Rafe Cavendish pulled off first one glove and then the other before tossing them upon the table in the reading salon at Brooks’s. His friends, Derek Hunt, the Duke of Claringdon, and Julian Swift, the Earl of Swifdon, both gave him a once-over while he sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
“Bad day, Cavendish?” Claringdon asked, gesturing to a footman to bring another brandy for his friend.
“Bloody awful day,” Rafe replied. He pulled out the chair next to his friends and slumped into it.
“Why’s that?” Swifdon, his brother-in-law, replied.
“Why do you think?” Rafe asked.
“Well, if history has any bearing on the matter, I’d guess it has something to do with your twin,” Claringdon drawled.
“Precisely,” Rafe replied with a tight smile. “How did you guess?”
“What’s Cade done this time?” Swifdon asked.
“That’s the problem,” Rafe replied. “I have no idea.”
“I’m not following.” Claringdon settled his large frame into his seat.
“That makes two of us,” Rafe replied. “Cade came home the other night foxed and with a black eye.”
“Doesn’t seem particularly out of character,” Claringdon replied.
“No, but he left the theater not halfway through the first act and I got the impression he was meeting someone.”
“Why did you think that?” Swifdon asked, his brow furrowed.
Rafe shrugged. “Kept checking his timepiece, that sort of thing.”
“And?” Claringdon prompted.
“And the next time I saw him, he was three sheets to the wind and his eye was black and purple.”
Swifdon shook his head. “He’s always had a penchant for trouble.”
“Not this kind of trouble.” Rafe pulled a newspaper from his coat pocket and tossed it onto the table.
Swifdon unfolded it and spread it out in front of them. “‘The Black Fox Strikes Again!’ Yes. I read this the other day. What does it have to do with your bro—?”
“You don’t think?” Claringdon’s eyebrows shot up.
“Yes, I do bloody well think,” Rafe replied. “At least I suspect.”
“Cade? Hasn’t he been more into tavern-room brawls and keeping company with loose women”—Swifdon gestured to the paper—“than something like this?”
“He has been in the past,” Rafe said. “But he’s been acting strange lately. Remember when he left us here last night?”
“Yes.” Claringdon nodded. “He mentioned he was going to Madame Turlington’s.”
“Precisely,” Rafe replied. “But when I got home after leaving you two, Cade was already there.”
“At home?” Swifdon did a double-take.
“Yes. I noticed candlelight under the door to his room. When I knocked, he was in there blacking his boots.”
“The chap needs a valet,” Swifdon breathed.
“I asked him why he’d come home and he said he’d decided better of it.”
