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“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?”
“It’s quite amazing what a wife will keep from her husband,” Vale mused. “My innocence has been crushed since our marriage. But, yes, she did indeed finally deign to tell me why she was looking so pleased with herself recently.” Vale splashed more brandy into his glass. “The lengths to which you’re prepared to go to please a housekeeper make me wonder about the servant situation in Scotland. Good help must be thin on the ground.” Vale widened his eyes and took a drink.
“She’s more to me than a housekeeper,” Alistair growled.
“Wonderful!” Vale slapped him on the back. “And about time, too. I was beginning to worry that all your important bits might’ve atrophied and fallen off from disuse.”
He felt unaccustomed heat climb his throat. “Vale…”
“Of course, this means my lady wife will be near impossible to live with,” Vale said to the bottom of his glass. “She does get a trifle self-satisfied when she thinks she’s pulled something off, and I’m sure you’ve realized by now that she sent Mrs. Fitzwilliam to you with a purpose.”
Alistair merely grunted at that and held out his glass. Women and their mechanisms were no longer a shock to him.
Vale obligingly refilled it. “Tell me about these children.”
He closed his eye and inhaled, recalling their small faces. The last time he’d seen Abigail’s face, she’d been red with hurt and near tears. Dammit, he wanted a chance to make that better. Pray God he’d have it.
“There are two of them, a boy and a girl, five and nine, respectively. They’ve never been away from their mother.” He opened his eye and looked frankly at the other man. “I need your help, Vale.”
* * *
“SO THE DUKE of Lister found you,” Lady Vale murmured.
“Yes,” Helen said. She gazed down into the delicate dish of tea in her hands.
