Ned seemed to be considering that. “Will it be by the same painter and delivered by the same handsome fellow with the accent?”
“Christ, no,” said Wesley, with feeling.
Ned’s gaze set itself forward again. “Begging your pardon then, sir, but if I may speak plainly, that might not be enough.”
“Might not be enough?”Wesley sputtered. “Get me my paper and get out.”
“But I haven’t given you your messages—”
“Out!”
Ned gave a half bow with a frankly impertinent edge and disappeared. The staff was staging a revolution as if he employed a gaggle of French peasants. This was also Sebastian de Leon’s fault, and Wesley needed a fucking cigarette.
A few minutes later, his tea was still cold but he had theLondon Timeson a silver tray—damp from being passive-aggressively left too long on the step in the morning’s rain. Wesley took a breath through his nose, ignored the tea, and picked up the newspaper.
An envelope fell out.
Wesley furrowed his brow. He set theTimesto the side and considered the letter. It was addressed to him, but with no stamp, like it had been slipped into the newspaper by hand. There was no return address, but the wax seal was of the highest quality and bore the letterB.
Highly abnormal way to receive mail, but then, nothing had been normal in Wesley’s life since the moment he heard the nameSebastian de Leon.He opened the envelope.
Your telegram was most welcome,the letter read.You are right to be concerned about Mr. de Leon; his family has a history of brutish tactics and interfering where they shouldn’t. Tell him nothing of me. You and I must speak in person. Tonight, at 8pm. I will send a car for you.
It was signed by the Earl of Blanshard.
Wesley pursed his lips. Well, that was patently obnoxious of the earl, to think he got to decide who Wesley got to tell what, where Wesley would or would not be at 8pm, and how Wesley might arrive.
But de Leon was apparently worse than Wesley had even imagined. Jade thought the earl had stolen from de Leon but surely it was more likely de Leon had robbed Blanshard. Jade likely had no idea the kind of criminal she’d aligned herself with.
“Sir?”
Wesley looked up to see Ned had returned to the morning room. “I said out.”
“I still have your messages.” Ned cleared his throat. “It is rather later in the morning than you usually rise.”
Wesley narrowed his eyes. “Lady Tabitha sent a letter,” said Ned. “Apparently she’s met another lovely young woman—”
Wesley cut Ned off with a dismissive hand gesture. His third cousin thrice removed met new women for Wesley every other month. The language and the tactics sometimes varied, but everything his distant family and solicitors had ever said to Wesley boiled down to the same thing:you’re sitting on piles of money with no heir; it makes the landed gentry restless.“Do I have one single message that isn’t a request for funds, marriage, future bequeathments, or the presence of a viscount at some useless social?”
“Just the one, in that case,” said Ned. “You had a call early this morning from the American lady, Miss Robbins. She’d like you to call her hotel as soon as you can.”
Wesley looked down at the letter on the table. Blanshard had warned Wesley to tell de Leon nothing of him. Jade could be in danger herself. He should call her back immediately—
Except she’d been firmly on de Leon’s side last night. She seemed to think she knew everything de Leon had done, implied there was much more to the story than Wesley knew. Would she listen to him, if he called her now?
Wesley frowned.
“Sir?” said Ned. “Will you be calling Miss Robbins back?”
“Not yet.” Wesley would talk to Blanshard first, learn the truth, and gather facts. Jade did know de Leon was dangerous; Wesley would present her with an irrefutable case of thebrutish tacticsBlanshard had mentioned in his letter.
Unbidden, another snippet of his conversation with Jade flitted through his mind.
You said yourself, at dinner, that de Leon was one of the most dangerous men you’d ever met.
He is. And did that dangerous man fight back tonight? Or would he have let you snap his arm before he took the chance of hurting you?
Wesley’s fingers tightened around Blanshard’s letter, just shy of crumpling it. More lunacy, that’s all it was. Everyone, apparently even Jade, assumed Wesley’s title meant he was a useless incompetent, forgetting his war record, his medal, his sharpshooting trophies. Wesley was bigger, stronger than de Leon, and a former British Army captain to boot. Unless de Leon was secretly capable of sorcery, the man had simply been outmatched.
