Rory heaved him from the bed, and the nausea hit him. Regular as clockwork. Harlowe suffered through the bout. There was no dignity in casting up one’s accounts. However, the bouts did seem to be lessening, and each night his stamina increased. The process was slow, he had to regularly remind himself.
“Was the late Alymer an opium eater?” Harlowe asked Rory.
“Not so’s I could figure, milord.”
“How does Lady Alymer know so much then? A brother, perhaps.” Harlowe came up from touching his toes after the tenth count, panting. He moved across the room and sucked down more water. She’d been right about that as well.
“Only child.”
Harlowe grunted. Then grabbed his wrap. “I’m going to walk the hall.”
“Don’t attempt the stairs, sir. Leastways, allow me to go first to break your fall.”
“Are you funning me, Rory?”
“No, milord.”
“Go. Get some rest. Send Casper around. He can assist me the rest of the night.”
Harlowe slipped out of his chamber for the first time since he’d arrived at his sister’s home in time to find his sister’s husband coming up the stairs. “Just the man I wanted to see.” Harlowe kept his voice low.
Kimpton slowed. “What the devil are you doing up and about?”
“I’m haunting the halls. Going mad, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
His brother-in-law grinned. “If you manage the stairs to the library, we can talk there. My wife will ring a peal over your head, and mine, if she finds you out of bed.”
“Rory will help me. Perhaps a small amount of brandy would be a nice change from the water my caregiver is bent on drowning me with.”
Harlowe signaled his newly appointed valet. By the time he and Rory made it down to the library, Harlowe was winded and lightheaded. But seeing different walls had a bracing effect on his mood. He dropped into a winged-back chair. “Do you mind if I crack a window?”
“Not at all. Allow me.” Kimpton did the honors then settled in a neighboring chair. “Now, what is on your mind?”
Harlowe closed his eyes and reveled in the cool air caressing his face. “The beginning, I suppose. I need to know how you learned I was missing.”
“I walked in the front door and your sister accused me of putting you on a ship bound for France in the midst of a war. Fortunately, Brockway had overheard the same. At a picnic I believe. And as I knew,Ihadn’t performed such a task, I went looking for you. Only, you were nowhere to be found.”
Harlowe opened his eyes and studied him. He and Kimpton had little in common. For one thing, the man was nearing forty and Harlowe had been against his sister’s marriage from the onset. Over time, it had become clear Lorelei was wildly in love with the earl. He’d never trusted Kimpton’s motives in marrying his sister because she’d had no dowry. Seeing them now, through an adult’s eyes, Harlowe was telling, and a relief. The man’s affection was genuine.
Kimpton grimaced. “All in all, looking for you was a frustrating endeavor. With Brock’s assistance, we went on the hunt for you.” He took a sip of his brandy, then set down his glass. “It was when we decided to search your quarters and located your valet—”
Relief hit him. “Marcus.” He remembered his faithful valet. The man had a nose for trouble and had saved Harlowe from many a scrape young men of his ilk were bound for.
“They’re coming for you, my lord. You need to take yourself off for a few days. I can take care of things here. I’ll send the rest of your paintings to your sister.”
Harlowe hesitated. “It can’t be that bad. I’ve covered my tracks well—”
“No. I insist. These degenerates are the scourge of the earth in pretty wrappings.”
A clunk startled Harlowe back to Kimpton. He’d poured himself more brandy. “Yes.” He exhaled a long stream of air. “We found him dead.”
“Dead?” Knots of tension kinked in Harlowe’s neck.
“Honest to God, Harlowe, when we walked through that door, and I thought I was going to have to tell Lorelei—” He shuddered. “Well, it was then Brock and I began our search in earnest.”
He waited, white-knuckling one of the armrests. The other clutched his tumbler so tightly, it was a wonder it didn’t shatter.Marcus. Dead.
“You had been sending many of your works to Lorelei, though I had no notion why. So, Brock and I decided to assemble the mass of them to study and found something interesting. In many, you had painted a scythe. Not in all of them, mind, but enough to warrant our curiosity. It was at that point we began checking your various haunts: Boodles, Eccentric, Au Courant, Watiers. Some of the art salons.”
