Chapter Twenty-Five

M ight I ask what you intend to do with this information?" Lord Bixby's study was a tidy, sparse affair: all sleek, dark wood and minimal objects to accumulate dust. If Dorian didn't know for certain the townhome had been part of the man's family holdings for decades, he'd think Bixby had just moved in and hadn't unpacked beyond the most essential items.

Dorian took a seat on the opposite side of a massive desk that was empty except for an inkwell and a candlestick with a taper that had burnt down to the nub and not yet been replaced. "Are you asking if I intend to do Sherman bodily harm, or are you more concerned with the larger impact on your family?"

The other man offered a tight smile. "Sherman and I have never been close. His mother married poorly but is still dear to my mother. Thus the pressure to provide introductions in hopes that he could restore that branch of the family's standing. Everything I do is for my family, Your Grace. Specifically, my sisters. You may have noticed the bare spots on the walls as you entered and lack of valuables displayed about on tables."

He'd noted a lack of tables altogether, but Dorian wasn't going to say that.

"I see by your expression you understand what I'm saying." Bixby folded his hands on the desk, and Dorian wondered for the first time if he'd misjudged the man entirely. "To clarify, we are not in dire straits. However, economies are in place. Luxuries have been sold to fund their dowries. I've had to be creative at times. Thankfully, within our circle, favors and information often hold more sway than ready coin."

"You blackmail people."

Bixby's laugh was a sharp bark. "Blackmail implies I receive funds. I don't want people's money. In that way, my cousin and I differ. It might be a fine line but a distinct one in which I take solace. Sherman's actions are always self-serving. It's the one way in which he's reliable. I, on the other hand, seek to protect and move my family forward. I'm only a baron, Your Grace, and I have three younger sisters to see settled. I'll do what I must for their futures. If that means I barter information so they can have a place at the finest tables, then so be it."

"I will do what I can to protect your sisters, as long as I have your word you'll forget what you know after this meeting." Bixby he might need to prosecute. But Dorian would dower the sisters himself if it came to it.

Offering his hand to shake, Bixby said, "After this conversation, I will have no knowledge of any involvement between Sherman and your family."

"No involvement between Sherman and my family—dead or alive, extended or dear."

"Agreed. We provide mutual protection for those we love."

They shook on it, then got down to the heart of the matter.

Bixby asked, "From our conversation over whist, am I to gather you know of the connection between Timothy and Sherman?"

"Timothy introduced Sherman and Juliet." Oddly enough, his throat didn't clutch at their names. In fact, the pit of betrayal, anger, and that general sense of "how dare you" that had made him lose his breath upon sight of the first letter had disappeared beneath a layer of cool resolve. Answers were within reach. Equally within reach were doubts that Sherman would have the power to tell him a damn thing he hadn't already figured out or was willing to learn on his own with Caro. She didn't see a duke first, like Juliet had. Caro saw a man and would demand he be a better man if he needed to.

"If you're here, you haven't confronted Timothy. Why is that?"

"He and I have never been friends. However, since he was Juliet's last remaining relative after her mother passed, I didn't think it kind to cut him off. Now that Juliet is gone, I've hired legal counsel to assist in blocking Timothy from the dukedom's pockets. When I confront him, I want all of my paperwork and information in place. Ideally, I will only have to deal with him one more time, then I can pretend he doesn't exist. Even if he molders in debtors' prison."

"As you probably know, Sherman and Timothy met during their later school years. Father funded his education in hopes that Sherman would make something of himself. When I inherited the title, Sherman and his enthusiasm for underachieving came along with it." A quirk tilted his lips, and Dorian smiled back. Nearly every family he knew had at least one person determined to send everyone else to Bedlam or the poorhouse, depending on the day.

"So imagine my surprise when, once I introduced Sherman to friends in London, he stopped asking for money. At the time, I was dealing with another family matter and, frankly, didn't think anything of it beyond a sense of relief. Had I considered the possibilities, charming and wooing the wives of my friends and then extorting money from them wouldn't have come to mind as a likely scenario."

