CHAPTER SEVEN
“You’re rather distracted tonight, Eversleigh. Perhaps you should partner me for a hand of whist. I could certainly use the blunt I shall win from your lack of awareness of the game.”
Roarke could only snort at the dandy across from him. Lord Jameson wore a perpetual smirk as he took out his snuffbox and inhaled a hearty pinch, then sneezed as delicately as any woman after he’d done so.
“Indeed, I’m sure you could stand to lose a few hundred pounds all in the name of a gentlemanly sport.” This came from Lord Falconcrest who could be faithfully paired with Jameson and yet another thorough pain in Roarke’s arse.
“When it comes to the definition of a gentleman, rest assured it is used rather sparingly in regards to either of you,” Lord Rockford piped up with a grin, although there was a challenging glint in his blue eyes.
“Now see here—” Jameson started to protest but was abruptly struck with another sneezing fit.
Roarke merely shook his head and raised his glass to his lips. Draining the last of his brandy, a nearby waiter was already on his way over for a refill, but he waved the man off. He needed to keep his wits about him if he were to gain any of the information he sought. Thus far, an evening at his club had been for naught, but at least he wasn’t torturing himself by being near Mara, knowing that should he dare attempt another kiss she would push him away.
Lord Falconcrest stood and picked up where his comrade had left off. “Really, you two are becoming more boring than my butler and valet. I understand it of you, Rockford, being recently wed, but what’s your excuse, Eversleigh?”
“I would suggest leaving my wife out of this,” Rockford warned. “I’m a happily married man, and anyone who suggests otherwise is spoiling for a fight. I’m only here tonight because the countess is attending a book club meeting at Lady Carlisle’s house.”
Falconcrest was instantly silenced, although Jameson piped up rather unwisely, “I imagine Eversleigh’s reluctance to cut a swath through the ton is because of Lady Weston.” Apparently unaware of the storm that was brewing in Roarke’s eyes, he added, “I would certainly do my best to keep a low key in preparation for an epic scandal. How exactlydidthe earl die again?”
Roarke clenched his fists as the man guffawed. It was vermin like Falconcrest and Jameson that would cause conjecture of the worst sort to be cast upon his sister. He was about to speak up in defense of her honor when another voice spoke up behind him and beat him to it.
“I’m sure we could find something equally unsavory in your past. It wouldn’t be a tedious task, I’m sure, and I’d be more than happy to look into it.”
Jameson instantly paled. “I say…that is…” He stumbled over his own tongue. Darting a quick glance between the newcomer and Roarke, he added hastily, “I apologize for speaking out of turn, my lord. I was merely funning about.”
With that, he effectively turned tail and ran, with Falconcrest trailing on his heels like an obedient puppy.
“Well done, Your Grace,” Rockford chuckled as the duke joined him and Eversleigh.
“I have my moments, however sparse they may be,” the Duke of Albright replied with a smile.
Roarke regarded the man before him in a new light. It was true Albright was very simple in looks and mannerisms, with rather unremarkable features, although he did hold himself with the proud reassurance of a high-ranking member of the peerage. He was always portrayed as a bit of a dunce because he never spoke over three words, but apparently, when he was nervous he chattered like a magpie with the opposite sex. In turn, his elder, widowed sister, Lady Franheim, was a veritable harridan. Most thought that she led him around by his ear, but perhaps the man possessed a bit of a backbone after all, and it just needed the right amount of coercion to make an appearance.
Either way, if a man as powerful and revered as a duke came to Lyra’s defense, it could only work in her favor if the odds began to turn against her and the speculation became too much to be ignored by the authorities. It was certainly something Roarke would take into account if the occasion called for further assistance.
“How is your sister faring, my lord?” The duke asked Roarke now.
“Well enough,” Roarke answered politely.
“And your mother? How is she taking the news?”
Roarke paused, considering the best way to answer. “She is still in the country with my sister, Lady Marksley. Margaret, as you know, is abed with her first child, due to arrive at any time. I did not wish to worry either of them overmuch, so unless anyone else has written to Lady Eversleigh, I’m afraid she doesn’t yet know of Lyra’s current situation.”
“Perhaps that’s for the best,” Albright nodded. “From what I recall of your mother, she is very similar in temperament to my sister. The news of Lord Weston’s death would likely upset her when she needs to be strong for your sister.”
“Indeed, my thoughts exactly,” Roarke agreed, further convinced that the duke was made of tougher mettle than he showed to the rest of the ton. Besides, if the past few months upon his return to London had taught him anything, it was that appearances could be rather deceiving—a fact Rockford would surely concur for he and Athena had just dealt with a delicate matter.
Recalling his original purpose for being at White’s that evening, Roarke said, “I was wondering if I might pose a query, Your Grace, of a different nature.”
When Albright gave him his full attention, Roarke explained briefly about Bentley, his kidnapping, and his desire to locate him for a close, personal friend.
Rockford snorted at the simple term Roarke used to describe his relationship with Mara, though he was thoroughly ignored. The duke, in turn, considered the matter at length, before he glanced around and called over another member of the peerage. “Ah, Lord Einbridge. You are a frequent guest at Mendoza’s matches, are you not?”
The man instantly paused, his eyes darting from Albright to Roarke and Rockford before finally landing on the former. Speaking cautiously, as if he might have just walked into a trap, he said, “I have been known to…attend a round or two, yes.”
“As I thought,” the duke murmured. “Tell me, do you recall the last event Big B attended?” After a brief explanation, touching on the facts that Roarke had relayed to him, the newcomer instantly relaxed his stance.
“Most certainly,” Einbridge announced. “It was a rather surprising affair. I knew that Big B would knock out his current opponent, and I won quite a bit of capital because of my instincts and the man’s superb skills as a pugilist, of course.” With a grin, he cleared his throat when it appeared he wouldn’t be praised. “Then there was that rather shocking turn of events when another man entered the ring for an impromptu match.”
