Simply Voracious (21 page)

“Indeed we have, and I have also given you my instructions as to her having complete access to any extra funds that she needs without question.”

“Indeed, sir.” Mr. Walker continued to put the papers away in his case. “I will use this room as my office whenever I come to call on you. I will also maintain a cash box here for your convenience. Sometimes gold is the only thing that will solve a problem.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Mr. Walker paused. “There is one more thing I would like to touch on as well, sir, if you have the time?”

Paul rubbed his aching temples. “Yes, of course, Mr. Walker.”

“I refer to your ongoing residence.”

“My residence?”

“I would assume that you and Lady Lucinda might wish to purchase or rent a town house of your own. There are several country properties owned by the Haymore family where you might choose to rusticate, but unfortunately only this house in London.”

Paul thought longingly of his old attic rooms and the companionship he’d found there.

“I’ll have to speak to my wife about this.”

“Of course, sir. But if you do wish to establish your own dwelling, I can make up a list of desirable properties for you to view.”

“Thank you, Mr. Walker. You are indeed a treasure. I wasn’t even aware that we could afford such a thing.”

“Oh, yes, you can, sir.” Mr. Walker’s smile was broad. “Despite the last duke’s longevity, or perhaps because of it, the dukedom is in a very healthy financial state.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Naturally, sir, seeing as one day all the responsibility for administering it will all be yours.”

Paul got the usual hollow feeling in his stomach when he was reminded about that, but managed a smile. Mr. Walker had been exceptionally patient with him, after all. Paul rose to his feet and shook Mr. Walker’s hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Walker.”

“Thank you, sir. I look forward to calling on you in a week to tell you what progress I have made on all your requests.”

Paul patted his shoulder. “Don’t wear yourself out on my account.”

“I’d be glad to do so, sir. The present duke and his family have been very good to me.”

“That makes two of us,” Paul replied, and Mr. Walker gathered up his papers and left.

After almost five hours of financial matters, Paul was more than ready to leave the house, meet Mr. Roland, and plant his fist in the man’s face. But, he owed it to Lucky to be a little more careful than that. He at least needed a witness.

He downed a quick glass of brandy, and decided to walk around to the pleasure house in Mayfair. It was starting to rain, but he was glad of the fresh air on his face. He splashed through a puddle and grimaced at the old but well-tended leather of his boots. If what Mr. Walker said was true, he could afford to have several new pairs made without even noticing the cost. For a man used to counting every penny, his newfound wealth felt both disquieting and remarkably undeserved.

Aware that his feet were now wet, he resolved to avoid any more puddles until he could order at least one new pair of boots. He walked around to the back entrance of the pleasure house and down the stairs into the kitchens.

Madame Durand looked up from her usual position at the stove and smiled.

“Monsieur Paul.”

“Madame.” He grinned back at her. She’d always liked him because he adored everything she cooked and ate what was put in front of him without a single complaint. “
Ou est
Ambrose?”

Madame Durand jerked her head in the direction of the cellars.

“
Merci,
Madame.” Paul took off his cloak and hat and placed them over a chair near to the fire to dry. As he approached the stairs leading down to the cellars, he heard the unmistakable sound of someone climbing up and waited at the door. Ambrose emerged with several bottles of fine claret in his hands.

“Are those for me?” Paul asked.

“No, they are not. Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Aren’t you supposed to be elsewhere?” Ambrose regarded him severely for a second and then walked back into the kitchen and placed the bottles on the table.

“I haven’t come here to enjoy myself, Ambrose. I wanted to talk to you.”

Ambrose raised an eyebrow and opened one of the bottles. He left it sitting on the table while he collected some glasses.

“It really needs time to settle, but I don’t see why we shouldn’t sample it.”

“I’m always happy to oblige.” Paul took a seat next to his friend and held up a glass. “I need your help.”

Ambrose paused in the act of pouring out the claret. “What’s wrong?”

“I need a witness in case I do something foolish.”

Ambrose set the bottle down on the table with great care. “You are intending to kill someone?”

“Not
kill,
precisely, but definitely put the fear of God into them.”

Ambrose sipped the claret and frowned. “Of course I’ll come with you, but can you be a little more specific?”

