Three Nights with a Scoundrel

“Need I remind you,” Spencer asked, “that my share of the horse exceeds yours by sevenfold?”



“No. You needn’t remind me.”



The ten brass tokens that signified membership in the Stud Club could never be bought or sold, only won or lost in a game of chance. It was the crowning example of Leo’s fair-minded nature. What other marquess would devise a club open to anyone with luck, regardless of his wealth or circumstance? Because, though noble-born, Leo had never thought himself the superior of any man.



And ironically, he had been. Certainly worth ten of this duke. The club had been a source of amusement for years, until Morland ruined it with his ruthless quest to win all ten tokens and own the stallion outright. The duke currently held seven of the ten brass coins. Julian and Lord Ashworth were the only other surviving members.



“Your arithmetic needs adjustment.” Julian set aside his brandy and reached into his coat. “Because I currently hold two.” From his breast pocket, he withdrew a thin disc of brass. On one side was stamped a horse’s head, and on the other, a horse’s tail. “This one was Leo’s,” he said, holding up the token between thumb and forefinger. “I won it back from Ashworth, in Devonshire.”



“What took you to Devonshire?”



“You’ll remember last summer, the whore who found Leo’s body was tracked down?”



The duke nodded. “When we last saw each other, you were planning to question her.”



“And so I did. I found her, questioned her, and then took her to Ashworth’s backwater village in Devonshire for safekeeping.”



“Safekeeping? Why did she need safekeeping?”



After a brief hesitation, Julian decided to tell Morland everything. Much as he detested the man, he also needed him. Or rather, Lily needed him. And whatever Lily needed, Julian also required.



“The night of his death, Leo picked up the harlot in Covent Garden, asked her to go with him to the boxing match. Afterward, they lingered in the street … negotiating where to … you know.”



“I can imagine.” Morland grimaced. “Just skip that bit.”



Julian did, and happily. He didn’t like thinking about Leo spending his last night on earth with a whore. Truthfully, Julian had been shocked to hear he’d picked up the girl at all. Common light-skirts weren’t Leo’s usual way.



“Anyhow,” he went on, “before they could proceed, a man appeared.”



“The one who resembled you?”



“Yes. And according to the harlot, Leo seemed to know him. The two went round a corner. The girl heard an argument, then silence. Then a fight. She turned the corner and saw two footpads pummeling Leo and this stranger.” Julian reached for his brandy and downed the remainder. It burned going down, but it wasn’t nearly so hard to swallow as the truth.



He cleared his throat and forged ahead. “She didn’t see the attackers clearly. Could only describe them as two large brutes in rough clothing. One was bald, she said, and the other sounded like a Scotsman. She managed to scare them off with a scream, but both Leo and his companion were left severely injured. The whore went for help, but by the time she returned with a hackney driver, this mystery fellow had disappeared. Only Leo was there. She brought him to my house, and you know the rest. He died en route.”



“So who was this other man?”



“That would be the question, wouldn’t it? I searched for weeks, made inquiries.” Finding the man had been a harder task than one might think. Since Julian set the trends for fashion, a great many young gentlemen resembled him. “I finally learned his name. You should know it. Peter Faraday. He’s a former member of the Stud Club.”



“I remember,” the duke said, refilling both glasses. “I won his token just a few nights before Leo’s murder.”



“And just after the murder, Faraday fled Town for a remote cottage in Cornwall. I thought I had the answer. Faraday was disgruntled over losing, or desperate for funds, perhaps. I thought he must have lured Leo into an ambush. Ashworth and I went to Cornwall, bringing along this prostitute to identify him. But when we arrived at Faraday’s hideaway …” Julian expelled a rough sigh. “The man was an invalid. Could barely walk, even two months after the attack. He claims he and Leo were merely talking, and then these two brutes fell on them without warning.”



“And you believe him?”



He shrugged. “Ashworth does. Says he must be innocent—that no man would willingly incur injuries that severe, even to cover up his involvement in a murder plot. But I still say Faraday’s hiding something. Whether ambush or accident, there’s more he’s not telling us.” He reached for the token again and tapped its edge against the arm of his chair, beating a steady rhythm. “Now the investigation is stalled.”



Morland’s gaze trained on the token in Julian’s hand. “That should be mine, you know. I wrote you a bank draft to fund this investigation, on the understanding that token would come to me.”



“You are unbeliev—”



“Save it.” The duke waved off the remainder of Julian’s protest. “I don’t give a damn what you think of me. But I truly do want what’s best for that animal. You could make this easy and agree that Osiris deserves a comfortable retirement at my estate. But since you won’t, I’m forced to call in debts.”



“There are no debts.” Julian put away the token and withdrew the other item he’d secured in the breast pocket of his coat. He unfolded the rectangle of heavy paper and extended it to Morland.



The duke took it, frowning. “Is this …”



“Your bank draft, yes. I never drew the funds.”



Morland blinked at him.



“Oh, I performed a thorough search. Hired runners, investigators, crawled over every inch of this city. But I used my own money.”



“Then why did you accept this?” The duke held up the bank draft.



