Page 91 of Make Mine a Marquess

“You mean the scandal of having her fiancé arrested?”

“Not entirely. I mean her feelings for you.”

For a man who was conflicted about his own feelings, he couldn’t fathom hers. All Landon knew was that he wanted to protect her. His threats toward Willard, should the bastard try to ruin Phoebe’s reputation, had not been idle ones.

“I’m not a complete blackguard,” he said. “Thankfully, she had no idea of my subterfuge last night. She, like everyone else, will learn of Willard’s treachery at the time of his arrest.”

“You don’t think she’ll suspect your true motives once everything comes to light? Or why you spent so much time with her? The backgammon afternoons? The afternoon accompanying her to Sarah Smith’s home and helping a household of unwed mothers?”

“Why should she suspect anything?” He refused to think about it. Refused to acknowledge that his friend might be right.

“Women are intelligent,” Aram said matter-of-factly.

“I’ve never doubted Phoebe’s intelligence.”

It was absolutely true. Memories of their backgammon challenges were hard to forget. She’d been a quick learner. The game took skill and she’d mastered the moves and had beaten him more than once. Then there was her charity involvement at home, the way she’d devised a plan to work with the dressmaker to produce garments for the less fortunate women in the city without her mother suspecting and without her father noticing any additional costs. It was ingenious. It also took empathy. She didn’t do it for attention or for the acceptance of influential Society hostesses. Those ladies only cared for their reputations.

Not Phoebe.

At last, Aiden Cawley appeared at the second-floor landing. He descended the stairs to the tavern’s main floor, his face pale, his knuckles white as he clutched the banister. His dishwater brown hair stuck out in tufts, and his worn corduroy jacket and stained trousers contributed to his slovenly look.

Hatred struck Landon hard in the gut. Along with disgust. “Justice is within my grasp. Justice not just for myself, but for all the dead sailors and the captain of the Cradle of Zeus.”

Landon and Aram grasped Cawley by his arms before his booted feet hit the ground floor.

“Jesus!” Cawley looked from Landon to Aram, then back to Landon. “Who the ’ell are ye?”

“You mean you don’t recognize me?” Landon’s voice was tense.

Cawley’s eyes bugged in his face. Without waiting for his answer, they dragged the man outside. Cawley stumbled between them, squinting in the sunlight. Clearly, he was still suffering from the previous night’s drinking.

Cawley’s bloodshot eyes widened as he looked at Landon’s hard profile. “Jesus!” he repeated. “I ain’t know anything.”

Aram’s lips thinned with distaste. “Tell that to the constable.”

“The constable! What fer?” Cawley struggled, vainly trying to pull away.

Landon’s grip was steel on his arm. “Murder. And attempted murder.”

Cawley’s already pale complexion turned the color of sour milk. Landon wondered if he might vomit all over their boots.

Aram met Landon’s eyes. His friend must have had the same thought.

“Keep walking,” Aram said.

Landon glared at the man. “You’re going to testify to everything that happened on the Cradle of Zeus and that Lord Willard hired you to set fire to the ship using saltpeter and sugar to commit murder.”

“And if I don’t?”

Landon’s jaw hardened. “If you tell the truth, I’ll see that you don’t hang for your crimes. You’re lucky. It’s not you I’m after.”

Cawley swallowed hard.

With Aiden Cawley in tow, Landon and Aram headed straight for the Hertfordshire constable’s office, a red brick building at the far end of the village, only to learn the constable spent Friday afternoons at a coffeehouse meeting with solicitors and discussing business.

Landon knew the London coffeehouses were where much business took place. Stockbrokers and jobbers from the London Stock Exchange gathered at these establishments along with a mix of well-off merchants and titled men. They read newspapers, discussed politics, and conducted business, all the while drinking England’s new drink of choice: coffee.

He suspected it was the same in Hertfordshire, on a smaller scale. Still, he was disappointed the constable was not sitting in his office.