Page 44 of To Tempt a Troubled Earl
“Yes.” Lando kissed him again because he could. “His name is Robert. A soldier, a spy, a countryman, and my father’s favoured by-blow.”
*
“I CANNOT RECALLa time when you looked happier,” pronounced Robert without preamble. “Not in recent years, at any rate.” Placing the book he’d been idly flicking through down on the breakfast table, he threw Lando a crooked smile.
“Kit is finally awake and much recovered.” Lando took a seat opposite him and selected a breakfast roll. “Though he is drowsy still. He has not yet pieced things together.” He buttered the roll, then reached for the honey pot. “Tell me, have you tracked down Clark yet?”
Robert rolled his eyes as he sugared his coffee. “Did you really need to ask?”
“I daresay not, but don’t leave me in suspense. I have enough of that from Pritchard. Who is pining after Inglis terribly, by the way, and it’s making him quite the pepper pot.”
Robert chuckled. “I’ll convey that message so Inglis can brace himself for the onslaught when you finally make it back to Rossingley.”
“Soon, hopefully. I have my fingers crossed that Gartside will be tempted to place his bribe any day now.” Lando caught a drip of honey on his tongue, savouring it. “So if you have any useful thoughts regarding how we can disentangle Kit from this whole thing, then now would be a good time to share them.”
Leaning forward, Robert laid both arms on the table. “I have a friend at Bow Street. A discreet and helpful one.”
“I expected nothing less. Only the one?”
“Who had a great deal to say about Clark,” Robert continued blithely. “Not all of it good. The man is hard-working and diligent but not…well-liked. Or trusted. My chum described him as slippery as seaweed.”
Music to Lando’s ears. “Go on.”
“Our Mr Clark has a predilection for the finer things in life and is rather familiar with a small wharf just outside Wapping. Derelict, at first glance—nothing but a tumble-down granary. On closer inspection, however, it is a well-oiled drop-off point for free-traders, and one of those free-traders happens to be Clark’s older brother. Tea, principally. Some tobacco. Our friend Clark has been known to grease the palm of the local preventer on his busy brother’s behalf. Acting as a sort of go-between, as it were.”
“Hmm.” Lando frowned as he pondered Robert’s thinly veiled suggestion. “So you think the threat of him interfering further in Mr Angel’s doings can be dispensed with, given sufficient inducement.”
“I do,” agreed Robert. “It is my belief that, with the right combination of words whispered in his ear, he could be persuaded to forget he ever stumbled across a serial pickpocket named Angel at all.” He regarded Lando over the top of his coffee cup. “Assuming, that is, Mr Angel ceases his nefarious activities.”
“If our Gartside scheme is successful, then Kit will have no need.”
A small weight eased from Lando’s refined shoulders. Enticing a God-fearing man to wipe Kit’s name from his memory by dangling bags of coin in front of him had not been entirely to his liking. The problem being that bribed men became terribly good at spending their ill-gotten gains and soon developed a taste for more. Gleaning unsavoury facts about a person such as this troublesome Mr Clark and then levering them to your advantage was much more palatable.
“You will encourage Angel to keep the bribe?”
“Some of it,” Lando agreed.If he gets out of this in one piece as a free man. “If I’m able to persuade him. The money Gartside offers should primarily be put to good use righting a few of the wrongs on his estate. But a portion of it should go to Kit—which he will undoubtedly pass on to his sister—to recompense him for his troubles.”
Lando frowned again, the strands of an idea tugging at his thoughts. “Perhaps this Clark can be persuaded to…” He stopped again, trying to picture the steps. “Hear me out, Robert. When, and if, Gartside attempts to bribe Kit—any day now with luck—we need his impropriety to be exposed in front of myself, Cobham, and the others. Ideally, by a highly respected person of law.”
As his brain hummed with possibilities, Lando took a larger bite of his breakfast, suddenly ravenous. “Who better than a Bow Street runner with a secret to hide?”
Tilting his head to one side, Robert acknowledged the idea. “Who, indeed? I’m struggling to think of anyone.”
“Mmm.” Lando leaned back in his seat. “So am I. Except, somehow, our corrupt runner must be blinded to the master plan.” Pursing his lips, he nodded thoughtfully. “By a distraction of sorts. Yes… I do believe… I may have a solution. Do you have to rush back to Rossingley?”
“I fear so. My fallow acres on the eastern border are brimming with turnips to harvest, preferably before this fine dry spell turns. And the crops in Fernley Field won’t rotate themselves, you know.”
“Will they not?” Lando sighed prettily. “A pity.”
Robert pushed his chair back, stood, and brushed himself down. “By leaving now, I may, however, have time for a short detour to Bow Street. Only if his lordship wishes it, of course.” He endeavoured an obsequious pose and failed. The man had not a deferential bone in his body. “Perhaps Jasper should accompany me. I always find a display of muscles comes in useful upon these occasions, do you not?”
Lando grinned. “I’ve always been a fan of a muscular display; you know that, darling. On any occasion.” He took a dainty last bite of honeyed bread. “Which reminds me. I must retire back to bed.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
WHEN HIS FIRSTconscious thoughts on waking no longer circled around casting up his accounts but on his hungry, rumbling belly, Kit deduced he was on the mend. In fact, he was well enough to note that, from the play of bright colour on the ornate ceiling above the bed, the hour must be late.
But as he immediately discovered, brilliant morning light wasn’t merely streaming through the chink in the drapes. It was under the bedclothes with him, exhaling soft puffs of air, its pale, elegant form folded around his own like a second skin.
