Chapter Thirty-Three

T he atmosphere inside the carriage was tense at best. Across from her, Hart was deep in thought. Lucy didn’t blame him. The truth behind his father and brother’s death was shocking. And the child… in another life, the boy would have been heir to the dukedom. She stared out the window as they headed back into Mayfair. These men had been friends since adolescence. And still they had killed each other. Men and their stupid honor.

“Hart, what will you do now that you know?” she asked.

Hart’s gaze sharpened as he focused on her. “I don’t know. My first instinct is to confront Griffen. Yell and rage. But to what end? It was a duel, a matter of honor. It was his right to take his shot.”

“But they were friends, long-time friends if we believe he was part of their group at school.”

“Yes.” Hart’s eyes turned steely. “My father trusted him enough that he thought they would raise their pistols. That his friend wouldn’t kill him. And what of Robert? How did he end up dead? Griffen accused another man in that room of killing Robert, but who?”

“I can’t figure out that part. There would be no reason to kill his second. Unless something is not as it seems or something went very wrong,” she mused.

“I need to figure out who was at the duel, who of his trusted circle would let the tragedy happen, and then help keep it a secret. Then I can decide properly what retribution must be dispensed.”

The violence in his eyes concerned her, but his anger was well deserved. She was angry too. Hart’s family had become hers as well for the time she lived at Belstoke. Their deaths had been her heartache, too.

“I know Miss Harper will be digging into the lives of the club members, but I think it is imperative we find—”

“The journal.” Hart grinned. “I was thinking the same.”

Lucy grinned back, but then another thought crossed her mind. Goodness, what would Trudy think of all they had discovered? Should they even tell her? Perhaps it was better to keep all these scandalous rumors to themselves. But little Robert, how would they explain him?

Hart took her hand and pulled her over to sit next to him. Using his teeth, he pulled off his glove. Then he brushed his thumb over her lip. “What are you worrying about?”

“Are you going to tell Trudy all this? What about the child?”

“I think we should wait to tell Trudy until we know the whole story. I’m not sure how she will feel about Miss Harper and little Robert. She is part of the old set where one didn’t acknowledge mistresses and illegitimate children.”

“But Robert planned to marry her; she wasn’t his mistress.”

“I know, and to me, family is family. I have so little left I cannot afford to be a snob.”

*

When Hart arrived home, he immediately called for Mr. Townson. The day had not turned out at all the way he’d thought. His stomach churned with unresolved rage at the events he had learned. He would find and punish every one of the men who had been party to his father and brother’s deaths. Dying on a field of honor was one thing, but his brother had been murdered. Shot by someone to hide what? What secrets did these men hold?

Hart rubbed hard at his head, the headache brewing between his eyes increasing in volume. First, he needed to find out who else knew about the duel. Starting with the servants. A knock sounded at the door.

Hart rose from his chair. “Come in.”

“You called for me, sir.” Townson entered the room and shut the door behind him.

Hart leaned his arm on the fireplace mantel. “Townson, I would like to ask you a few questions about the day that my father died.”

Townson straightened his shoulders. His bushy brows drew together. “Certainly, sir. I will do my best to remember every detail.”

Not wanting to give away what he had learned today, he purposefully kept his question open-ended. “Do you remember my father’s schedule that day?”

“He left the house early in the morning on horseback, and he did not return. He missed several appointments he had that day. I found it to be very out of character for him. Of course, later, we found out about his demise.”

“And my brother, did you see him that morning?”

“No, sir, your brother had his own lodgings. I was not apprised of his schedule.”

“And my father didn’t say where he was going? Didn’t bring anything with him?”

“No, sir. Wait, I do remember he had a leather satchel with him. But I am sorry, I do not know what the contents were.”

Apparently, his father had told no one of the duel. Which made sense; duels were illegal. But this was also frustrating because if no one knew of it, the possibility of convincing the authorities now, five years later, that it even happened at all was slim.

