Page 30 of A Murder in Mayfair
Of course, I could. Hanover came to mind. Not only did he have a deep knowledge of the law, but he was trustworthy, discreet, and fiercely loyal to his clients. But Lady Rosalynd’s note did not end with that request.
As Dodson was leaving, Lord Nicholas arrived. There’s no doubt Dodson saw him.
The bloody fool!
I asked him to leave as his presence would do Julia no good. Nor himself, if I may add. I am returning to Rosehaven House. You may contact me there.
Lady Rosalynd did not explain the reason for her sudden departure from her cousin’s home. But I could well imagine its impetus. Lady Walsh had objected to Lady Rosalynd asking Nicky to leave. An idiotic move on her part. Lady Rosalynd’s presence would have protected her against accusations of improper behavior with my brother.
“Is there an answer, Your Grace?” Milford asked.
I shook my head. “No. But I will need a footman to carry a note to the City.” That’s where Hanover’s chambers were located.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
As Milford turned to leave, I said, “And order my carriage. I need to visit Lord Nicholas.” And ring a peal over his head.
Milford simply nodded.
It took no time to pen the letter to Hanover. After explaining in detail what was needed, I asked him to contact me tomorrow. Once that was done, I made my way to the entrance hall where I handed the sealed letter to Milford. Within moments, I was on my way to Piccadilly.
Nicky’s quarters were located in The Albany—a bastion of bachelorhood and discretion. It loomed before me as my carriage rolled to a stop. Alighting swiftly, I strode through the grand entrance without hesitation.
Save for the faint strains of music from a neighboring suite, Nicky’s quarters were quiet. When no one answered my firm knock, I used my key and pushed open the door. Inside, the scent of brandy hung thick in the air. The source of it was my brother, sprawled on an armchair in the sitting room, a half-empty glass dangling from his fingertips.
His eyes, unfocused yet alert, landed on me with mild surprise. “Warwick,” he drawled, tipping his glass in my direction. "What a rare pleasure."
"You’re drunk,” I noted flatly, stepping inside.
"Observant as ever," Nicky replied, swirling the amber liquid. "Did you come to lecture me?"
I ignored the bait and went straight to the point. “Did you visit Lady Walsh?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in love with her?”
Nicky stiffened, the amusement in his expression fading. He set his glass down with deliberate care. "What of it?"
My pulse ticked faster. "Then it’s true."
"It doesn’t matter," he said curtly. "Nothing has happened between us."
I studied him, searching for any flicker of dishonesty. "Tell me about your encounters with her."
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "We talk. That’s all we do. In ballrooms, at the theater, in public, always surrounded by half of London’s elite. We laugh, we exchange barbs, but never—" his voice hardened "—never anything more."
I crossed my arms, unwilling to relent. "And yet, society has taken note of your affections."
Nicky scoffed. "As if society needs an excuse to talk."
"You should have exercised more caution. She’s a married woman. Or rather was.”
"And you should exercise less control!" Nicky’s voice rose with sudden fury. "You act as though you dictate all outcomes, but not this time. Not with me."
I narrowed my eyes, as the tension built between us. "This is not about control. It is about consequences. Where were you last night before your arrival at the ball?”
Nicky stood abruptly, the glass falling from his fingertips, the amber liquid spilling over the rug. “You think I murdered Walsh?”
