30. After Dinner

AFTER DINNER

A fter following Melanie’s departing figure with his gaze, Malum turned his attention to the decanter of port as it was passed around the table.

He hadn’t planned to touch her so much. Every gesture, at first, had been deliberate—a light brush here, a steadying hand there, all part of the act. They were supposed to be in love, weren’t they? Yet, somewhere between the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers and the subtle hitch in her breath, control had slipped. His instincts had taken over.

Now, with the ladies gone, his focus should have been on the larger conversation, on maneuvering Northwoods into revealing something of use. Instead, his thoughts tugged elsewhere. His gaze kept drifting toward the door she’d disappeared through.

He didn’t have the luxury of indulging in distractions, not tonight. And yet, as the discussion circled aimlessly around the table, he resolved to seek her out after the meal.

He couldn’t shake off a near-constant, nagging need to check on her, to see her, to make sure she was doing alright.

… And perhaps, if he were honest with himself, a need to pick up where they’d left off in the park. An idea that warred with any notions of honor he’d had where she was concerned.

Fucking honor . Malum raised the sweet liquor to his lips and downed a larger gulp than he usually would, and then, observing the other gentlemen at the table, he simply waited.

Standish, seated at the head, swirled his glass absently and, as Malum expected, wasted no time in homing in on Northwoods. "You’ve taken quite an interest in Lady Josephine,” he remarked, his tone light but probing.

Northwoods’ responding smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. "She is a charming young lady, to be sure. A credit to your family, Standish."

“She is young, isn’t she?” Standish pressed. Only seven and ten if Malum was remembering correctly, though that was certainly not the only issue with their courting.

"Not too young," Sir Percival said, oblivious to the tension. "My wife was but fifteen when we met—married her less than a year later."

Malum had not met the man until Lady Standish’s brief introduction during the meal, but he knew of him, as he did any gentleman who’d ever applied for a membership at the Domus .

Sir Percival Percival, knighted for filling the royal coffers rather than any real service, was a reminder of how cheaply honors could be bought. Born without a title or any of the responsibilities that came with it, he’d inherited a fortune from his family without ever having to lift a finger. His girth and ruddy complexion spoke more of indulgence than industry. Knowing Standish, Malum could only assume Percival was here thanks to the influence of his wife, who seemed to get on rather well with Melanie’s mother.

Northwoods seemed grateful for even that small show of support, but his relief was short-lived, seeing as no one else gave any sign that they agreed. His grip tightened on his glass, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips nervously. "I assure you, Standish, my intentions are nothing but honorable. I hold Lady Josephine in the highest regard."

Melanie’s brother stayed silent, and his stare might just as well have cut Northwoods in two.

It was interesting, seeing this side of Standish.

"Good," Standish finally replied, his voice even. "Because if you have any intention of causing her unhappiness—intentionally or not—you’ll find this family does not take kindly to such things."

The words hung in the air at the not at all subtle warning.

Impressive.

Northwoods inclined his head, but his fingers drummed lightly against the table, betraying his discomfort.

Helton broke the silence with a wry smile. "Courtship and family matters aside, I hear you’re keeping interesting company these days.” Northwoods tilted his head, feigning confusion, so Helton elaborated. “My wife learned you and Crossings were seen riding in the park yesterday.”

Malum chuckled. Melanie must have mentioned it to her sister.

Northwoods shifted in his seat. "Yes… And we were lucky enough to run into Malum and his fiancée.” Northwoods finally met Malum’s stare, after having avoided looking at him all evening. “I was particularly surprised to hear Lady Melanie’s voice. It was a pleasant change, of course. One can only hope her health continues to improve."

Malum’s attention sharpened, though he kept his voice casual. "Have you been keeping track of my fiancée, then?"

Northwoods let out a bark of laughter that was probably meant to come across as good-natured, but wound up sounding too high-pitched and abrupt to be natural. He cut himself off and then hurried to placate Malum. "Not at all, Your Grace. It’s merely that her silence was noted after the tragedy. All of the ton , as I’m sure you… recall… That is to say, one can only imagine how difficult it must have been for her…”

"Her voice,” Standish repeated, apparently realizing there was some significance in this exchange. "An interesting thing to note, wouldn’t you agree?"

By now, Northwoods was clearly uncomfortable. "Merely an observation, I assure you. Though I admit, it has occurred to me—and many others, I’m sure—that if Lady Melanie were to recall more from that dreadful day, and can speak of it now, that might provide some clarity for the authorities. It must be a relief for your family that she’s… recovering."

Malum’s glass paused mid-air. The man’s false concern was transparent, but the slip about the authorities was far more telling. "Indeed," Malum said evenly. "Although, it’s common knowledge that the case has been closed.” Not common knowledge, really, nor was the case completely closed. But no one would challenge him in this setting, particularly not with their host so closely involved.

