“And yet, here you are,” Heath repeated with amusement, noting the impatience on his best friend’s face.
Heath leaned back in his chair, rolling the glass between his fingers.
Enough thoughts of Blanche.
For now, he had business to attend to.
“Really, old chap, you drag me to this den of iniquity, then ignore the merchandise?” Percy muttered as the blonde courtesan perched suggestively on his armrest.
“Perhaps the Duke of Woodrey prefers… alternative companionship?” the woman purred, trailing a finger along Heath’s sleeve.
“He seeks information,” Heath clarified, which made the lady’s eyes sparkle.
“Then you have come to the right place,” the lady added with a chuckle. “You know well what they say. We hear and see all that good men try to hide from the world.”
“And what have your lovely eyes seen?” asked Percy, giving a lovely smile to the courtesan.
The courtesan traced a slow finger along Percy’s sleeve, eyes gleaming with delight at her captive audience.
First, she began to talk about all sorts of gossip that went around theton, which they probably picked up by listening to the gentlemen talk. Honestly, nothing would catch Heath’s attention in the midst of his waiting until he heard the lady mention a name that caught his attention.
“…Have you heard, Your Grace?” she purred, leaning in conspiratorially. “The Earl of Gooldwer has vanished. Deserted his wife and daughters. Not a penny left behind—nothing at all.”
Heath hummed, swirling his drink lazily. “Tragic, truly. And tell me, what reason does the ever-reliable rumor mill offer for his sudden disappearance?”
She smirked, basking in the attention. “Love, of course. The foolish man has fallen—hopelessly, recklessly—for a woman of my kind.”
Heath’s brows lifted. “A courtesan?”
“A common woman,” she corrected, drawing the word out deliberately. “Not a lady of standing, not a wife of noble expectation—just someone who, I suppose, made him forget all else.”
Heath took a measured sip of whisky, the liquid burning slowly as the implications settled.
He pressed on. “And where, pray tell, does your source place this tragic romance? Have they absconded to the countryside? Escaped to the Continent?”
The courtesan sighed, feigning despair. “Ah, that remains a mystery. Some say France, others claim he never truly left at all.”
Percy chuckled. “How delightfully dramatic.”
The courtesan, ever delighted with her own storytelling, leaned closer. “But it hardly matters where he is, does it? The damage is done. The ladies of Gooldwer are ruined.”
Ruined.
Heath was too busy picturing Blanche—her sharp tongue, her unwavering poise despite the chaos surrounding her. She had accepted his proposal, but did she know her father had abandoned them for good?
His speculations were finally silenced when three of the most important members of the House of Lords entered the hall. His intelligence had informed him of a private meeting taking place, with the Lord Chancellor among them. Heath returned to his initial plans—the reason he had led Percy to that particular establishment.
“Percy”, Heath clarified, nodding toward three noblemen. The respected Lords who’d repeatedly snubbed his proposals at Parliament are now revealing their staggering hypocrisy.
Percy let out a low whistle. “Well played indeed.”
The courtesan preened like a cat presented with cream. “Those particular gentlemen keep standing appointments with some of our more… specialized companions. For certain unique tastes.”
“You’ve been very helpful indeed,” Heath mused, giving the blonde an analytical look. “As for the three men over there, what relevant information can you give me about them?”
The woman smiled a dangerously satisfied smile.
“Your excellency will need a shilling for that information. But believe me, it’s worth it…”
