Roarke led the interpreter over to the man in the bed. The moment the first words of his home language were spoken, he closed his eyes in relief that he would finally be understood. After a brief conversation ensued, whereas Mara waited patiently for news, Sir Reginald finally nodded his head and moved away from the bed. After a short chat with a nearby nurse, he motioned for Roarke and Mara to follow him out into the hallway.
He turned to them with a grim expression. “I’m afraid I must be the bearer of bad news.”
Mara felt her veins turn to ice as he gestured toward their man in the infirmary.
“I was able to learn that Mr. Silva had sailed from Brazil with two other men, one of which he referred to as merelycapitao,and the other asdominar.He explained that his former master was known as the fer-de-lancebecause of his shrewd and harsh dealings with his employees, although he’s currently found himself on the edge of ruin because of a failed banana plantation on theIlha da Queimada Grande.”
“What does that have to do with Bentley?” Mara asked.
“To recoup some of his losses, this fer-de-lanceintended to join the white slave trade in London, but upon his arrival, he found out his English contacts had been dissolved.”
Mara and Roarke shared a glance at this, for they had been indirectly involved in that nasty business, but not as deeply as Lord and Lady Rockford. While it had been a terrible affair, it had finally spurned the earl into admitting his love for Athena, so it had all worked out in the end.
Sir Reginald continued. “Apparently, this man overheard about Big B’s popularity and decided to exploit his talent for his own benefit.” With a sigh, the elderly scholar added, “But that’s not all. Unfortunately, Mr. Silva appears to be in worse shape than any of the nurses originally thought. It sounds as if there’s some internal damage as a result of the fight.” He paused. “If that’s the case, I’m afraid that if we do find your friend, the consequences will be dire. If Mr. Silva dies, Big B will likely be charged with murder for illegal boxing.”
Roarke frowned as he regarded Mara’s silent form across from him. She hadn’t said a word since they had parted ways with Sir Reginald at Oxford. On their way back to his townhouse, he could only imagine what she was thinking.
When the carriage finally came to a halt and Mara would have escaped, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine.” She turned to him with surprisingly clear and steady eyes. “I always am.” With that, she slipped from his grasp and walked inside with determined strides.
Roarke followed more slowly. He knew it would be a waste of time to pry anything more from Mara. She had already shut herself off from him with the news that Big B would likely go to Newgate if Mr. Silva didn’t recover from his injuries. That was, if he was even found in the interim. There was no telling where this villain—this fer-de-lance—hadeven taken Big B.
Blowing out a breath, Roarke went into his study. He knew the first thing he needed to do was pen a missive to his investigator, Mr. Andrews, and let him know what they’d learned. But before he could even draw out a sheet of vellum, his butler, Winston appeared at the door. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord, but this just came for you.”
Tearing open the letter his servant handed to him, he couldn’t help but groan as he scanned the few, simple lines. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse.
Margaret had recently delivered a healthy baby boy. While this was good news, it also meant that his mother would soon be on her way back to London.
Bloody hell.