However, regardless of whatever Northwoods intended by it, the man wasn’t exactly wrong. A recovered memory could wield immense power, but Malum couldn’t shake a flicker of curiosity. How much did Northwoods actually know about Melanie’s struggles? Her difficulty recalling the fire wasn’t information an acquaintance would be privy to, so was the man fishing—or did he have a reason to bring it up?

The room grew quieter as Sir Percival leaned forward, clearly lost. "Awful business, that fire," he muttered, shaking his head. "Never liked going to hunting lodges, myself. A bunch of gents out in the country, no one around for miles, with liquor and rifles and whatnot. Recipe for trouble."

"Quite," Malum murmured, although quietly alarmed by what he’d just learned.

At this point in their working relationship, Malum thought he knew Standish well enough to say with certainty that the earl was not responsible for the fire that killed his family. He was simply not capable of such an act. Therefore, if Melanie was able to recover her memories of that night, Malum wouldn’t expect them to learn anything incriminating—not for Standish, anyway.

Malum had long suspected that even if the tragedy wasn’t an accident, the culprit behind it was one of the victims. But… If this wasn’t the case, and there was someone else behind it, then surely that person would have plenty reason to pay attention now that Lady Melanie was speaking again.

Northwoods and Crossings had both mentioned her voice on separate occasions.

A few of the rakes met intermittently with Crossings, who believed them to be feeding secret information about Malum’s affairs, all undercover, of course. Standish and Helton were two of them. Was it possible that Melanie’s issues had been discussed in passing? Had the two men who should have been protecting her unwittingly fed the information to Crossings themselves?

Malum frowned into his port. If they had, they were no doubt aware of it now.

The gentlemen around the table sipped at their drinks, taking a moment to silently contemplate the exchange, until Northwoods, who likely realized he’d said too much, took it upon himself to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Well, time heals all wounds, I suppose. That’s why I prefer looking forward.” His throat bobbed, and his fingers twitched towards his cravat before settling around his glass once again.

"Forward, then," Westcott interjected smoothly in what Malum noticed to be deceptive amiability. "Important all gentlemen take note of shifting winds. Quite the challenge, right, balancing one’s financial obligations these days?”

Sir Percival chuckled, oblivious to the undercurrents. “Oh, I wouldn’t know. My businesses run themselves, really. A good manager and a tight budget make all the difference, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked the room in general.

The room, in turn, fell silent. Helton arched a brow, Standish frowned, and Westcott’s mouth twitched with restrained amusement.

Northwoods shifted uncomfortably in his seat—again. "Not all of us have resorted to trade, Sir Percival. Though I manage well enough, thank you."

Malum recalled the rather tall stack of vowels in his files. "Is that so? Admirable," he said. "It’s a tricky thing, isn’t it? Especially when one’s benefactors have… particular expectations."

“I assure you.” Northwoods’ knuckles whitened around the stem of his glass, and Malum half expected it to shatter. “I’ve no cause for complaint."

Now they were getting to the heart of the matter.

Malum set his glass down deliberately, leaning forward, and dropped his voice just enough to draw everyone’s attention. "No cause? Are you quite sure? Because I imagine Crossings’ recent setbacks are an inconvenience to more than just him. Three lost ships would make any man… dissatisfied." Malum was done with the doubletalk.

Crossings might think he was getting intel on Malum, but, in truth, it was the opposite. Although, Malum wished there had been more information to be had.

Northwoods was openly struggling to maintain his composure.

“You do remember our meeting a few weeks ago?” Malum wasn’t asking a question. He was issuing a warning. “Don’t you?” The earl must know that Malum wouldn’t hold onto those vowels forever.

Northwoods swallowed hard. “I do, Your Grace.”

“And?” Malum waited.

And then, after a tense pause, Northwoods exhaled, rubbing one hand over his forehead. "There was a good deal of money tied up in those shipments. Losing them… It’s made him paranoid. I fear he’ll go to great lengths to protect future ventures.”

Paranoid enough to start a few fires?

“Such as?” Standish asked in a deceptively mild tone.

“I wouldn’t know the details, of course. Although I move in high circles, I only hear whispers, you know.” Northwoods was hedging his bets, but still fidgeting in his seat.

"Treacherous circles," Malum corrected him. “But you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Northwoods’ smile faltered entirely, and he drained his glass in one swift motion. "If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I believe I’ve had my fill of… conversation this evening."

Malum’s eyes narrowed as he watched the earl practically stumble in his haste to make an exit.

“And when you do hear… whispered details,” Malum’s voice, smooth as silk, stopped the earl in his tracks. “Remember that business we’ve yet to address. My door’s open now, but that won’t always be the case.”

Northwoods gave a curt nod, his shoulders stiff as he departed.

No one said a word until Sir Percival revealed he wasn’t as obtuse as Malum imagined he would be. “If that fellow is involved with Crossings, he’s more than his finances to worry about.” He then reached for the decanter and filled his glass to the rim.