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He stood from his chair. He had to leave this house. And this woman. “Lady Havistock,” he began, “if you summoned me here to press me into service—to end my brother’s courtship of your daughter with whatever information this woman has collected in herdossier—I assure you, you have wasted both of our time.
“My brother is twenty-six years old, and whatever his failures or successes, he is more than a collection of accusations on a sheet of paper. I refuse to play this game of secrets and lies. Should they decide to marry, Lady Helene and Jack have the full blessing and support of the Dukedom.”
“Really, Clayborn—you would throw my daughter to the wolves?”
In a feat of immense strength, he refrained from pointing out that Lady Havistock and Adelaide Frampton were far closer to wolves than was his brother, who wanted no more than to marry the woman he loved.
Instead, he ignored the question and turned to leave, making it only three steps before a cool voice stopped him. “Since you insist that your brother has been impeccably behaved for three months, Your Grace, perhapsyou can explain why, two weeks ago, he threw his lot in with a group of men in the South Bank who have not a care in the world when it comes to recklessness?”
She meant The Bully Boys. Men the Marquess of Havistock himself consorted with, Clayborn wanted to add. Yes, The Bully Boys ran the third-rate casinos that Jack frequented at his lowest point, but they were also thugs for hire, lacking all code, and willing to do anything for a price.
The Bully Boys, whom they’d battled together, shoulder-to-shoulder, that very afternoon.
He turned back. “You’re wrong. Jack hasn’t been near the South Bank in months.” She did not reply, and his jaw clenched painfully. “Tell me, then.”
She looked to her folder. “Thirteen days ago, your brother took a night of bouts in an underground fight ring.”
“What?Why?”
“For the same reason most do, I assume. Money.” She considered the dossier. “He’s fought seven times since, and... won six. Impressive.”
Impossible. He’d have noticed the remnants of a bareknuckle fight on him. When was the last time he’d seen Jack? Longer than two weeks.
Still, Clayborn shook his head. “Your information is incorrect. If my brother were in trouble, he would come to me.”
“Your Grace,” the Matchbreaker said, the words cold as ice. “I think you’ll find this particular audience will go much more smoothly if you accept that my information is never incorrect.”
It’s time for you to stand on your own, Jack.
His own words, whispering through him. The words he’d spoken, cool and paternal, three months prior.If you wish to marry the girl, you must prove you can care for her.Lady Helene, small and fresh-faced, looking barely out of pinafores in her first season out.
They’d stood outside a South Bank casino, whereJack had once more lost his monthly allowance to the promise of making an easy fortune.This is the last debt I pay.
What if there had been trouble, and Jack had not come to him?
Whatever he’d said—however he’d played the firm older brother—Clayborn would have intervened, because that was what firstborn sons did. Even as he made stupid decisions for stupid reasons, Jack was his responsibility. In his care.
Just as he always had been.
But in that moment, he knew the truth. Adelaide Frampton’s information was not incorrect. Something had gone wrong. Jack had needed help. Instead of turning to his brother, he’d turned to The Bully Boys. And they’d taken their fee. They knew Jack and his weaknesses. And they were not afraid to exploit them. Nor would they hesitate to exploit Clayborn’s. They knew he was the line to Jack’s funds, and were willing to do anything to keep that line open.
Including taking a commission to steal his secrets, secrets that were now in the possession of this woman, who made a career of revealing powerful men’s secrets to the world.
He had to get that box back. Along with that file on her lap, which included God knew what.
And he had to get to Jack.
“Sir, I appreciate that your brother’s new hobby might come as a shock, but the difference between three months ago and two weeks ago is—”
She stopped short, the air fairly crackling around her. She looked to the notes in her folder once more, before turning to look at him. Clayborn’s breath held in his chest. What else did she know? Where was the additional shoe to drop? And who would own it when it did?
“Do you know the whereabouts of your brother right now?”
“I do not.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said, summoning a little shocked gasp from the marchioness.
“I do not lie.” The second time he’d said it to her that day.
