“Bollocks,” retorted Wrexford. “You’ve a brain, and thank God you’ve finally decided to use it. Your partners—especially Lady Cordelia—owe their success to your cleverness.” A pause. “Not to speak of your sense of loyalty.”
Sheffield’s gaze betrayed a flicker of surprise. The earl was not known for doling out praise. Nonetheless, it was true. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Sheffield had refused to believe Lady Cordelia could be guilty of using her genius at mathematics to create a nefarious financial swindle. He had convinced Wrexford and Charlotte to help in unraveling the truth. And in the process, he had made some very sharp, spur-of-the-moment business decisions.
“A few lucky guesses,” murmured Sheffield.
“Ha!” Wrexford let out a low snort. “Madame Luck is the one lady who’sneversuccumbed to your charms.” Sheffield was notorious for his losses at the gaming tables. But his charm made him a great favorite with the fairer sex.
One in particular . . .
“However, Lady Cordelia seems to be of the opinion that you don’t need luck. She’s mentioned on several occasions that you possess a remarkable talent for the import-export trade.”
A faint flush rose to his friend’s cheeks. Looking down, he began to shuffle through the items on his desk. “I merely help choose the knickknacks we buy and sell. Without her financial acumen and management skills, the firm of Nereid and Neptune would have a hard time staying afloat.”
During their last investigation, the romantic attraction between Sheffield and Lady Cordelia had become clear to all around them. But he sensed that the relationship was fraught with complications.
He, of all people, knew that love—if it be love that was plaguing his friend—rarely twirled along as smoothly and sweetly as a waltz. Cupid’s dance had no set steps and spun to a dizzying variety of tunes.
It was damnably easy to trip at every turn.
Sheffield snapped the lid of a lacquered box shut and cleared his throat. “Is there a reason you stopped by to see me?” A pause. “Other than to discuss my personal peccadilloes?”
“As a matter of fact, there is. There’s been a murder . . .” Wrexford gave a quick account of what had occurred at the Royal Botanic Gardens.
Sheffield let out a low hiss. “But—”
“I’m wondering whether you or your partners might know anything about a wealthy New York merchant,” continued the earl before his friend could interrupt. “A fellow by the name of Tobias Quincy, who owns—”
“Quincy Enterprises,” intoned Sheffield. “Yes, I’m familiar with him and his consortium. They are our biggest competitor in the trade between Europe and the New World.” He frowned. “From what I heard, he’s a rather unsavory fellow. Aggressive—perhaps to a fault.”
“Anything illegal?”
Sheffield lifted his shoulders. “Not that I know of. We have, however, heard rumors that he may be making shady deals to undercut us and other reputable merchants in certain markets.” His frown deepened. “But surely you’re not implying that Quincy has any connection to the murder.”
“It’s possible,” answered Wrexford. “Apparently, Quincy and Becton were fellow members of a botanical society in New York, and the merchant was pressing Becton hard to partner in a venture to sell his new medicinal discovery. According to Tyler’s friend Dr. Hosack, the formula would be worth a fortune.”
“Profit.” Sheffield let out an unhappy sigh, his gaze drifting to the bank of windows and the wind-rippled river below them, where a merchant ship was slipping its hawsers and loosening its sails in readiness to depart on the ebbing tide. “As we know all too well, profit is a powerful motive for murder.”
“Greed is an elemental part of human nature. As is the urge to abandon all moral scruples in pursuit of self-interest,” observed the earl. “Or so it seems to me.”
“I wish I could argue with you on that.” The air between them was stirred by another sigh. “Lady Cordelia remained at home today in order to advise her brother on some financial matters concerning the family estate. But I shall send word asking her to see what she can learn about Quincy. I have a few ideas as well on where to make some inquiries.”
“You should probably hear the full story—or at least as much of it as I know—so that you’ll have a better idea of what might be relevant.” He proceeded to sum up all that Hosack had revealed the previous evening.
“With your permission, I’ll pass all that on to Lady Cordelia.” Seeing Wrexford confirm it with a nod, his friend added, “We’ve both been invited to attend the reception at Kensington Palace tomorrow evening, so I shall endeavor to have some information by then.”
“I’m grateful, Kit.”
His friend’s expression turned troubled as his gaze returned from the window. “Far be it for me to pretend that I have any idea of how the feminine mind works. However . . .”
The silence expanded and quickly felt as if it had squeezed all else from the room.
“However,” repeated Sheffield, “I can’t help but wonder if it’s a wise idea to become embroiled in a murder investigation at this moment. Lady Charlotte is facing some daunting, and perhaps difficult, transitions in her life—”
“The worst of which is becoming leg-shackled to me?” said the earl dryly.
The statement drew a twitch of amusement. “That doesn’t worry me. Though only the devil knows why she seems to have no reservations about subjecting herself to your snaps and snarls. However, the upcoming meeting with her estranged brother and the surrender of her own independent little household may be . . .”
Sheffield made a helpless little hand gesture. “I dunno—it all may be stirring mixed emotions.”
