He needed to talk to someone, but who? He dropped his head in his hands. The problem was that he didn’t trust anyone.
Except Emerson.
How galling was that? The one person he could go to, he hated with a passion.
Ben unwrapped his cravat and tossed it aside. There was nothing for it, he had to talk to his brother—half brother, blast it all. He stomped from his suite, noting the silence from Emerson’s rooms, and headed back down the one flight to the library.
“Ah, you’re back. Are you going out after all?” Emerson inquired.
“No. I decided I must speak with you.”
An audible sigh touched the chamber, yet Emerson’s gaze grew alert, if wary. “Of course. Shall I pour another brandy, then?”
“No.” Ben dropped into the nearest chair.
A second later, Emerson lowered into its mate. “All right. I take it this has something to do with the upstarts?”
“I’m worried for Oscar.” Ben spoke hurriedly lest he lose his nerve.
Emerson’s gaze sharpened. “Did you learn his whereabouts?”
“No. But…” He stared into the fire before facing his brother fully and heaving in a deep breath. “I never was friends with them at school, you know. They were horrid. Always setting some bloody carcass on my bed.” He shuddered.
“Not with actual blood, I hope.”
Ben’s jaw tightened.
“Good God,” Emerson breathed. “Why did you never say anything? I would have—”
“Exactly why I didn’t.” Ben turned his gaze back to the fire. “I suspect it was my reaction to the blood that sent the dormitory into frenzied hyenas.”
“Christ.” Emerson rose from his chair and went to the windows and stared out. “And now you are possibly the next Earl of Hallandale and as such will outrank them.”
“Yes. Lately, they’ve taken to visiting… Shadwell and Limehouse.”
~~~
Emerson spun, violence writhing through him. “What business could they possibly have—”
“There are a couple of, uh, opium dens. Lampert visited more than one on his Grand Tour and took pride introducing them to the group.”
“Ben, I know you don’t like when I caution you—” Emerson started, speaking gently.
Ben held out his hand, palm up. “No. I don’t. It’s the reason I’m here tonight. I tried it one time, and I admit it was not for me.” He shook his head with a sharp motion. “It was on that occasion that Stockton made a comment that has me concerned.”
Emerson’s insides shook. London’s East End was a den of London’s worst. He forced himself to slow. Poured himself another brandy. Benjamin might not require one, but Emerson couldn’t remember when he’d been crazed with such savage fury. He took his glass and went back to his chair. “All right. I’m listening.”
In that moment, Ben resembled a mature young man Emerson didn’t quite recognize. “Stockton spoke as if he already knew my fate. The others laughed uproariously. There was a sick feeling in my stomach, and I sobered almost instantly, though I spent the rest of the evening pretending I was as soused as they.”
“And you’re confiding this to me because…”
“I didn’t know who else to talk to,” he said somewhat begrudgingly.
Emerson swirled the amber contents of his glass, bereft of words. His chest constricted with some unseen force he couldn’t identify. The silence grew awkward, and he grasped for something, anything to say. “I’m being blackmailed.” The words slipped from his mouth as if he had just drunk a pint of fish oil.
“What?”
Well, he couldn’t shove the words back. “Someone sent me a note implicating you in a nefarious deed. I’m in the process of trying to find the blackguard.”
