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“Excellent idea,” Percy agreed, rising. “I’m not in the mood to be gawked at, anyway.” He dug a coin from his pocket and handed it to the waiting man while his companions stood. Following the servant, they made for the stairs.
As they were passing one of the semiprivate anterooms, a familiar voice caught Percy’s attention. Dropping back, he paused by the curtain to listen.
“And the little jade has no idea,” said Lord Wells. “By this time next year, she’ll find herself wishing she’d accepted my offer when she had the chance. Ah, but revenge is sweet, lads,” the man said over the appreciative chuckles of his companions. “And never sweeter than when justly served.”
Every hair on the back of Percy’s neck stood on end. Though Wells had not named the woman to whom he referred, he k
new beyond any doubt it was Eden. It could be no other. The same bitterness had been rife in Wells’s voice the day he’d pointed her out to him as the foil for his plan to reaffirm his notoriety.
Long ago, Percy had learned to pay attention to his instincts. They now screamed the answer he’d been seeking: Wells had put Ravenwood up to offering for Eden’s hand. The desire to dive into the room and throttle the bastard was almost overwhelming, and it took every scrap of self-control not to give in to it.
How had Wells managed to coerce Ravenwood into doing it? His crowded thoughts coalesced into one answer. There was just one possible measure of knowledge weighty enough to move such a lever. But if Wells knew Ravenwood’s secret, the question then became how he’d come into the information.
It was time to pay another visit to Loxdon. Knowledge was a formidable weapon, and he needed to find out all he could concerning Lord Nelson Wells. If Wells knew the truth, it would mean Ravenwood was already under significant pressure. Logic told Percy that two men holding the same club over the man’s head with opposing demands would result in only one end: Ravenwood would shoot himself rather than face a public trial and execution.
While that would achieve his ends and free Eden, Percy didn’t want a suicide’s blood on his hands. To drive a man to take his own life was almost as unforgivable as suicide itself. He’d rather kill the fellow outright on the field of honor. At least then his enemy could be buried in hallowed ground. He had no desire to be haunted by a man’s wandering spirit.
The raucous laughter from inside the room grated on his nerves to the point of pain. He needed another brandy. Now. A summons from Lowther be damned—it would never come. He must take action himself to stop the wedding.
Going upstairs, he forced himself to sit with his friends for half an hour and two glasses of brandy. Of what he’d learned he made no mention. Instead, he voiced his opinion that Ravenwood was being influenced by someone. His friends speculated wildly regarding who it might be. Montgomery even suggested Lady Sotheby.
Percy dismissed none of their ideas openly. Wells’s name was not included in their combined list of possible culprits. If they didn’t suspect him, surely no one else would, either. He’d planned the perfect revenge. Or so he’d thought.
He rose and stretched. “Gentlemen, I regret I must depart your fine company.”
Montgomery looked up at him in confusion. “It’s barely past midnight, old fellow. The night is yet young.”
“Well do I know it, but I’ve some important business to which I must attend early in the morning. Business which requires a clear head.”
“A gentleman has no business to which he must attend early on any morning,” Montgomery mocked, knocking back another swallow. “At least none important enough to call him out before the noon hour. Unless of course it’s a duel.” A heartbeat later he sat bolt upright. “It’s not, is it? A duel, I mean?”
Despite his black mood, his friend’s enthusiasm brought a smile to Percy’s face. “It is not, but I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to reveal the nature of said business. At least not yet.” He offered his friends a wry grin and added, “Also, I am, as you have both always been quick to remind me, no gentleman.”
“Gone to bed a new mistress and try to forget your troubles, then?” asked Hogarth. He lifted his glass high. “Off with you, then.”
Percy didn’t bother to contradict him. On leaving, he passed Wells in the hall.
“Oh, I say, Tavistoke. Sorry to hear about your having lost the Lowther girl to Ravenwood,” said he with a look of what Percy knew to be false sympathy. “No doubt she would have been fun to tame. Better luck next time, eh? I suppose we shall have to join each other for a brandy one of these days and commiserate over our both having been thrown over by the same woman.”
It was all Percy could do to grunt assent and hurry on past without shoving a fist through the man’s face. Arriving home in an ill temper, he consoled himself with yet another brandy and a pipe.
Sleep was long in coming that night. When it finally took him, it was filled with unpleasant dreams. The sullen morning sky that greeted him hours later merely darkened his mood further.
At precisely ten o’ clock, he exited his residence prepared to wage bloody war. “Bow Street, and be quick about it,” he snapped to his driver. Climbing into his carriage, he threw himself into the seat to brood on his next move.
When he strode through Loxdon’s door, his friend glanced up at him with a cheerless smile. “Quick to the call, as always. I’d hoped you’d come sooner rather than later.”
Confused, Percy frowned. “If you wanted me, you should have sent for me.”
“I did, less than an hour ago.”
“I received no message,” he replied, his frown deepening. “Must have crossed each other on the way. What news?”
“Rowell has fled.” Loxdon sat down with a grunt. “And I’m afraid it’s permanent this time. My man spied him climbing out onto his roof again in the wee hours and followed him. Said he carried a heavy bag and looked like he was wearing most of his clothes on his back. He made for the wharfs and took passage on a ship to the Indies.”
“Bloody hell,” swore Percy. “Any idea why he’d want to leave England?”
Loxdon shook his head. “My boys went through the place. There was a lot of burned refuse in the upstairs grate, looked like it might have been papers of some sort. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to have it on him or for anyone to find out about it after he’d left. He’s gone, and I doubt we’ll see his face again.”
