In a far corner, a lantern flickered, then burned bright. It took Emerson a moment to realize it was a person pacing, making the light appear blinking. They entered through an archway wherea door had fallen from rotting wood. Apparently, the newer iron work did not extend to the inside.
The gentleman stopped when they entered, and Emerson realized at once that this was not the sort of man one overlooked. Barely thirty, he suspected. His features held the steady composure of a scholar rather than the swagger of a soldier or the arrogance of the peerage.
Yet there was no mistaking the strength beneath the sober black of his barrister’s coat. His hair, a deep chestnut, was neatly combed. Steel-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose and reflected the lantern’s light as he regarded Emerson with a penetrating gaze that suggested the man missed little.
“Mr. Tatton, I presume?” Emerson said with an incline of his head.
“Indeed.” Tatton turned and addressed the duke. The tone in his voice was deliberately weighted—as though every word was measured against law, logic, and consequence before passing his lips.
“You wasted no time arriving, Your Grace. I take it there was no argument.”
Ryleigh flashed that grin that raised more hair on Emerson’s skin. “He practically insisted I accompany him.”
True. But the insistence had come from the duke and had been for Canterbury.
“Perhaps one of you would care to enlighten the reason for my presence?” Emerson spoke calmly, but he’d be an idiot not to suspect he was here for something entirely nefarious.
Mr. Tatton turned a sharp gaze to him that the glass in his spectacles couldn’t disguise, nor did he offer a hand. Instead, he studied Emerson as though he were a specimen under a microscope. “You’ll forgive the unorthodox meeting place, Mr. Whitmore. But one does not discuss certain matters over tea at Gunter’s.”
Emerson folded his arms over his chest, letting his weight settle evenly on his heels. “Agreed.”
Tatton’s gaze narrowed. “You’re a merchant, Mr. Whitmore. A man of the docks. Yet you’ve been poking about in places the Crown has taken an interest in.” His head tilted slightly. “That raises a question or two.”
Emerson’s pulse thudded, but he kept his tone even. “If you mean Shufflebottom’s office, I expect you’ve heard the tale by now.” He shot a gaze to the duke, and his irritation flared. “Or Ryleigh’s desk.”
The duke inhaled sharply.
A flicker passed over Tatton’s expression—calculation. “So you admit to going through certain nobilities’ private papers?”
The duke was quiet for a long, uncomfortable pause. Then he said slowly, contemplatively, “You say you were searching Shufflebottom’s desk.” His words slowed into a rhythm of reasoning from which there was no escape. “Can I take this to mean Rose was assisting you to search other peerages’ offices as well?”
Well, if Emerson thought to come out of this situation without his head in a noose…
“Absolutely not!” he lied. “I, however, am guilty as charged for those deeds,” he admitted quickly.
The duke grunted but let the remark pass.
Emerson feared he was beginning to finally understand the duke’s sister in a way he hadn’t before.
“And did you happen upon anything…unusual…in your searches?” Tatton asked.
Emerson compressed his lips, taking a moment to think. Once more he found himself in an untenable predicament. “The only thing I shall admit is learning there are some individuals who belong in Newgate for their salacious natures. And if that is too harsh, then perhaps Bedlam for reasons of insanity. Butif Ihadfound anything, I’d do something to protect those who cannot protect themselves.” The revelation shocked him—it appeared he and Roseweresaintly sorts. His jaw flexed. “And to put an end to some bastard attempting to bleed me dry.”
Tatton’s eyes remained on him, unblinking.
The silence stretched until Ryleigh cleared his throat, breaking it.
“My brother-in-law has little patience for men who dodge questions,” the duke said mildly. “I suggest speaking plainly, Whitmore. He’ll have your measure either way. And make no mistake, we shall revisit the topic of my desk and what you may or may not have seen before the day is out.”
With a short nod, Emerson returned his gaze to Tatton. “I’ll save us the pretense, then. I’m being blackmailed, as I told His Grace. Someone sent me a note demanding an outrageous amount of money. If I don’t pay, they will implicate my brother in our cousin’s disappearance.” Emerson’s hands squeezed into fists, and he pressed them against his thighs. “The last two notes put Rose in danger, andthatwill cost the man his life.”
The duke’s lips tightened.
Emerson went on. “I’ve no idea what this”—he waved out a hand—“dilapidated warehouse has to do with what is happening to me.”
The air around Tatton sharpened. “We have reason to believe your warehouses are involved in funneling money to Spain. If the foreign office finds you complicit, it will constitute an act of treasonous interference.”
Stunned, Emerson drew to his full height. “How dare you,sir.”
