Chapter Eighteen

H art suppressed a frustrated growl as he ascended the steps to White’s. Lucy had ruined his plan for an evening of drowning his emotions in a bottle of brandy. She was right; this was no time for sulking. He had a mission, and more than ever, it was time to gather information. He hated it when Lucy was right. He hated how much he wanted to be a better version of himself so that he could gain back the esteem she once had for him.

And how much he craved the taste of her. Fuck. He wiped the back of a hand across his mouth. Tonight was not about his unrequited lust for a girl who was not for him. It was about finding out what business deal had led to his father’s death. Comstock, or rather Lord Galey, had agreed to meet him for dinner and he hoped to gain his observations about their fathers’ mutual friends.

He handed his hat to the attendant at the front desk. The young man’s eyes widened in horror as his gaze flitted over Hart’s face. Every muscle in Hart’s body tightened in response. Would he ever get used to how others reacted to his scarred visage? Would it ever not sting like a lash against his ego every single time?

“Is Lord Galey here? I’m to join him for dinner.” Hart bit out.

“Yes, Your Grace. Right this way.” The attendant hurried ahead of him down the corridor.

The walls papered in a dark green damask and trimmed with dark wood always made Hart imagine the inside of a well-appointed coffin. Even the air felt staid and stuffy. To his right, the attendant opened a door to a private dining room. Hart strode inside to find Galey swirling a glass of red wine in one hand while he flirted with the wine butler. The butler laughed at something Galey said, but when the man realized Hart had entered the room, his posture straightened, and his face flushed.

“Good evening, Lord Galey,” Hart said. He approached the table and sat across from his old friend.

Nonplussed, Galey sent a bright smile to the butler. “Pour my friend here a glass of this excellent wine. You have a superlative palate and always make the best recommendations.”

“That will be all for now.” Hart dismissed the man after his wine was poured.

He hadn’t come out to watch Galey pick out his bed companion for later tonight. Besides, it just reminded him how frustrated his earlier interlude with Lucy had left him. Self-denial did not come easily to him.

The door closed with a soft click.

Galey shifted his gaze to Hart. “You probably scared him away with your scowling face.”

Hart raised an eyebrow at Galey’s petulant tone. “I thought you had already slept with all the employees here.”

Galey grinned. “He’s new.”

Hart laughed. Galey was a hedonist. He swived with equal opportunity any person willing to be adventurous in bed, be it male, female, young, or more experienced. He had always been discreet with his love life, but Hart had to wonder if that was still true now that his father had passed.

“So, Your Grace, thank you for the dinner invitation.” Galey raised his glass. “And what do I owe this honor?”

“What do you mean? I am dipping my toes back into society. I just wanted to catch up.”

“Hmmm, I don’t believe that for a moment. You liked me least of all, Grisham was always your favorite.”

“Grisham was everyone’s favorite.”

“Not after he screwed us all by winning that bet. And then to add insult to injury, marrying the girl.”

Hart chuckled. Damn, it was nice to spend time with his old friends. Even if they were all assholes.

He took a swallow of wine. “I hoped I could get your opinions on some of our father’s friends. As you know, I have been looking into the time period around my father and brother’s deaths. This winter I found a letter, an angry threatening one, among my father’s papers. It was unsigned but had this symbol at the bottom.”

Hart pulled out the stamp and handed it to Galey.

Galey turned it over in his hand. “It’s their club from school.”

“Yes, that’s what Blackpool told me. You knew about it?”

“My father talked about their special club all the time. The bond, the friendship, blah blah.” He passed the stamp back to Hart and took a swallow of his wine.

“Well, I think the bonds had grown tenuous. This letter writer was quite angry over a broken agreement. Telling my father that he must honor their agreement or else.”

“Or else what?” Galey asked.

Hart shrugged. “Satisfaction? Retribution? It was all vague in that respect, but the emotion was clear. I think the reason they were found dead on the Strand was because of this broken deal. And your father’s knowledge of the details leads me to believe it was one of their club.”

Galey rubbed at his jaw. “My father always couched it as these men being like brothers. Do you really think one of them would kill another?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t even aware the club existed. My father certainly never shared anything about his life with me. But when I met with Blackpool, I asked him straight out what had caused a rift between him and my father a decade ago, and he replied that my father had an affair with his wife. So not all the bonds of friendship were that strong.”

“Well, damn.”

There was a knock at the door. “Come in.” Hart called out.

Two attendants rolled in a cart with two dinner plates piled high with roasted chicken, root vegetables, and gravy. Once they served, and refilled the wine glasses, they exited as quietly as they had entered.

Galey speared a piece of chicken. “I knew you had scared away the handsome one.”

“Sorry.” But Hart wasn’t sorry in the least. He had no inclination to watch Galey try and seduce the blasted waiter. “My question to you tonight is what are your opinions about the men in the club? I know in addition to our fathers, there was Lord Blackpool, Lord Rawlings, Lord Lavensham, and Lord Griffen.”

“And Lord Fleming.” Galey said around a bite of food. “I feel like there was one more. That my father said there were eight. But I cannot think of who it was. Perhaps they died.”

Hart stared down into his glass of wine as he mulled over what he knew about the men his father had been close with. “Blackpool admitted freely that he hated my father for what he had done. There was plenty of bitterness in his eyes, but if he were the murderer why would he admit to the bad blood between them. That alone has me crossing him off my list.”

“Rawlings seems the most likely to be upset about a broken deal. That man is perennially in debt. My father used to lend him money all the time. But as far as mean bastards go, Lavensham takes the cake. Griffen also has plenty to lose. His heir is as mentally unstable as they come. I try to avoid that reprobate whenever we end up at the same establishments. Do you know he used to torture small animals for sport when we were at Eton? Kept some sick tally of it.” Galey shuddered.

