“Stockton was generous enough in allowing me to reside with him.”
That was a surprise. “At his family’s home in Russell Square?” And unlikely.
“No. He’s let rooms off Gracechurch.” Ben downed the entirety of his brandy and looked about, his nervousness on full display. “Look, Emerson, I haven’t time for this nonsense. There’s a masquerade ball I have every intention of attending. Now, if you are finished with your interrogation?”
“Not quite.”
“What?” he demanded. His patience had clearly reached its end.
But then, so had Emerson’s. “I think you should move here. With me.” He couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. But Papa had been adamant about looking after Ben, and the least amount of trouble his brother could expect living in Gracechurch was being run down by some reckless hackney. The most was gadding about with Stockton and his ilk at some of the worst Hells in London.
Ben’s mouth gaped. “Here? With you? Why, this is just steps above the docks,” he sputtered. “Actually,fromthe docks.”
Emerson surveyed his cherished library, overflowing with books in the floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases. The warm fire blazing in the grate. The Hepplewhite settees and chairs of the highest quality due to his fleet contacts and investments in the East India Company. Something that had netted him generous profits despite “trade” being considered vulgar in Society.
Ratcliff Cross suited Emerson’s purpose to perfection. The house was large with good bones. Granted, the grounds were surrounded with tall, bricked cement walls and topped with iron pike tips, and were not in what anyone would consider a fashionable neighborhood. Still, it wasn’t the slums, and it certainly wasn’t the docks. Most importantly, it was ideal for Emerson’s concerns.
“Why not?” Emerson asked him. “Come assist me in the office and earn a decent living wage. At least until we learn whether Oscar has met his demise or has an heir in the wings.”
Ben snorted. “I think not.” He pulled out the watch fob he’d received upon their father’s death and flipped it open. “I must go.”
“Who’s giving this masquerade you are attending? Dammit, Ben, you aren’t accustomed to the seamier sides of London. Youcould be robbed blind and tossed like so much rubbish in the Thames.”
“Your greatest desire, I take it. It’s in Mayfair.” An evasive reply. “I shall be fine.” Ben turned on his fashionable bootheel and was gone, leaving Emerson still holding the brandy he’d offered.
The outer door opened then shut in a relatively calm manner, which meant Amir had been able to save the windows on either side from shattering. He appeared in the arch of the library seconds later, white teeth gleaming in his brown face. “Tea?”
“No, thanks.” He glanced down at the glass he’d offered Ben, then tossed back the contents.
“What of the other matter?” Amir said. Truly, he was much too familiar. Friends. A petty nuisance of late.
Emerson smirked. “Are you inquiring of the little matter of Ben being accused of murdering our cousin and me paying to keep him from being strung up?”
“Obviously, the extortionist doesn’t know you at all.”
“Or knows me too well,” Emerson muttered. “What do you hear of a masquerade being held in Mayfair tonight?”
“The Marquis of Shufflebottom’s. Known as a dandy of the first order.”
“Gambling?”
“Of course.”
“Courtesans?”
“Likely.”
“Blackmailer?”
Amir stopped, amusement tipping his brown lips. “Not that I’ve heard. However, he was involved in a scheme for trafficking children a couple of years ago.”
“Dear God.” Emerson pinched the bridge of his nose. Not only could he picture his brother touting his nonexistent title as the new Earl of Hallandale about thebeau monde, landing themboth in Newgate, there was also the distinct possibility that Ben was up to his pale, skinny neck in a plot not of his own making. “Well, hell. It appears I’m bound for Mayfair. What do I have in the way of a costume?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Perfect. I’ll wear black.”
Two