Hart ran a hand down over his face. “Thank you, Townson. I have been investigating the circumstances surrounding their deaths.”

Townson nodded. “Sir, I don’t want to overstep, but I have never believed the rumors that the duke’s death was part of a robbery.”

Interesting. “What makes you say that?”

“For one, your father would never take a rented hack anywhere. Even if he had private business to attend, he would have taken one of his own conveyances or simply rode his horse, just as he had that morning. What happened to his horse? He wouldn’t have left behind such an expensive piece of horseflesh to travel through London in a hack .” Townson sniffed.

“I feel the same way, Townson. And I suspect that whatever happened that day is connected to the attack on Lord Galey and I last year.”

Again, Townson nodded.

Hart studied his butler’s face as the realization hit him. “You kept everyone away this past year, not to spare my feelings, but because you didn’t know who we could trust.”

“It was a bit of both, my lord,” Townson replied.

“I have never properly thanked you for the care you took of me and this entire household over the last year. Thank you for keeping things afloat while I wallowed. I am in your debt.”

Townson cleared his throat. “Not at all, my lord. It is my honor to serve the Dukes of Hartwick.” He bowed and hurried from the room.

Hart’s lips turned up into a smile at the man’s retreating back. He had probably embarrassed the old guy, but the thank you needed to be said, should have been expressed earlier. Unfortunately, the conversation hadn’t revealed any new information. Once again, he was at a dead end.

Hart knew what he had to do. He really did not want to speak with his half-brother. But the smug bastard did seem to know more about his family than anyone else. He quickly penned a note requesting a meeting and addressed it to the Blue Angel, hoping that Seaton would receive it. As he stepped out of the room, his wife came down the corridor wearing a loose-fitting tunic over a pair of pantaloons. Her mind focused on whatever was making her frown, she stalked past his study without seeing him.

Quick as a wink, he snagged her elbow. “Where are you going, wife?”

Lucy blinked up at him, her eyes cleared, and she smiled. “Oh, I was going to work with my staff for a bit. I haven’t even touched it since our wedding day.”

Seeing her shapely legs encased in the tight-fitting trousers was making him semi-hard already. He slid a hand around to squeeze her behind and pull her against him.

She giggled. “You like my outfit?”

His hand flexed again on her soft backside. “Yes, where did you even find a pair of pantaloons that would fit you?”

“Helen assessed some of the old livery made for the footman and found a pair in my size. Do you want to spar with me? I could teach you a few of the movements.”

“No, thank you. You go think things through in your way, and I will go think things through in my way.” He smiled and ran a finger down the slope of her nose.

“And what is your way to think things through?”

“Sit with a glass of wine and stare out the window at the falling rain.”

“You mean isolate yourself and brood,” she quipped.

“I think I made it sound rather more romantic.” He patted her backside one more time. He couldn’t wait to peel her out of those later. “Go on. Have fun with your big stick.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and then disappeared down the hall. Hart gave over his note to a footman and returned to his study. The afternoon had indeed turned rainy. He twisted his desk chair around so he could look out at the back garden as a steady summer rain made all the plants glisten.

Barely twenty minutes had passed when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called out.

Townson entered. “A Mr. Seaton to see you, sir.”

“Show him down.”

“No need.” Seaton strolled in from behind Townson.

The butler’s eyebrows lowered, but he stepped back through the threshold and shut the door.

Hart stood and came around his desk. “That was fast. I just gave the note over to a footman. He couldn’t have made it to the Blue Angel already.”

“He didn’t. I was nearby, and I intercepted the boy. I told you my job is to stay near and keep you safe.”

Well, that was unsettling. Hart waved to the two chairs by the fireplace. “Please sit. Wine? Brandy?”

Seaton shook his head. “I don’t drink alcohol.” He crossed to sit, arranging his long, rangy body casually in the chair, one ankle crossed over the other knee.

Hart grabbed his wine glass and sat opposite him. “Where were you the night I got stabbed?”