Paul lowered his voice. “I think I have found the man who tried to ruin Lady Lucinda. I’m due to meet him at four o’clock today. He thinks he is meeting my wife to drum up more money out of her.”

Ambrose finished his glass of claret and wiped his mouth. “Then I shall definitely accompany you. We should take one of the Kelly brothers with us as well. Seamus is here today.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “We should be on our way. It is almost fifteen minutes to the hour.”

Paul caught Ambrose’s arm. “If the man needs to be killed, I will do it. I don’t want you or Seamus with blood on your hands.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Ambrose replied. “But, in my opinion, any man who behaves so despicably to a woman deserves to be punished.”

“You are condoning violence, my friend?” Paul shook out his still-damp cloak and put his hat back on. He’d dressed in his old regimentals in an attempt to remind the weasel he would be facing that he was, in fact, a hardened soldier inured to death.

Ambrose’s answering smile was fierce. “I do believe I am. Let me fetch Seamus. Did you bring your coach?”

Paul regarded his sodden boots. “No, I walked.”

“Then I’ll find us a hackney cab.”

Paul had to squeeze in beside Ambrose as Seamus took up a whole seat by himself. The rain continued to pour down and the streets were all but deserted apart from a stalwart few who continued to ply their trade. The small windows steamed up and the scent of damp wool and unhealthy gutters permeated the dank air.

“Did you know that Constantine Delinsky is back in Town?” Ambrose asked quietly.

“Yes, I saw him last night at a ball we attended.”

“And how was he?”

“Well enough.”

Ambrose lapsed into silence, and Paul hoped he’d remain so for the rest of the journey.

“Did he meet your wife again?”

Paul frowned. “He certainly met her. What do you mean,
again?
”

Ambrose’s shoulder went rigid against his. “It is of no matter; I must be mistaken.”

“About what?”

Paul turned to stare into the other man’s face. His suspicions about Lucky’s cautious questions to him about Con suddenly revived.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes, I’m absolutely sure. Out with it.”

Ambrose sighed. “I thought Miss Ross told me that it was Delinsky who discovered Lady Lucinda in distress at the ball a month or two ago and found help for her.”

“Delinsky did?” Paul frowned. “He didn’t mention it to me, and neither did Lucky.”

“Then I must indeed have been mistaken.” Ambrose sat forward. “I believe we are almost at our destination.”

While he found the necessary coin to pay the driver Paul had no more time to think about that interesting piece of information. Cornhill was still busy, but for once he didn’t have to worry about who would see him. Visiting a bank was a perfectly respectable activity for a gentleman.

It still lacked five minutes to the hour, and Paul beckoned for Ambrose and Seamus to follow him inside the tall stone building. He’d told his informant, Mr. Taylor, to meet him there and discreetly point out which of the gentlemen was Mr. Roland.

Seamus lingered by the front door in case Mr. Roland should decide to make a run for it, while Ambrose followed behind Paul. Mr. Taylor showed them into a small office to the side of the main clerks’ hall.

“If you leave the door open a crack, I’ll be able to point Mr. Roland out to you.”

“And then you can leave the rest to us,” Paul said.

Mr. Taylor looked rather worried. “You won’t cause a scene now, will you, sir? I don’t want to lose my employment over this.”

Paul wanted to say something about Mr. Taylor’s conduct in carrying such a message and frightening his wife, but he restrained himself. “I promise we’ll behave ourselves.”

Ambrose leaned against the wall and Paul took up a position behind Mr. Taylor. Just as the clock struck four, Mr. Taylor stiffened.

“He’s here, sir. The young gentleman in the long brown coat and the black hat.”

“I see him,” Paul replied. “Thank you, Mr. Taylor. You may go. Ask Mr. Kelly to bring our visitor in here, will you?”

Mr. Taylor exited through a different door and emerged close to Seamus. He whispered something and pointed in Mr. Roland’s direction. Even as he continued to gesticulate, Seamus was already moving through the crowded lobby, his gaze fixed on his prey. Paul fought a smile as Seamus simply caught Mr. Roland up in a whirl of forward motion and herded him toward the door of the office.

“What is going on here? I say!”

Mr. Roland’s indignant protest broke off as Seamus shoved him into the office and closed the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Roland. So good of you to spare the time to speak to me.”