“I had no idea,” Hart said.

He remembered Lord Griffen as a dour man. He’d never seen him smile; even when his father had everyone else laughing with his stories. But Hart had seen the two men together often, sharing a drink or riding out. Lord Griffen’s family did not come to London with him often from his estate in Norfolk. Hart couldn’t even remember how many offspring the man had.

“Well, its kept pretty hushed up. I know because he was in my year and lived in my dormitory. Perrin can pretend to be charming when he wants to be.”

“What about Fleming?” Hart asked. “I remember him from my younger days, but I haven’t seen him since my father’s funeral.”

“Word is he has some lung disease. I think he is ill a lot. Sort of a harmless type. nondescript, quiet.”

They ate in silence for a while and Hart parsed through what Galey had told him. It matched what little Galey’s father had said to Hart in the carriage that night. Powerful men, a betrayal, that was the word that the older Lord Galey had used. Hart would have to go back to the ledgers and continue his search for a business dealing that would connect to one of these men.

“Hartwick.” Galey grabbed his attention. “Be careful. If someone was willing to kill a good friend in retribution and another to cover his secret, that man must be desperate or a straight-up killer. Either way, you are making yourself their next target by asking questions.”

Hart rubbed a hand along his side, thinking of the gash that was still healing there. He nodded. He would be careful, but he had no intention of backing off. Nothing would stop him from finding out the truth.

*

After dinner, Hart and Galey strolled down the hall to see what was happening in the main room. Almost immediately, Hart spotted Lord Griffen and his son at a card table at the far end of the room. “My luck is holding. I see Griffen over there playing cards. I think I will go ask him some questions.”

Galey frowned. “Remember what I said. Exercise caution when revealing what you suspect. I certainly won’t join you with Perrin at the table. I’ll just go track down my handsome wine butler.” He clapped Hart on the back and then headed for the long bar at the other end of the room.

One of the club’s managers hurried over. “Your Grace, we haven’t seen you in a long time. What is your pleasure tonight?”

Hart nodded at the back table where Griffen sat. “What is Lord Griffen playing back there?”

“Faro, I believe.”

Perfect. “I will have a glass of ale while I play.”

“Right away, Your Grace.”

He made his way carefully to the table in the back. “Good evening, Lord Griffen. Mind if I join you?” Hart pulled out a chair and sat without waiting for an answer.

Lord Griffen gave a nod. “Of course, Your Grace. I wondered if you would track me down next.”

“Deal me in the next round.” Hart sat back as they finished their round. His glass of ale arrived, and he took a deep gulp. Refreshing and perfectly balanced, he enjoyed his drink. After the next hand was dealt, he played for a while without asking any questions. Along with Griffen and his son, there were three other men playing. Hart slowly began to win each hand, and the pile of coins in front of him grew. He held back initially to keep Griffen on the hook as he slowly pushed the bets higher. Two of the men got up in disgust after six hands. They stomped off to nurse their bad luck at the bar.

Hart knew it hadn’t been bad luck. Both men had been easy to read. He’d spotted their tells within the first five minutes of play. If one understood the number of each suit that was in play versus the number already down on the table, and they paid attention to their opponent’s tells, it was easy to win. He pushed up the bet to triple the last hand. The last of the three men, a young buck clearly out of his depth, showed some intelligence and folded.

Griffen turned to his son. “Why don’t you take your friend and go get something to drink.”

The two younger men got up and wandered away. Griffen cut the deck and shuffled. “Ask me what you want, Hartwick. I’ll do my best to answer.”

Hart took another sip of his beer. “I simply want to know what happened to my father and brother. I am working to piece together the events of that night.”

“I did not see your father the night he was killed. I’m sorry to say I don’t know what they were doing in that part of town.”

“Do you know of any business deals that my father was involved in at the time of his death? Anything that he complained about? Had received threats over?”

Griffen shook his head. “No, not that he told me. Your father had more money than Midas; he was a consummate man of leisure. Rawlings was always trying to get us to invest in one thing or another, but your father was not much interested in business ventures.” He flipped a card back and forth between his hands. “Their deaths were a terrible tragedy. They were at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I never believed that their deaths were a random act of street violence.” Hart had received that same prevarication from all the men he talked to. Perhaps it was time to show some of his cards. “The night Galey and I were attacked in his carriage has only reinforced this belief. He knew that their deaths were no random act.”

Griffen’s expression darkened. “What are you playing at, boy? What did that fool Galey fill your head with? It was simply bad luck. Your father probably fucked over the wrong woman, and she cursed the Hartwick line.”

His father’s friends certainly knew more of his father’s weaknesses than Hart ever had. Had it been about a woman? Had Robert tried to help and gotten mixed up in some sordid scenario? A jealous husband? A mistress unhappy with being discarded? Hart studied Griffen’s face. The man’s angry expression had cleared. The placid look he’d worn during the game was back in place. Hart’s gut was telling him the man knew something more, but Griffen had no tells which showed Hart he was lying.

Griffen set down the deck of cards on the table with a slap. “Listen, it’s tough luck what happened to your family. But you are still alive. You should be focused on the future, not the past.”

Hart scowled at the advice that he had heard over and over. Nobody seemed to understand he was stuck. Mired in the sins of the past. He couldn’t even fathom what his future could look like right now. This was his purpose. He had to know the truth before he could find a way forward.

He rose and collected his winnings. “Thank you for speaking with me, Lord Griffen. Good night.”