Page 59 of Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society 3)

He shoved his hand into his pocket, touched the tiny wooden shape there and eased out a breath. He shouldn’t feel attached to belongings—after all, he’d spent much of his life without a thing—but his aunt’s life being frittered away dug deep into his heart, leaving it tender and wounded.

“I spoke with the...woman of a certain reputation a few days ago.”

She folded her arms. “You can say whore to me. I am not completely ignorant, Blake.”

“Well, she claimed the men my cousin is supposed to be spending time with are after him for money.”

Tapping a finger to pursed lips, she kept one arm wrapped about her waist. “We know the men were furious about him not turning up to their meeting. What could he owe them money for?”

“It cannot be for some sort of false identity. I’ve already had his lineage verified by the midwife and a maid.”

“What else did the investigator say?”

“Only that he was indeed my cousin but his life before his arrival in London is vague. He lived near Devil’s Lane for a while.”

“Goodness.”

“He has had a sharp rise in circumstances.”

“Yet he is clearly an educated man. Your aunt did not neglect him.”

He scraped a hand through his hair. “I wish I could ask her about him myself. I wish she’d told me about him.”

Demeter put a hand to his arm. “An illegitimate child would have been the end of her—and him. You must understand why she did not utter a word.”

“I do. But it makes this whole situation impossible. Regardless of his circumstances of birth, he is not a good man. You and I know this.” He motioned between them. “For Aunt Iris’s sake, I must find out what truly happened.”

“Well, then we should go to Devil’s Lane.”

He imagined gentle Demeter in the middle of the poverty and vice-stricken area of London. Then he pictured stepping foot there and a shiver ran down his spine. “That is not a good idea.”

“What other choice do we have?”

“If I say I am going alone, what will you do?”

“Likely go with my aunt anyway.” She smiled.

“But of course.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Wind whistled through the cracked window creating an unearthly whisper, as though the room was still haunted by the poor souls who had lived in it. A shiver tremored through Demeter, despite the warm day. Upon the floor, the remains of a few straw pallets lingered—nothing more than rectangular patches of straw and tattered fabric.

There was a fireplace but she doubted it had often been lit. The only concessions to comfort here in the lodgings in Devil’s Lane were one wall sconce, the candle long gone, and tattered curtains that might have been cream or white once upon a time but were coated in grime.

It was hard to picture Mr. Foster ever living here.

She twisted to look at Blake who had yet to follow her into the room. “Do you—”

His pale face made her pause. His gaze was locked upon a pallet but it did not look as though he was seeing it.

“Blake?” She hastened to his side and took his hand. “What is the matter?” His fingers trembled.

He jerked to attention, snatching his hand from hers. “I need to leave.” He twisted upon his heel and marched out of the building.

She had to move at a pace to follow him. At times like this she longed to be in men’s clothing. How much easier would it be to descend steps without the hinderance of skirts and petticoats?

“Blake?” she called, catching up with him as he paused some distance from the building, his back to it, shoulders slumped.

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