Desperate.
Again, Daniel felt a strange protectiveness for his sister’s friend. A woman like her should have had no issues finding a husband, if not for her brother. The Earl seemed determined to keep her in a box.
He understood the feeling of being protective of one’s sister, but not of preventing her from finding happiness. Many of his sisters had found true love with men he had initially thought were cads or rakes, but everything turned out for the best. Much to his relief.
“It is the first time I am trusting Adrian’s connections in the underworld,” Daniel said after a sip of brandy.
He must admit that Valentine chose his spirits well. The amber liquid burned a smooth trail down his throat. Would Lucy have taken this drink?
“He said that you always have eyes and ears, even though you’ve chosen a new focus in your profession. You have managed to foster connections to both the ton and the underground. You can blend well in either when you choose to.”
Valentine looked as relaxed as ever. He was good at this. The man probably talked to people from all walks of life. Of course, he did.
“People tell me things they won’t ever tell their priest or solicitor,” he confirmed. It was not a smug declaration, just a fact. “What secrets are you here for, then, Your Grace, if you are not here to be entertained?”
Daniel inhaled sharply. Then, he rested his elbows on his thighs as he relayed his story.
“A year ago, a fire claimed my uncle—the late Duke of Stonewynn—and my cousin, his heir, in Suffolk. Everyone was quick to call it an accident. A misfortune. A blaze that spread too fast to be contained.” Daniel kept his gaze fixed ahead, though he felt the old heat rising beneath his skin, the remembered glare of flames against stone.
“My family had given no cause for hatred. No public enemy. No quarrel worth blood. And yet, as the house burned, I saw a man run for the woods.”
The image had never loosened its grip on him. The silhouette. The deliberate pace—not panic, but escape.
“I did not ask to inherit any of it,” he continued evenly. “When my father died and left me the marquisate, I learned soon enough that rank is seldom a reward. And when my uncle and cousin perished, the dukedom fell to me because I was the nearest male relative. Nothing more.”
His jaw tightened, though his voice did not falter.
“Stone does not surrender to flame without assistance. Not so swiftly. Not so completely. That fire was fed. Directed.”
He turned his attention fully forward now, resolve settling into something cold and immovable.
“I want the name of a man who understands such craft. Someone capable of discerning how stone was made to burn as though it were tinder. I will not have vengeance born of ignorance. I intend to uncover the truth. With precision.”
The humor on Valentine’s face quickly vanished. Suddenly, the air became chilly. The man might be paid to entertain, but he certainly looked too grave for that now. He set his glass down with a loud clink. His eyes were on Daniel, as if gauging what his true intentions were.
Daniel knew that he was now facing the man who had links to the underbelly of London and its suburbs, and not the one who peddled pleasure.
“Dying by fire is a nasty way to go,” Valentine murmured. His brow furrowed, and with him looking serious, he appeared to be older than Daniel had initially thought. “Your uncle and cousin were good men, but perhaps they had come by information they should not have had. I might say the same for you, if you want to pursue this.”
“So, do you know anyone who could help me? Do you know anyone who likes to play with fire?” Daniel pressed, his voice lowering to a growl.
“Your Grace, London’s underground has become a teeming jungle. However, there are a few men even seasoned criminals fear. These are those who are cold and calculated and willing to kill. There’s one in particular who has risen among the ranks in terms of eliminating problems. He is known to eliminate people who know too much,” Valentine confided, his face etched with worry, as if his very words could get him murdered in his bed that very night.
He moved to a small writing desk. He dipped his quill and scribbled something on a piece of paper. Daniel imagined the man also wrote little love notes to women who wanted the full experience of courtship.
Eventually, Valentine handed him the paper.
“This man here. People say that he does not just kill, but also erases. Completely.”
Daniel looked at the paper.
Moses Gordon.
He stared at the name. It seemed like an ordinary name for someone who could wreak havoc. The paper felt heavy in his hand.
“Where can I find this fire starter?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
“Wait,” Valentine said, lifting a hand. His expression did not soften. “You must understand something, Your Grace. This is not a ballroom. This is the sort of world where men act because they have something to lose. Or because they are paid by those who do.”
