Page 54 of Tender Blackguard

Chapter Nineteen

The next morning, Alastair sent a note to the address provided by Dell Turner. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long before he received a reply, and only a few hours later, Turner joined him in the study, where they settled in to conduct their business with the ominous portrait of the prior marquess sneering down at them.

Turner claimed the chair directly opposite from Alastair, and though he took up a casual posture, there was self-awareness in his gaze and a quiet intensity in his expression as he returned Alastair’s stare.

“I want this blasted business resolved,” Alastair stated without preamble. “For good. As soon as bloody possible.”

Turner gave him a curious look. “Why the sudden urgency?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He wasn’t about to explain that his housekeeper was determined to put herself at risk in search of answers. Since he doubted he’d be able to stop her, he needed to eliminate the danger instead. “Have you gleaned anything useful from my notes, Mr. Turner?”

“I have.” Reaching into the pocket of his coat, the other man pulled out a folded slip of paper and extended it toward Alastair. “There are a few details I still have to confirm, but I’m confident this is a complete list of the men who are or have been involved in the brotherhood.”

Alastair unfolded the paper and skimmed the list. Twelve names. Thirteen when you counted Lowndes the younger separate from his father. Also included were Lord Shelbourne, noted as recently deceased. Lord Dryden. The Earl of Altham. Lord Hazelton. Lord Buckley, whom Alastair had just met the other night. The Duke of Chesterfield. And Lord Marlowe. The prior Marquess of Warfield was also listed as deceased, as was a Lord Whitney and a Baron Hunt.

He experienced a rush of frustration at knowing there were two more men who had died without facing justice.

The last man listed was a Sir John Lanham. The name was unfamiliar.

Under each name was an itemization of estates, business ventures and other crucial assets, closest family members, and their current addresses. Turner had gotten all this in a couple days?

Looking over the paper to meet the gaze of the man seated across from him, he asked, “You’re confident in the accuracy of this information?”

“With the exception of a few details, as I mentioned.”

“It was procured rather quickly.”

Now the man’s lips tilted slightly. “I’m good at what I do.”

A brotherhood of twelve, reduced to eight still living.

Alastair made a short sound before returning his attention to the list. “Tell me about this last man, Sir Lanham. I haven’t seen any of him at the gatherings I’ve attended and never heard his name spoken.”

“Sir Lanham resides in a drafty castle on the coast. From all accounts, he is on his deathbed. Syphilis. He likely won’t live out the year.”

Satisfaction rolled through Alastair at the poetic justice of such an end. He took a long breath before draining the last of his brandy.

Eight, soon to be seven.

The names had been penned with ink, but as far as he was concerned, they’d been written in blood. Though he hated knowing some of them had escaped proper justice for their evil, a flicker of hope filtered through the obsessive resolve that had been fueling him since he’d discovered the full truth of his ignoble inheritance.

“The Viscount Marlowe is hosting a private card game at his club tomorrow evening. By the end of the night, I intend to have an invitation for this mysterious upcoming event.”

Turner gave a short nod. “If there’s any way to discover where it’s taking place ahead of time, I can have people in place that evening in case they’re needed.”

“I will certainly do what I can. Did Mrs. Turner have any luck in speaking with the courtesan?”

---