She ascended the marble staircase and as the door appeared to be open, Amelia continued in.
Then hesitated.
A scarred man, stern and tenebrous, twisted from the window.
Obsidian eyes bored into her, shadow without light.
Then he stalked towards her, a hunter to a hare, and her skin prickled as though thunder approached.
Amelia stilled as he leaned close, a breath of fine brandy shivering her spine.
“So…” His voice scoured like gravel beneath a booted heel. “You work with Cadwalader now, Amelia.”
“It’s good to see you too, Prince. Got a brandy for me?”
His smile was imperceptible to those who knew him not, but it was there, and as he paced to the decanters, she permitted one of her own.
When she’d first met this man, she’d been terrified of his reputation and demeanour, but as time had passed, arecognition had formed, a friendship of sorts that never went beyond its bounds.
She’d heard him speak like an aristocratic lord of Mayfair and an arch rogue of the Rookery, witnessed him use his hands like a prizefighter yet wield an artist’s brush with such finesse. Some whispered he was the by-blow of the devil and an angel, but who was he really?
Amelia did not know.
But if Hugh’s gaze was akin to a strike of lightning, this man’s was the thunder.
A brandy was proffered, her favoured, and she lowered herself to the chaise which had been reupholstered since she’d left this place four years past. Alfred the bloodhound padded over to sniff her hand and she patted his wrinkly head.
“How are you keeping, Prince?”
A shrug. Even more terse than usual, and she watched as he filled his own glass, movements precise. He appeared more…detached than before, a jaded loneliness encasing him that could never be pierced, a turbulent storm concealed by impenetrable cloud.
In years past, a compulsion had consumed him, a need for secrets and money. Now he had it all and the storm was subdued.
For the time being.
“What is it you need to know?”
“No talk of days gone by?”
“You’re not here for that.”
She grimaced for it was true.
“You want to know who murdered the young girl’s father?”
“Do you know?”
A shake of head. “But I’ll answer your questions, if I can.”
“We have a list of names. All ladies of theTon.” And she handed over a fold of paper. “Any information on them?”
“Cadwalader has squired two around Town.”
Amelia glugged her brandy. “Anything else?”
“Tremlach is having an affair with her sister’s husband. Thurwood gambles too deep for her widow’s stipend, so where does her blunt come from?”
Frowning, she tapped her foot and placed her brandy aside. “And the last? Lady Twyford?”