“I have no idea who you are, sir, let alone why you encouraged that oaf to manhandle me. I’ll have you both up before a magistrate by morning.”

“I don’t think you will, Roland. Please sit down.”

Roland smoothed a hand over his disordered cravat. “I will not, sir. Who are you to tell me what to do?”

“The husband of the lady you expected to see this afternoon.” Roland’s sneering smile disappeared. “Now sit down, or I’ll ask Seamus to help you.”

Roland took a seat in front of the desk Paul sat on, his face suddenly pale. “I still have no idea what you are talking about, sir.”

“A liar
and
a blackmailer, as well as a rapist and despoiler of young ladies. What an unpleasant individual you are, Roland.” Paul produced his knife and studied the sharp blade. “I’d like to cut off your balls, but I doubt you have any.”

Roland tried to rise, but Seamus shoved him back down into the chair.

“Just so that we are clear, Roland, I am Lieutenant Paul St. Clare. You have been attempting to blackmail my wife, and I don’t like to see her upset.”

Roland pulled out a handkerchief and patted his face. “Alack, you, too, have been beguiled by her pretty face. She has lied to both of us!”

“Oh, no,” Paul said tranquilly. “She has never lied to me.”

“Perhaps you do not understand, sir. She threw herself at
me
and then offered me money not to reveal her shame to you.”

Paul rose to his feet and approached Roland, and the man shrank back in his chair.

“I’m sorry to bring you such bad tidings of your bride, sir, but surely it is unfair to harm the messenger?”

“You . . .” Paul shook his head as a cold rage engulfed him. He wished he could draw his cavalry sword and shove it right through Roland’s guts. “Hold him still, please, Seamus.” Instead, he placed the edge of his knife blade on Roland’s throat and pressed until a thin line of blood appeared.

“You are less than the filth on the bottom of my boots, Mr. Roland. You preyed upon an innocent and forced her simply to gain her hand in marriage. When she found the strength to refuse you, you decided you’d make her pay in another way by blackmailing her.”

“That’s a lie!” Roland gasped. “She gave me the money willingly. Ask her!”

Paul pushed the blade a little deeper, and drops of red stained the whiteness of Roland’s cravat. “If she gave you
anything
it was to make you leave her alone, and yet here you are, crawling back for more.”

Roland groaned. “You can’t prove anything. Perhaps I meant to tell her I didn’t want her money.”

Paul laughed. “I don’t need to prove anything. Dead men can’t tell tales.”

“You can’t kill me,” whimpered Roland. “I have friends; my second cousin twice removed is a
viscount.
I will be
missed
.”

“Missed maybe, but never found. . . .”

Ambrose came to stand beside Paul. “Lieutenant St. Clare, you can’t kill him here. It is too public.”

Paul sighed. “I suppose it is.” He glanced up at Ambrose. “Then what should we do with him?”

“Seamus and I can kill him and leave his body down by the docks. No one will find him there, and no one will connect you with the death.”

Under Paul’s hands Roland started to shake and stutter. It pleased Paul immensely. If he could make this worm suffer one-thousandth of Lucky’s anguish, it would be worth it.

“I wonder if we should give him one chance to redeem himself?”

Ambrose sighed. “I’d rather we just killed him.”

Paul looked down into Roland’s terrified eyes. “What do you say, Mr. Roland? One last chance, or a quick and bloody death?”

After a long moment, Roland licked his lips. “What do you want me to do?”

Paul gestured at the desk. “You will write a letter to my wife. In it you will tell her that you have suffered a change of heart and no longer intend to pursue your interest with her.”

“All right. I’ll do it.”

Paul nodded at Seamus to escort Roland to the chair behind the desk, while Ambrose set out a sheet of paper and ink. For a while there was only the sound of the pen scratching on the paper as Paul focused on controlling his anger.

“It is done.”

Paul leaned over to read what Roland had written and nodded. “It will suffice.”

Roland shot to his feet. “And you will let me go now?”

Paul smiled. “Not quite.” He drew back his fist and smashed it squarely into Roland’s face and heard the satisfying crunch of cartilage breaking. He hit him again until Roland was sprawled on the floor, his nose bleeding and his eyes terrified.