“Modern men of science tend to be just as secretive as the ancient alchemists. They may not literally be trying to make gold, but certain chemical innovations would be worth a great deal of money,” pointed out his valet. “They won’t respond well to direct questioning.”
Tyler was right, mused Wrexford. A host of new technologies—steam-powered engines, cloth manufacturing, the mass production of common implements like nails and cutlery—were revolutionizing everyday life, and all branches of science were fueling the changes.
“Then I must be discreet in how I gather information.”
Tyler strangled a laugh with a brusque cough. “Discreet. An excellent strategy, milord.”
The earl conceded the humor of his statement. But Tyler was not aware that he had a powerful ally in the fine art of uncovering secrets.
He halted by the hearth, the smile fading from his lips as he stared at the banked coals. Though in all honesty he was still conflicted about allowing Charlotte to put herself in mortal peril. The murderer had proved ruthless.
And remorseless. He would give no quarter.
“There are also The Ancients to consider,” he murmured. “I mean to learn more about their private little circle.”
“How?” inquired his valet.
“By exerting a bit more pressure on Lord Canaday. I sense he’s hiding something that he doesn’t wish to come to light. I—”
“Hidden scandals?” Sheffield threw open the closed door without knocking and strolled into the workroom. “Excellent. The day has been deucedly boring. I knew I could count on some excitement stirring here.”
Wrexford regarded his friend for a long moment. “You are acquainted with Lord Stoughton, are you not?”
“Yes.” Sheffield adjusted his cuff. “A nasty little prick, if you ask me. More than a few people at the Wolf’s Lair suspect he cheats at cards, though no one has yet caught how he does it.”
“Honor among thieves? How quaint,” quipped Wrexford. And yet the truth was, there was no greater insult to a gentleman’s reputation—innuendos that he had strangled his grandmother would be far less damaging.
“Ha, ha, ha,” chuffed his friend. “Unfortunately, you have the right of it. Lady Luck has shamelessly picked my pocket of late.”
“You make it excruciatingly easy for her. If you would bother to apply mathematics to the game of vingt-et-un,the results would be different.Pascal’s essay on chance proves—”
Sheffield silenced him with an offhand wave. “I’m not nearly so erudite as you are, Wrex.”
“And not nearly so frivolous as you would have everyone think.” He placed a chunk of coal on the embers and paused to watch a flame lick to life. “I wonder why that is?”
His friend’s jaw tightened, and though his smile remained in place, it did not come close to reaching his eyes. The placid blue momentarily froze to a silvery shade of ice. “Do you really wish to engage in a discussion of our respective behaviors—both in private and in public?”
There were far more pressing battles to fight, and this one could be bloody. His advice to Sheffield on changing reckless behavior—admittedly rather like the pot calling the kettle black—might be well meaning, but his friend was clearly in no mood for their usual verbal thrusts and parries.
“I see I am hoist on my own petard.” Shifting from the center of the fire, Wrexford leaned an arm on the marble mantel. “Let us put our blades away and cry pax.”
Sheffield walked over to the set of decanters by the window and poured himself a brandy. “Pax.”
The earl waited for him to take several swallows before asking, “If you’re willing, I could use your help.”
“It’s hard to say no when you serve such a fine vintage.”
“Find out as much as you can about Stoughton. I have reason to suspect he’s involved in some very dirty dealings.”
“Including murder?” asked Sheffield quietly.
The earl considered the question carefully before answering. “I’m not sure. But be discreet, Kit.”
“Moi?” Sheffield contrived to look injured. “I am the very soul of discretion.”
Tyler lifted his gaze to the ceiling, making his expression impossible to read.
“When I so choose,” added his friend.
