They had both spoken—however obliquely—of the future. What that signified—
“Where the devil have you been?” demanded Sheffield, looking up from the sheaf of notes in his lap as the earl pushed through the door of the workroom. “And why is Tyler not here?”
“Because . . .”
Because, thought the earl,he and I are running ourselves ragged trying to pull your cods out of the fire.
Reminding himself that he wasn’t the only one who was struggling with fear and worry, Wrexford drew a breath to quell his momentary ire. “Because he is pursuing a lead as to the location of Professor Sudler’s private lair. As for my whereabouts, I was meeting with Lady Charlotte, who also undertook some sleuthing last night—in a very dangerous area, I might add.”
“Forgive me.” Sheffield pressed his palms to his brow. His face was pale and drawn, with ink-dark lines of anxiety etched at the corners of his eyes. “I feel so bloody useless.” He grimaced. “Hell, mere children are more skilled than I am at breaking into a house and knowing how to conduct a clandestine search on their own.”
“The Weasels aren’t mere children,” said the earl dryly. “They’re afreets—demon spirits who possess unnatural powers for navigating the dark world of mischief and mayhem.”
“Ha-ha.” A weak laugh, but it seemed to break the tension in the air.
“When was the last time you slept?” asked Wrexford, feeling a bone-deep weariness as he slumped into his desk chair.
“Dunno.” Sheffield blinked, looking like a startled owl as he turned away from the lamplight. “I can’t remember.”
“Exhaustion does no one any good.” With his own nerves tied in knots, the earl was in no frame of mind to deal with his friend’s emotions. “Go home and get some rest.”
“But . . .” Sheffield held up the papers in his lap. “I’ve found something in Woodbridge’s correspondence that may be another clue.”
“The devil be damned, it can wait until morning, Kit.”
Sheffield looked as if he had been punched in the gut. He sat for a moment in stunned silence, then rose and inclined a stiff nod. “Again, my apologies. I had no right to draw you and Lady Charlotte into this mess.”
Wrexford expelled a harried sigh. “Sit.”
His friend hesitated.
“Lady Charlotte is making another foray into the stews around the docklands tonight, after attending Lady Havemeyer’s musical soiree.” The earl’s hands fisted. “Alone.”
Sheffield pivoted and retreated into the shadows. A mutedclink, a whispery splash. He returned and handed Wrexford a glass.
“It seems we both could use some liquid courage.” The candlelight caught in a swirl of amber as he raised his own whisky to his lips.“Slàinte.”
The earl drew in a mouthful of the fiery malt. Would that it could melt the ice in his belly.
Sheffield returned to his chair. “Is there nothing we can do to . . . help?”
Wrexford shook his head. “She’s meeting with another woman who she thinks may have some information that will help us.” Reminding himself that Sheffield didn’t yet know of the possible connection between the murder at Queen’s Landing and Lady Cordelia’s disappearance, he didn’t elaborate. “And she told me in no uncertain terms that my presence might be noticed and might put her in danger.”
“But why—”
Wrexford silenced him with grunt. “She said she’ll explain it to me later.”
Sheffield stared down into his glass and gave it a swirl. They both took another sip, savoring the comradely silence of longtime friends. “It seems we’re both cursed with caring for ladies too smart and too fearless for their own good.”
A mirthless laugh. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Slàinte.”Sheffield repeated the Gaelic toast and downed the rest of his whisky before rising and fetching the bottle to refill their glasses.
At this rate they would soon be four sheets to the wind, thought the earl. And perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing, given where the conversation was headed.
“For now, let’s focus our attention on finding our elusive Cambridge professor,” he muttered after another swallow of spirits. “Though it may only be a wild goose chase.”
“No, I think we’re on the right trail.” Sheffield’s voice held a note of veiled excitement as he suddenly sat up straighter. “I’ve just recalled that Woodbridge attended Cambridge!”
