“That’s because I ordered himto lie to you.”
“That wasn’t very gentlemanly of you, but perhaps I should have gone away while I had the chance. What’s the troublenow, Gray? For a man with a glass of port in his hand and a roaring fire at his feet, you look grim enough.”
“What are you doing here, Lyndon? It’s late.” Foolish question, really. Lyndon was like a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out mischief. Whenever something was afoot, he always appeared sooner or later.
“Call it curiosity, if you like.” Lyndon strolled into the library, pausing at the sideboard to help himself to a glass of port. “So, I repeat, Gray. What’s the troublenow?”
“No trouble. I’m perfectly content.” So content, he’d been sitting alone in his library for hours, sipping port and sulking like aspoiled child.
“Content, eh? Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Lyndon dropped into the chair beside Tristan’s, rested his feet on the grate, and raised his glass to his lips.
Tristan knew Lyndon far too well to believe he’d leave it there. He waited for the next round of volleys, and Lyndon, who could never stay quiet for long, didn’t disappoint him. “This contentment of yours, Gray. May I ask if it’s the result of your visit to the CliffordSchool today?”
“More or less.” Rather less thanmore, however.
“Good, good. Then you discovered Jeremy Ives is, in fact, as dead as theTimesclaims he is, and that he was, in fact, guilty of Henry’s murder?”
Tristan blew out a breath. Lyndon had a charming way of getting straight to the heart of a matter. “Not exactly, no.”
Lyndon’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “No? Why, you can’t mean to say Miss Monmouthliedto you, can you? That she and that coven of witches at No. 26 Maddox Streetdidn’tstuff a convicted murderer into a coffin and smuggle him out of Newgate before dawnthis morning?”
“Ives is no murderer. It would be a great deal easier if he were.” This business with Sharpe and Ives and Sophia Monmouth had more heads than a Gorgon, each of them writhing with dozens of hissing snakes, but Tristan knew beyond any doubt Jeremy Ives was innocent.
“Not a murderer, you say? Well, is he dead, or isn’t he?”
“He’s notthat, either.”
Lyndon frowned. “Well, where the devil is he, then?”
“I haven’t the vaguest idea. Miss Monmouth was less than forthcoming this morning.” At least, she’d been tight-lipped about Jeremy Ives. Otherwise, she’d had plenty to say, and none of it pleasant to hear.
Do you truly believe you know anything about guiltand innocence?
Hehadthought so, yes. God knows he’d seen enough of both to have an opinion on the matter, but Miss Monmouth had a talent for throwing his every thought into disarray. It was…disconcerting.
Laws were imperfect, and the execution of them even more so. Tristan had always thought so. Now he was taking his brother’s place in the House of Lords, he was in a position to do something about it. But questions of guilt and innocence, goodness and evil—they were concepts he’d always accepted without question as absolute. Thanks to Miss Monmouth, they’d now become a great deal trickier than they’d ever been before.
You saw Jeremy. Is the law working for him?
The trouble with Sophia Monmouth was, she wasn’t entirely wrong. He understood her frustration, yet he shuddered to think how dangerous London would be if everyone thought as she did.
“You know whatI think, Gray?”
Tristan swallowed the rest of his port and abandoned his glass on the table. “No, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.”
“I think your little pixie has you turned inside out.”
Tristan wished with everything inside him his friend was mistaken, but there was no use in denying it. In a few short weeks, Sophia Monmouth had upended the carefully arranged pieces of his life as easily as if she’d tipped over a chessboard.
Now all was chaos, with the king, queen, and pawns scattered everywhere.
“Youareaware she’s the only one who can turn you right way ’round again, aren’t you? Or not, as the mood strikes her. Make no mistake about it, Gray. We’re but slaves to the whims of those ladies who slither under our skins.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “You’re quite a philosopher tonight, Lyndon, but Sophia Monmouth isn’t under my skin, or any other part of me. I’m as good as betrothed toanother lady.”
“Ah, that’s the spirit, Gray. Curious thing, though. It’s been ages since I heard you say a word about this other lady. Tell me, what was her name again?”
“You think to catch me out? I’m sorry to disappoint you Lyndon, but I know very well her name is…is…”
