Page 96 of My Darling Rogue
“Your place… our place is here in London for now, my lord,” she replied with that stubborn tilt to her chin that made him want to both kiss her and turn her over his knee. “And here we shall stay.”
The list. Concentrate on that.
Taking a sip from a glass of brandy, Gabriel applied himself to the task he’d put off for several days now.
The section of new groomsmen and the stable personnel contained the highest number of new hires. With his father’s bad health and tendency toward reclusiveness the last few years of his life, there’d been little need for stable help before. Gabriel scanned the list, noting the places the different servants had been employed, and came across a name that gave him reason to pause.
Bryan Flannigan.
Gabriel settled back in his chair. He couldn’t explain why the name jumped out from all the others, but he quickly perused the man’s history. His concern grew when he saw one of the places of Flannigan’s previous employment.
For nearly three years, the man worked at Darby Meadows.
Celia’s home.
Since leaving that position with Lord Darby, Flannigan bounced from estate to estate over the next five years. He’d worked in London for a short period of time before returning to the countryside and working menial jobs at various inns.
Now, the man was employed here, at Rosenthorne Hall.
Had Flannigan been one of the grooms holding the coach the day they arrived? On the very day Celia fainted? Maybe. Gabriel could not be certain. But the man had definitely approached Celia the night they returned from Lord and Lady Buckholt’s dinner party.
Gabriel distinctly remembered the incident. Flannigan had stood disturbingly close to Celia. She had been so pale, blaming the night air for her unease. Her mannerisms were those of someone with a secret to hide.
It was that same night Gabriel tied her up and forced her cathartic episode.
Gabriel’s mind swam with questions. What did this all mean? Was it simply a coincidence?
Celia should have recognized Flannigan as being a former employee of her father’s. Knowing her love for horses, it seemed impossible she never encountered Flannigan during the three years he worked at Darby Meadows.
“She said not a word that night on the terrace steps. She acted as one would with a stranger,” Gabriel pondered aloud. “Only, he cannot possibly be a stranger.”
A terrible possibility formed in Gabriel’s mind. A scenario too horrible to be true. But prudent as he was, he needed further information before confronting the man. He sure as hell needed more before asking his wife how well she knew Bryan Flannigan.
And if that same man was the reason for her fear of the dark.
* * *
It wasanother two days before Gabriel received word there was additional information regarding Flannigan.
Gabriel agreed he would meet the contact in a tavern just off St. James Street near Brooks, the exclusive gentleman’s club.
He thought of having his informant come to him but quickly decided against it. The man was a creature of the back alleys and rougher establishments scattered throughout London. His presence at the Marquess of Rosenthorne’s manor in Mayfair would most certainly draw unwanted attention.
Gabriel could not afford losing such a valuable asset on the street, especially now that he was prohibited from these types of underground activities because of his new title. It was frustrating he could no longer do such things with any semblance of anonymity. Just his presence in the tavern would attract notice. For that reason, Gabriel dressed plainly for the meeting, taking a hired cab there after leaving his offices at Parliament.
Consulting his pocket watch as the cab maneuvered the streets of London, Gabriel considered the shortage of time he faced. Sebastian and Ivy had arrived in town just the day before. Their invitation to see the opening night of a popular play at the St. James Theatre, followed by dinner afterward meant he could not take his time in ridding the world of Bryan Flannigan. If it was indeed warranted.
Stepping into The Red Rabbit, Gabriel searched for his man and found him along the back wall in a darkened booth as expected.
Gabriel removed his hat and gloves. Approaching the booth, his expression remained unreadable as Mister Tallard sipped from a mug of ale and waved a hand in his direction.
“O’er here, guvnor.”
Gabriel slid onto the pitted wood bench seat. A passing tavern wench placed a full mug in front of him and quickly swiped up the gold crown Gabriel laid on the table. It more than covered the cost of their drinks, so she placed a third tankard down as well.
Mister Tallard pulled that one toward himself and proceeded to gulp it down.
“What news?” Gabriel asked while Mister Tallard swiped his bearded chin clean of sudsy foam. Hopefully, the man would not become too inebriated before he imparted the details Gabriel wished to know.
