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Right now, though, Vale’s expression had gone curiously flat at Alistair’s introduction of Helen. Alistair braced himself. He needed Vale’s help, but if the other man chose to insult Helen, he’d defend her and damn the consequences. The tensing of his muscles was instinctive.
But a quick smile flashed across Vale’s face, and he leaped forward to take Helen’s hand and bend over it. “A pleasure, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”
The viscount straightened just as Lady Vale entered the room behind him. Despite the quiet of that lady’s step, Vale seemed to sense his wife’s presence at once.
“See who has come to visit us, my lady wife,” he exclaimed. “Munroe has abandoned his depressing moors and skipped away to bonny London. I think we should invite him to dinner.” He swung on Alistair. “You will come to dinner, won’t you, Munroe? And you as well, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. I shall expire of disappointment if you don’t.”
Alistair nodded curtly. “We’d be pleased to dine with you, Vale. But I’d hoped to discuss a matter of business this afternoon. It’s pressing.”
Vale cocked his head, looking like an intelligent hound. “Is it, indeed?”
“May I show you my garden, Mrs. Fitzwilliam?” Lady Vale murmured.
Alistair nodded his thanks at Lady Vale and watched the ladies leave the room.
When he turned, he found Vale’s too-perceptive eyes regarding him.
Vale smiled. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam is a lovely woman.”
Alistair bit back a blunt retort. “Actually, it’s on her behalf that I’d like to talk to you.”
“Indeed?” Vale ambled to a decanter of liquor and held it up. “Brandy? A bit early in the day, I know, but your expression suggests that we might need it.”
“Thank you.” Alistair accepted a crystal glass and sipped, feeling the liquid burn as it slid down his throat. “Lister has stolen Helen’s children.”
Vale paused with his glass raised halfway to his lips. “Helen?”
Alistair glared.
Vale shrugged and sipped his own brandy. “These are the Duke of Lister’s children as well that we’re discussing, I take it?”
“Correct.”
Vale raised his eyebrows.
Alistair shook his head impatiently. “The man has no interest in the children—it’s Helen he wants. He’s trying to force her back by holding the children.”
“And I assume you don’t wish her to return to Lister’s arms.”
“No.” Alistair gulped the rest of his glass and grimaced. “I do not.”
He waited for Vale to make some snide comment, but the other man merely looked thoughtful. “Interesting.”
“Is it?” He paced to a small case of books, staring at the titles sightlessly. “Lister won’t receive me. Helen he doesn’t mind seeing, but I don’t want her anywhere near that bastard. I need to find out where he’s keeping the children. I need to find out how to pry them away from him, and I need to be able to talk to the man.”
“And do what?” Vale asked quietly. “Do you intend to reason sweetly or call him out?”
“I doubt very much that he’ll respond to reason.” Alistair glared at the bookcase. “If it comes to that, I have no problem calling him out.”
“Not very subtle, old man,” the viscount murmured. “You usually have more finesse than this.”
Alistair shrugged, unable to explain his emotions even to himself.
“I can’t help but wonder what this woman means to you. Is she your mistress perchance?”
“I… no.” He turned and frowned at Vale. “Did not your wife tell you she had sent Mrs. Fitzwilliam to be my housekeeper?”
zed blindly down at his hands. “It took Coleman two days to die, and all the while, we watched and knew we would be next. Fear…” He cleared his throat. “Fear does ugly things to a man, makes him less human.”
