Nodding, Mark gave a dismissive wave. “That would be me. Because I wear mostly black and white.”
The runner examined the paper a bit more closely, then his cheeks pinked. “Ah. Well. Um—”
“Whatever she said about me, I do not want to know.”
“Wise choice,” muttered Matthew.
Smith cleared his throat. “Of course. So. Merlin?” He looked up. “Another bird?”
Annoyance began to churn in Mark’s gut. “No. King Arthur’s mentor. Probably John Whatley. He’s a member of her acting company. She complained that he had worked some kind of magic to get more pay. A wizard with the theater owners. She said she intended to find out how he achieved that. She did not mention her plan to gain that knowledge.”
“The leprechaun?”
Mark swallowed a laugh. “Most likely Shropshire. Because she thought he had pots of gold instead of what he really had.”
“Yes . . . well . . .” Smith cleared his throat. “The apprentice.”
Mark jerked, sending a sudden pain through his gut. Even Matthew’s face tightened as he repeated the name. Smith looked from one to the other.
“Gregory Penmore, Lord Harding,” Matthew muttered. “Bloody rotter.”
“Sounds as if he should be first on my list.”
Mark took a steadying breath, his mother’s words returning to his mind—love... and anger. “Miss Ashley would not have been the only woman to call him that. And if she called it to his face, he would have been exceptionally furious.”
Smith’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think so?”
“Because he became enraged whenIused it in jest.”
Matthew sat a little straighter. “It refers to a certain lack of skill.”
Smith needed no elaboration. “Ah. I see. I will talk to the gentleman.”
“Tread carefully.” Mark let out a breath as the pain eased. “He will not take kindly to being involved.”
“Few gentlemen do.” Smith consulted his paper. “Just one more. The raider.”
Mark’s brow furrowed. “I have never heard that term.” He looked at Matthew, who shook his head.
“She also referred to him as the border raider. Apparently, a recent... um... acquisition. Her first mention of him appeared in her diary about a week or so before her demise. A brief notation, mentioning his desire to ‘beg, barter, or steal, no matter the cost,’ with no explanation, then the number one hundred.”
Mark shook his head. “No idea. I never heard her use that term, even in relation to some item in the newspaper.”
Matthew’s eyebrows arched. “Stella read the newspaper?”
“Rather devoutly. While she definitely kept up with all thetongossip, she also asked me about items regarding Parliament and the courts, occasionally the wars.”
Smith made a note, then folded the paper and stood. “Thank you, my lord, Your Grace, for speaking with me.”
Matthew stood as well. “Stephens will see you out.” Matthew followed the man through the door, let Stephens take the escort, then closed it before gesturing toward Mark’s bed and mouthing, “Now.”
Mark nodded but continued to stare at the fire, in his mind the image of Harding’s face, beet red and nostrils flared, during their encounter at White’s. Harding had intended to gloat, to flaunt Stella’s infidelity, and he had become enraged when Mark outwardly did not seem to care. Had that set this all in motion? The idea that women, specifically Stella, would consider Harding inept in the bedroom. Was the man so fragile that he would kill a woman for holding such an opinion?
No. Not a woman.An actress.Harding would consider an actress of little more worth than a prostitute, and Mark could definitely envision Harding killing a prostitute who laughed at him.
Or perhaps gave him the pox.
Mark watched the flames, the irony of the encounter gripping him slowly. He had gone there to look at the wager book.Harding had initially approached him for the same reason—the “certain fair widow of renown.” That the encounter had taken a dark turn for the worse had caught them both off guard.