He had to hand it to him—Bixby had a compelling way of telling a story. "Just when we think we've considered every way they can create problems, they find new kinds of trouble."

"Indeed. I was incensed. Demanded he give the money back, but he'd already spent it. Sherman promised he'd never do it again, but I don't think the man has ever met a lie he didn't want to get to know better. It's as if he's incapable of telling the truth. He breathes duplicity instead of air."

"I spoke to a man who wrote a series of love letters for him. He isn't even wooing honestly. He cobbles those letters together in a script of sorts."

"I don't doubt it. My cousin is not exceptionally intelligent, hardworking, or good-looking. What he is, is cunning and determined to take in any given situation. If he's offering you anything, there will be something in it for him. There's always an ulterior motive. At first, he chased the low-hanging fruit. The unhappy wives, the widows with heavy pockets. Then he grew either bored or cocky."

"You think Juliet was targeted rather than convenient?"

"Absolutely. You two were a well-known love match. Every lady in London wanted to be her, and all the men wished to be you, with a beautiful woman staring at us like we'd hung the stars. With you gone to the Continent, he saw a chance to test the waters. See if she was lonely or weak in any way."

"And she was. If I have the timeline correct, the relationship developed after her mother died."

"That coincides with what I know. Timothy provided the introductions while she was grieving and you were elsewhere." Bixby leaned back and folded his hands over his stomach. "Sherman has two tactics: the role of secret admirer, and the role of friend. No woman will ever look at him and upend her skirts or her purse because of his looks. So, he plays the part of the friend until an emotional bond has formed and he can twist their regard into something romantic or at least a sense of responsibility. The secret-admirer path works best during the Season, when he can woo via letter, then meet during a masquerade ball to hide his face. Depends on the woman and how susceptible he thinks she is to judging a book by the cover, as it were."

So, they'd likely been friends before he'd preyed on the relationship and turned it romantic with his letters. Gloria had mentioned a masquerade in London. "And the money?"

"Again, depends on the woman. But they've all had their own funds to some degree. Some like the idea of a kept man. Especially those who know their husbands have mistresses. Others, as I believe was the case with Juliet, prefer to believe their funds are helping a charitable cause."

"Like a school in Tippering."

Bixby nodded. "Like the nonexistent school in Tippering. Which, by the way, has been fully funded by three women that I know of. There's also a menagerie of rescued animals in the Lake District, a widows' shelter near Bath, and an orphanage in India. All imaginary but well supported by his various women."

One word made Dorian cock his head. "You refer to them all as women but not lovers. Is that a deliberate choice?"

For the first time since the conversation began in earnest, Bixby looked uncomfortable. "It's highly unlikely he ever bedded your wife or anyone else's in a way that would have resulted in pregnancy."

"And why is that?"

"The man has the clap. Picked it up over a decade ago. Mercury treatments haven't helped, and frankly, he couldn't call his soldier to attention if his life depended on it. Not that there aren't other ways to bed a woman, obviously. But at least we needn't worry over him leaving a fleet of bastards about."

Dorian blinked. "I see. Thus, the need for emotional and romantic approaches versus old-fashioned passionate bed sport."

"It's a cold comfort, I know. But for all their professions of affection, it's doubtful they ever made it to a bedroom."

A long sigh escaped, but he couldn't say it was one of relief. "Cold comfort, indeed. Thank you for your time. One last question—where can I find your cousin?"

"Last I heard, he has rooms on Rupert Street."

"I checked. He's not there anymore."

"Then I'm afraid Timothy is your best chance at tracking him down." Something in his demeanor shifted from relaxed to curious. "I have a question for you, though."

"Certainly. You've been more than forthcoming with me."

"Is what they are all saying true? Is the book about you?"

"What book?"

"Blanche Clementine's latest novel. Speculation is running rampant. I'm surprised you haven't heard. It's been all over the drawing rooms and gossip rags."

Dorian shook his head in confusion. "I've read Blanche Clementine's books but haven't had a chance to do more than begin her newest."

