“Have you heard what might have become of Big B since?” Albright prodded.
“Unfortunately, I have not,” Lord Einbridge sighed. “And my purse is feeling the effects of the loss, I assure you.”
“What of the unscheduled opponent?” Roarke asked thoughtfully, an idea brewing.
“Ah, now as to that,” Einbridge stated. “He appeared to be in a bad way after the fight. I understand that the stranger who had originally pleaded his case left him to fend for himself after the loss. Last I heard he was being taken to the infirmary at the workhouse for lack of anywhere else to take him.”
Roarke felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. At long last this was a lead that he could work with. Rion must have caught on to his line of reasoning, for he lifted a brow and murmured, “It would seem that this chap was thrown over for more likely prey.”
“Thank you, Lord Einbridge,” Albright interceded, “You’ve been most helpful.”
The man grinned from ear to ear, for the praise he’d been waiting for all that time had finally been bestowed. With a bow, he took his leave.
As Roarke also stood to go, he exchanged a brief farewell with Rockford, before he turned to the duke, who offered a hand. “Please come to me if you need any assistance regarding Lady Weston,” he said, “She has always held a special place in my…sister’s regard.”
Roarke caught the hesitation in the other man’s voice, and although he didn’t remark upon it, it gave him pause. “Thank you, Your Grace. I promise you will be the first man I call should the need arise.”
* * *
Mara headed down to the foyer the next morning in her clean and pressed wool gown, the only article of clothing she could call her own after the fire had destroyed the rest, however she did have one of Lyra’s borrowed cloaks thrown over her shoulders. She was anxious to get started with the day and felt confident that she could make an easy getaway to her shop with Roarke still abed. Naturally, she’d tossed and turned until she heard his booted footsteps cross the hall outside her door. It had been nearly three in the morning before he’d returned and while she had been bursting to know if he’d learned anything of import, part of her hated to think that his outing might have also taken him elsewhere. She didn’t know if he kept a mistress, but thinking that he might have paid some woman a visit caused her heart to bleed.
Then again, she had no right to be jealous. She had given up any sort of hold on Lord Eversleigh long ago.
“Good morning, Mara.”
She instantly spun at the foot of the stairs. Framed by the doorway to his study, Roarke looked so fresh and virile that Mara had to clutch the newel post to keep from rushing into his arms—previous arguments notwithstanding. It really wasn’t fair that he should look so handsome and put together after only a few hours of sleep when she felt completely frazzled.
“I was hoping to catch you before you went out. I have some news you might be interested in.”
Mara held her breath. “Have you found Bentley?”
“Not…exactly,” he said slowly. He beckoned her to follow him into his study, and while she was bursting to question him further, she held her tongue until she was seated on the plush, emerald settee. Roarke leaned against his massive, mahogany desk and crossed his arms. “As you know I went out last night in the hopes of gaining some insight into these issues we’re facing.”
Mara caught the plural and felt a strange fluttering in her stomach because of it.
“As far as Lyra is concerned, I’m afraid speculation is still rather rampant, but we might have a possible lead regarding Big B.”
Mara’s skin prickled with anticipation, but she remained silent while he continued.
“There was a foreigner that was recently taken to the infirmary at St-Martin-in-the-Fields pauper farm in Middlesex.” Roarke paused. “It has been confirmed he was the one who last fought Bentley and our best chance to find out who might have taken him.”
Mara swallowed. She knew firsthand the horrors of a workhouse, for she had been forced to endure those poor conditions for nearly six months when she’d first moved to London. While she had not been at St Martin’s, she knew one was not much different from another.
“I don’t know if I will gain anything from speaking with him, but I thought to look into the matter, regardless.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “Let’s just hope he is up to the talk.”
After a moment, Mara gave a brisk nod and stood. “I’m ready when you are.”
Roarke lifted a brow. “You told me you were going to the shop today. If you fear I will withhold anything that might come of this interview, rest assured I will not.”
“If there is even the slightest chance I can do something to help Bentley, then I will do so,” Mara returned firmly. “If I have to delay the shop for one more day, so be it.”
He frowned, obviously not as convinced by her argument. “It’s a workhouse, Mara. You don’t know the conditions of such a place. It’s much too dangerous…”
“If I can survive living there, I can surely manage a mere visit,” Mara snapped.
She instantly regretted the damning statement, but she couldn’t very well stuff the words back into her mouth once they’d escaped. She hadn’t meant to reveal so much about her shady past, but he’d been so condescending that she’d lashed out without thinking better of it.
However, the look of utter shock on his face had almost been worth the slip.
