Page 82 of Love Unraveled
“This is the part I want to hear,” Bentley said and grinned. “I don’t have all the pieces.”
“Both Drake and the Duke of Salinger like to gamble.”
“That I knew,” Bentley said. “I might add it was not a well-kept secret.”
“It would seem he became indebted to the wrong people. A small group of Napoleon supporters.”
Bentley leaned forward. “Who?”
“That I do not know. Only that one of them is French. An émigré, perhaps? The others are English.”
Bentley harrumphed and sat back in his seat.
“This group offered Drake and the duke a way out. Find information to help their cause, and they’d forgive the debt. Once he’d given them some information, they had him cornered. Apparently, they both simultaneously blackmailed him and made it financially worth his while, giving him just enough to maintain the life to which he was accustomed. No doubt they were abetting his gambling problem to ensure he continued to be hungry for money.”
“They definitely recognized his needandhis greed,” Bentley said.
“Or maybe they could see he was not well,” Sophie said quietly, and Gaston worried about the hours she had been trapped alone with the duke. He squeezed her hand, and she gave him a small smile.
“Not well?” Bentley sat forward again.
“Sì, crazy. You did not see his behavior up close, but what sane man goes chasing across the country after buried treasure?”
“And what man in his right mind plots to assassinate the Prime Minister and the regent?” Gaston asked.
Bentley whistled under his breath. “I did not know about the regent.”
A tap at the door interrupted them, and they waited as food was brought in. A maid also delivered a basin of water and some linen. Sophie washed while he and Bentley dug into the food, saving further conversation until she rejoined them.
She sat down, looking somewhat better, although her blood-spattered dress was a reminder to Gaston how close she had come to wearing her own blood. His anger rose, quick and unexpected, and he turned it on Bentley.
“And you…merde! What were you thinking? You could have killed Sophie!”
Bentley seemed unfazed by the accusation. “No. The duke could have killed the countess. And that was a chance I was not willing to take.”
Gaston swallowed the bile in his throat and washed the remnants down with cognac. He could see the truth of what Bentley said.
“But how did you come to be here? You were gone to the Newmarket races, no?” Sophie asked, relaxing back on the cushions, a piece of buttered bread in her hand.
“I was. But Laurence sent word. The messenger caught up with me at the first coaching inn where I was having dinner. Blasted good dinner I had to walk away from.” He winked at Sophie.
While Gaston was happy to hear a light laugh from her, it still made no sense to him. “Why you?”
“Why me? Because we work together.”
“Non!” Sophie said.
“Mais oui,” Bentley said. “I suppose I should be insulted by the disbelief on both your faces.” He brushed at a crumb on his lapel. “The night of the masquerade, when you, Armand…yes, I now know your true name…knocked the countess over…beastly thing to do by the way.” Gaston opened his mouth to speak, and Bentley waved his words away. “I know, I know, it was an accident. But considering your relationship, you could have stayed and let the countess know you lived. Cruel, that. Letting someone believe you’re gone when you are not. I keep having a similar conversation with Laurence. To no avail, of course. He insists his sister cannot know. For her own safety. Perhaps he’s right. You must agree with him, Countess, as you have never told Lady Walford.” He tilted his head. “At least, I presume you haven’t.”
Sophie shook her head. “If he says it might put her in danger, then it is true. I do not question it. Better Catherine think her brother is somewhere fighting in the colonies than her, or the child, be harmed, no?”
“Yes, I suppose so. And Walford himself agrees. So there you have it. Laurence remains a ghost in our presence.”
“For now. He has promised to return to the living when the war is over.” Sophie popped a piece of bread in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
Gaston was not so easily sidetracked. “I have many questions,” he said.
“I’m sure you do. I have some answers. Not all. And some things I can’t share.”
