*
Trevor dismounted andtied his horse to a post in front of the tavern his brother, Tristan, frequented. Trevor didn’t have to ask if his brother was here, it was common knowledge anymore. Since Tristan had returned to the family two years ago, he’d been hiding from the world, but not from his friends at the tavern.
Tristan was only a year younger than Trevor, but twenty-eight was still too old to be acting like a young, foolish man fresh out of school—like Tristan enjoyed displaying quite often. Because Trevor was almost thirty, he took life a little more seriously, and of course being the oldest brother, he felt Tristan needed someone older and wiser who took on more responsibility to assist him in times of peril.
He walked into the dimly lit tavern. Standing just inside the door, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the lighting. Strange how most taverns he’d been inside didn’t have windows so were dark no matter what time of the day it was. Six tables with worn chairs filled the dirty room. Two barmaids scurried from one table to the next, carrying drinks for their patrons. The scent of alcohol permeated the air with a nasty stench, and if Trevor didn’t hurry and leave, his stomach would protest the stench.
But talking to Tristan was most important. The younger brother had been on his mind since Trevor heard about Lord Hollingsworth’s murder.
It was easy to spot Tristan. He sat in the corner with a mug up to his mouth as foam coated his upper lip. When he saw Trevor, he motioned with his hand to come closer.
Trevor neared the table and smirked. “For some reason, I knew I would find you here.”
Tristan chuckled. “But of course, my good brother. Do you not know this is my home away from home?”
“Indeed, it is.” Trevor sat and leaned his elbows on the table. “How much have you consumed thus far this evening?”
“I am only on my second drink. Why? Would you like me to order you one? I have a close and personal relationship with the barmaids. I’m quite certain they would bring me anything I need.”
“Please, do not trouble yourself on my account.”
“So why did you decide to grace me with your presence tonight?” Tristan lifted the mug and took another drink.
“I have been worried about you. It has been quite a while since we have talked on a serious level.”
Tristan flipped a hand in the air. “If you are going to give me one of yourbig-brotherlectures, save it for when I need it. I assure you, my good man, I do not require it tonight.”
Trevor shrugged. “As much as I hate to disappoint you, I fear tonight will have to be the night for that talk.”
Setting the mug hard on the table, Tristan rolled his eyes. “As you wish.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Say what you came to say and then leave me to sulk in my misery.”
Trevor would like to help his brother, but didn’t know how. Trey was actually the brother better at knowing how to help Tristan since Trey had relied on spirits a lot before he married Judith. “I just want to know if you have heard about Hollingsworth.”
Tristan nodded. “Of course. All of London knows by now. The constable has even graced my doorstep with his presence. He wanted to discover my whereabouts the night thegood lordwas killed.” He pushed his fingers through his wheat-tinted hair. “Can you believe people actually think I killed Hollingsworth?”
“Where did they get such an insane notion?” Trevor answered sarcastically.
His brother leaned on the table, closer to Trevor. A day-old beard had grown on Tristan’s face, and he scratched his while his gaze narrowed.
“As much as I hated the man, I had plenty of chances to end his life in these past two years. I did not kill the bloke, even if I wanted to.”
“And should I be worried about the widow Hollingsworth?”
Tristan snorted a laugh. “Worried? Pray tell, why would you be worried about her?”
“Because she is no longer married to the lout, that’s why.” Trevor arched a critical eyebrow. “And I worry that my brother might get it in his intoxicated head that he wants to talk to her again.”
Letting out a brash laugh, Tristan sat back in his chair, shaking his head. “What a wild imagination you have, dear brother. Can you not remember what she did to me four years ago?”
“I remember. I just prayyouremember.”
“No need to fear. That memory is something I shall never forget again.”
“Splendid.” Trevor pushed away from the table and stood. “My work here is done.” He smiled. “Please, do not be a stranger. You know where I live, and you are welcome to visit any time.”
“And—” Tristan waved his hand through the air, motioning toward the room—“you know where I live, as well.”
“Have a good evening,” Trevor muttered as he walked away.