“As a bond, of sorts. To certify your good faith and innocence. I’m convinced of those things now.” Albeit grudgingly.



“Well,” Morland said dryly. “And here it only took five months. I thought I said the remainder of the amount was supposed to go to Lily.”



“She won’t take it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”



“Well, then.” The duke folded the paper and ripped it in quarters before casting it into the fire.



“You still owe her your assistance.” Julian leaned forward to confront the duke, bracing his elbows on his knees.



“I assume you have something specific in mind.”



He nodded. “There’s more to the story. Faraday had a theory as to why those men attacked him and Leo. And the evidence supports his conclusion.”



“Which is …?” Morland leaned forward with interest.



Julian hesitated. He hadn’t spoken of this to anyone since Cornwall. “The attack was meant for me. Someone wants me dead.”



As he spoke the words, he felt the tension in his shoulders melt. Strange, that an admission of imminent danger and possible pursuant death would be accompanied by the sensation of relief. But it was. It helped to talk, and there were few people with whom he could discuss this openly. His usual confidants were Leo and Lily. One was dead, and the other must never know anything of this.



“Just one person?” Morland scoffed. “I would have wagered many.”



“God damn it. This is serious.” Julian rose from his chair and paced the carpet’s antique gold fringe. “Leo’s dead, and—”



His voice broke at the sudden memory of Leo’s battered face. That image haunted him, even now. Leo had died too quickly for much bruising to occur. His features had been not so much swollen as … misshapen. Broken beyond repair.



“Leo’s dead, and it’s my fault. You’re right, my enemies are plentiful. That’s the bloody problem. If there were only one person, I’d know where to go. But there are too many men with a grievance against me, and some incidents are decades in the past.” He couldn’t just go knocking on doors and ask, Beg pardon, but are you the one who’s discovered my true identity and wants me dead? He massaged his temple with one hand. “If I want to find Leo’s killers, I’ll have to find the man who hired them. Which means I’ll have to provoke him, draw him out.”



“Draw him out? None of this makes sense. It’s been five months since Leo died. If someone truly wanted to kill you and failed, one would think by now he’d have taken a second stab at it.” To Julian’s affronted silence, Morland half-shrugged in apology. “Poor choice of words.”



“Yes. I’ve noticed you have that problem.”



The duke went on, “Have there been any other direct attempts on your life?”



“No,” Julian admitted. “Not that I’m aware.”



“Then why are you so convinced it was a planned attack meant for you?”



“It only makes sense. The timing, the method, the resemblance between me and Faraday. He even said Leo’s last words were ‘Tell Julian.’” He turned away, swearing softly. “The man lay wounded and dying, and his last thought was to warn me.”



Leo was decent and selfless to the last, and what had Julian offered in return? Lies. Lies, and improper lust for the man’s only sister. What a miserable excuse for a friend he’d been.



“That proves nothing. He was wounded, and you were his closest friend. In any scrape, wouldn’t his first thought be, ‘Tell Julian’?” Morland approached, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Listen. Leo was murdered by footpads. It was a random attack by petty criminals, not paid assassins. This was the simplest explanation from the first, and it remains the most credible theory now. It’s a tragedy. But you need to let it go and move on.”



“I can’t. You don’t understand.” And neither could Julian explain it. He surmised that Morland had some notion of his less-than-illustrious origins. But the duke didn’t know the particulars.



Someone out there did. And that someone wanted him dead, eventually. Five months were an insignificant delay, after so many years.



“There will come a time,” he said, “perhaps quite soon, when I will disappear. Whether voluntarily or not, I dare not guess. When that happens, you must promise me you’ll look after Lily.”



Morland looked surprised. “Certainly. Amelia is very close to Lily. We’ll offer her any assistance she might require.”



“Damn your offers of assistance. I need you to protect her.” Julian gestured angrily in the direction of the dining room. “Better than you did in there just now.”



“What do you mean?”



“You know what I mean. That row of trained porpoises at the dinner table.”



The duke raised an eyebrow. “That was not—”



“The devil it wasn’t. And then that odious Commander Merriwin, taking every opportunity to fondle her wrist.”



“Fondle? I scarcely think—”



“Exactly. You scarcely thought.” Julian leveled a finger at Morland, leaving him with a tenuous grasp on his emotions. “This is your house. Lily is your guest. How could you allow those … those seafaring apes to make a mockery of her, right to her face?”



“No one was mocking Lily,” Morland replied evenly. “You’re the one who insulted her.”



“Me? I insulted her?”



“Yes, by treating her like a child who needs tending. Lily is an intelligent woman, and not nearly so fragile as you make her out to be. She can handle herself. She was doing so this evening, quite capably. Until you arrived. That’s the moment she began to look miserable.”



The truth silenced Julian. Morland was right. She’d worn a broad smile when he entered, but she’d visibly tensed as he slid into the chair beside hers. She certainly hadn’t spurned the slimy advances of that Merriwin slug—a fact that should have filled him with hope for her marital prospects but instead left him hollow with rage. And the wounded look she’d sent him when he barked at the lieutenants to sit down …