at the clock and swore under his breath. He needed to leave shortly. “Locke mentioned two gentlemen who may have had a grudge against his brother.” He tapped a finger to the names underlined on the top sheet of paper.
“A grudge serious enough to provoke cold-blooded murder?” questioned the valet.
“Love and money have been sparking primal passions throughout the course of human history.”
“What—” began Tyler, only to be interrupted by a discreet knock on the workroom door.
“Excuse me, milord,” intoned the earl’s butler as he opened it a crack. “Mr. Sheffield wishes to see you.”
In no mood for his friend’s usual theatrics, Wrexford expelled an impatient breath, but knew it was pointless to say no. “Show him in, Riche. Otherwise he’ll go raise holy hell in the kitchens by pestering Cook to him serve him a late supper.”
Christopher Sheffield, however, entered without his usual flair for the dramatic. Even more surprising, he took a seat in one of the armchairs by the hearth without helping himself to one of the expensive brandies and whiskies sitting on the sideboard.
“Please tell me you’re working on something interesting.” Sheffield stretched out his legs and stared moodily at his boot tips. “I need something to . . .” On looking up, he seemed to sense the tension in the room. “Dear me, has there been another murder?”
Sheffield, despite his outward show of careless insouciance, had actually been of great help in the previous investigations. Wrexford knew that boredom lay at the heart of his friend’s frequent reckless behavior. He was not nearly the charming but feckless fribble he pretended to be.
“It’s London, Kit—there is always another murder,” replied Wrexford.
“Yes, but very few of them would interest you.” Sheffield’s gaze suddenly widened. “Sussex . . . the scientific soiree . . . Ye gods, the young lord found stabbed to death in the Palace gardens! What a sordid business. Word is, his younger brother committed the unspeakable act.” His brow furrowed. “But how the devil does that involve you? Did you know the fellow?”
Wrexford drew a breath.Secrets tangling with secrets.His friend was well acquainted with Charlotte, and he was one of the few people who knew she was the notorious A. J. Quill. Of course he could be trusted with the current conundrum.
“No,” he replied. “But apparently Mrs. Sloane did. Quite well, it would seem.”
A spasm of surprise crossed Sheffield’s face.“How?”