Lord Bixby's curiosity morphed into something almost predatory, and he leaned forward with a toothy smile. "Everyone is convinced the hero in the book is you. And if that's the case, then you have been a very naughty—but intriguing—boy in your private affairs."

Shakespeare was correct when he said "I am to wait, though waiting so be hell." Waiting was mind-numbingly boring, with an anxious undercurrent that prevented sleep. But then, Shakespeare had been waxing poetic about love—or at least, about people in the heady throes of lust. Not a spinster waiting to spring a trap on the former lover of her current lover's dead wife. Good old William would appreciate the convolutedness of the situation.

"What if he doesn't take the bait? How do we live with ourselves if we are this close to catching him, but he doesn't show up?" Constance asked from the pillow beside Caro.

"I appreciate your willingness to accept my crusade for justice as your own, but I don't want you to worry too much about this." They'd spoken of little else since finding Sherman Snyder's mail account at the Matthewses' place, a bookshop closer to Piccadilly and Mayfair.

Connie's blonde curls flopped onto Caro's face as her cousin rolled toward her.

"I'd much rather let my mind spin about this than my own problems. Thank you for finding someone with a situation dramatic enough to provide ample distraction."

"Anything for you, Connie," Caro said dryly.

"I still say we should put a bag over his head," Constance said.

"If he can identify us, it can only spell trouble. A sack over his head solves that problem," Hattie commented from the other side of the bed.

"What if he's exceptionally tall or brawny? We might not be able to reach him to toss a flour sack over his head with any kind of accuracy." Caro nibbled at her bottom lip. Kidnapping was complicated.

A moment passed, and she swore she could hear Constance's brain mulling it over. Finally, Connie said, "Best plan is to incapacitate him, then put the sack over his head."

Why do I feel like she's about to suggest bludgeoning him?

"If I bash him with a rock—"

"Mercy, Constance." Hattie jerked her head off the pillow. "No blood. Not if we can help it. Ideally, we leave no marks."

The mattress shook as Constance cackled evilly. "Except for the ones on his soul as we shed a light on his many misdeeds."

"You're enjoying this far too much," Caro commented.

"There is no such thing as enjoying the downfall of a villain too much, and as a reader of Blanche Clementine, I am appalled to hear her suggest such a load of rot."

"Well, speaking as someone who actually is Blanche Clementine, I can assure you there's a difference between fiction and reality."

Constance heaved a sigh. "Rubbish."

"Fictional villains can't retaliate with real consequences. This man could. What if he hurts us, or sees our faces, or gets away? Or all three?" Practical Hattie, always ready with a problem.

"Please don't bother me with facts when I'm being dramatic." Constance's hand covered Caro's in the dark, then fumbled to find Hattie's too. "However, you make excellent points. Hattie, you'll help us plan. Between the three of us, there's nothing we can't do."

True. They seemed to be a triad of strengths and weaknesses that complemented each other. Once the account was found, it was the matter of a moment to bring the young bookseller, Miss Eliza Matthews, in on their plan to catch "a bad, bad man," as Constance had put it.

Caro had written a vague note and left it for him to collect. They hoped the scrawled Not much time. I must see you. Leave word when we can meet at this store. Urgent! was sufficient incentive.

Unless the handwriting was too unfamiliar and he smelled a trap.

Or he didn't collect his mail for another month.

Eliza would know if letters were flowing through the store, but what if he'd just ended things with someone and therefore, again, smelled a trap?

This plan could go wrong in a million ways, and every possible scenario played out in Caro's mind. However, the mail-service payment was due on his account this week, which raised their chances of Sherman visiting Matthews Bookstore and finding their bait.

Then they'd get him to answer Dorian's questions. But how, exactly?

"Caro, I can hear your brain spinning. Stop. We will figure this out, and then Hattie will make contingency plans with extra contingency plans," Constance said. "Now go to sleep. We might have a busy day of villain kidnapping tomorrow. At the very least, you'll need all your energy to think of new ways to shag your duke, away from his silver dragon of a mother."

Caro kicked her beneath the covers, and Constance giggled. "I'm terribly proud of your current life choices, darling Blanche. Just in case that wasn't clear."