Page 29 of An Honorable Deception
“Because she trouncesmeregularly.” Merritt jerked his head toward Yates. “We ought to let Fairfax have a go.”
Yates usually enjoyed teasing Merritt about his pretty little cousins, two of whom were of marriable age and flirted with him outrageously whenever they were in company, which inevitably made Merritt scowl. But Lord Vernon had come into view. Knowing he had to maintain the façade, however, he tracked the older man without looking away from his friends. “You know I can’t in good conscience defeat a young lady at tennis. It wouldn’t be sporting.”
Merritt had noted Vernon’s arrival, too, but he was getting quite good at reconnaissance. He shifted a bit but looked as though he was merely focusing better on Xavier. “You don’t seem to mind shaming Lady Lavinia in your gymnasium at the Tower.”
Xavier’s brows lifted. “Lady Lavinia went home with you and Marigold? Is that where she’s disappeared to? Everyone’sabuzz—she’s always vanishing these days, it seems. She and Lady Alethia both leaving Town at the same time, though...” He shook his head, a strange look on his face. “Might as well have declared the Season over. And though Lavinia frequently retreats—for understandable reasons—I’ve yet to hear any convincing gossip as to where Lady Alethia has gone. Half a mind to hire the Imposters to find her.”
Yates snorted a laugh before he could help himself, then covered it with, “X, if you started hiring investigators to find every young lady who decides to leave Town without letting you know first, you’ll soon run straight through your inheritance.”
Xavier scowled at him. “It isn’t as though I expect her or anyone else to apprise me of everything. But I was supposed to be dining with her family in a few days, and it was canceled.”
Xavier, dining with the Barremores? Not surprising, he supposed. She was a leading lady, he London’s most eligible bachelor. No doubt both sets of parents were vying for a match.
But if X could be counted on for anything—beyond being such a handy chap for Yates’s own purposes—it was for forgetting the young ladies he liked so well within a week or two of parting from them.
And neither Yates nor Merritt were about to volunteer that Lady Alethia was at the Tower as well.
Merritt cleared his throat. “As for Lavinia, I believe she means to stay at the Tower until Marigold’s time has come.” His face bore the exact amount of concern over his wife that he always showed—but Yates caught the brief flick of his gaze when Vernon paused with two other men not far off.
Yates nearly forgot himself and looked overlong. He wouldn’t have known what Rheams looked like had a smallphotograph of the couple not appeared in the article about the attack. But that man there, the one Vernon approached, was most definitely him.
What in blazes was he doing at a club while his wife was at death’s door? If the article was even remotely accurate, she didn’t have long to live. Unless she awoke within the next few days, she’d die from the lack of nutrients—not to mention the horrific wounds that had landed her in such a state to begin with. Were it Yates with a loved one in that condition, he would have taken up residence at her hospital bed, and Lord have mercy on anyone who tried to remove him from her side.
Clearly, Rheams and Yates hadn’t much in common. Or perhaps he wasn’t giving the man enough credit. Perhaps he’d spent all day at hospital and had come to club to grab a bite to eat and receive the support of friends. Hedidhave a few lines on his face that looked etched by worry.
“I was quite relieved to hear Lavinia planned to stay,” Merritt was saying. “I can’t be there the whole time, much as I may like to, what with work. I rest easier knowing she has company.”
“You know,” Xavier said, “you could solve this dilemma by resigning your commission and letting your uncle support you like he insists he wants to do.”
Merritt tossed his friend a scowl. “Some of uslikedoing something useful with our lives.”
Xavier snorted. “Breathe that sentence around your uncle and you’ll cut him to the quick.”
“I’m not sayingheisn’t doing useful things, but he hardly needs my help, and he’s already trained me in how to manage the estate if necessary. I would be utterly superfluous—and I am not cut out to be a man of leisure.”
Yates lifted a hand to his mouth and stage-whispered toXavier, “I believe the dig’s aimed atyou, my lord.” Everyone knew that the second son of the duke lived like a king but with no responsibilities—not yet, at least. He stood to inherit an estate from his mother’s people, but much like Merritt, he wasn’t needed for its running yet.
A luxury Yates hadn’t known to appreciate when he was an adolescent, but which he’d missed every day since.
Who was the third man in Vernon’s trio? He looked to be in his forties, well-dressed, salt-and-pepper hair ... which could have described any number of men in society. Projecting an air of boredom, Yates let his gaze wander the room, passing over the group but not lingering any longer than idle curiosity would dictate.
The third man had a scar tracing from temple to ear—distinctive. And he was fairly certain there’d been a note about a feature like that in one of the dossiers Lavinia had pulled the other day. He sorted through them in his mind for a moment before the name surfaced.
Richard Dunne, brother of an earl. Whose scant dossier he certainly never would have pulled to review before he came to London had Lavinia not done so—assuming he’d even thought to come to London, which he wouldn’t have.
Had Marigold been here, he’d have given her the requisite I-told-you-so about bringing Lavinia aboard. Even if this lead came to nothing, she’d certainly proven her ability to chase connections through their files, which would be infinitely useful.
Merritt had fallen silent, and Xavier had returned to his paper, which let Yates attune his ears toward the corner in which the trio stood. He knew that no one would think he could overhear them from here, and his eavesdropping wasn’t perfect by any means—interrupted as it was with bursts of laughter and invitations to games of this or that from therest of the room—but he’d trained himself well enough to pick out much of their conversation.
“...be back?” Rheams, he thought.
“Saturday, I should think.” Vernon? “Have you spoken to your contacts at the papers? Why has no story been run along with your own?”
“I don’t know. They’ve heard nothing. I had Courtney hang about the church again, but the vicar was looking at him strangely.”
“Are you certain Courtney succeeded?” The third voice.
“Three times, Dunne. Who beats that?”