Seaton actually winced. “I was on the roof havin’ a smoke. I didn’t think the back entrance to a toff club would be so dangerous. My mistake.”

Hart studied the man across from him. That day in the park, he hadn’t really looked at the man. Emotions had been too high. But now he could see Seaton had the same grey eyes as him and the square jaw that ran in the family. That was where the resemblance ended though. Seaton was fair, his golden blond hair cropped short, his skin almost as pale as Lucy’s, and his features were softer than the sharp lines of the Hartwick men. He had a long, thin scar that ran down his left cheek and pulled up at the corner of his lip, making him look like he was permanently snarling.

“I have questions,” Hart said.

“I figured you would.”

“What do you know about the duel?”

“I wasn’t there. But I have a certain reputation for taking care of problems. And I was called to move their bodies and make it look like an accident. I didn’t know who it was that had been killed until me and my man arrived at the park. Usually, it wouldn’t matter who the dead toff was.”

Christ. “Did you know he was your father then?”

“Yes, I always knew. Never expected anything from him. But he came through in the end.”

“What do you mean?”

“After their deaths. The man who hired me for the cleanup hired me again to look for some journal that our father had.” A small smile played at the corner of Seaton’s lips. “The one they are all still sweating about. When I was looking through our father’s papers in here, I came across his will. He left me the property down in Holburn. Two whole blocks that was what used to be the land where the old manse was positioned on, back when it was all sheep and shit. The Blue Angel was part of the old house. That symbol on the arch above the door a family motto of sorts, I guess.” Seaton shrugged. “Seemed wrong to turn over our father’s secrets when he’d thought of me after all. I didn’t bother looking further. Just told them I didn’t find it.”

Hart couldn’t help but see the irony. His father’s secret son, keeping his other secrets safe. “Wait, did you know that Griffen was the one who killed my father?”

“Nah, like I said, I wasn’t there ’til after. Doesn’t surprise me. I do know it was a different gun that shot our brother.”

“How?”

“Gunshot wounds were different sizes. The second one was made with a smaller pistol. Smaller hole. The dueling pistols leave a gruesome hole.”

Hart grimaced. He had no doubt the man knew what he was talking about. “Do you know about the child?”

Seaton shook his head.

Hart continued. “The duel was about the breach of promise over a betrothal. Robert was supposed to marry Griffen’s daughter. But he met another woman and fell in love. When my father supported his decision to marry her instead, Griffen demanded satisfaction. We discovered this today when we went to the paper. The editor of the Piccadilly Press is Elizabeth Harper and was Robert’s intended. She realized she was pregnant with Robert’s son after he died. The boy is now five years old.”

“More family,” Seaton murmured.

The door swung open, and Lucy barreled into the room, red-faced from exertion and with her staff still in hand. “Hart, I know you won’t like the idea, but I think that we really need to contact Mr. Seat—” She froze in her tracks as she spotted his guest.

Hart stood and crossed the carpet to capture her hand. “Great minds think alike.” He kissed her fingers.

Behind him, Seaton also rose. He ambled over. “Good afternoon, Lady Hartwick. I did not know that duchesses wore trousers at home.” He tilted his head and studied her staff. “Although I know nothing about what duchesses do, so perhaps it is very duchess-like to wear trousers and carry around a quarterstaff.”

Hart laughed outright at his wife’s terrifying, dark expression.

“I’d be pleased to show you first-hand how it works, Mr. Seaton.”

“I would like that very much.” Lightning quick, Seaton struck out with his hand in a downward blow, which Lucy deflected easily in an almost automatic flick of her wrist. Seaton kicked out next, and again, his attack was met by her staff.

Hart stumbled back. “Hey, what the hell do you think you are doing?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her,” Seaton replied.

Lucy grunted and landed a glancing blow to Seaton’s shoulder as the man, lithe as a cat, moved left. “I can’t promise you the same thing.”

Seaton advanced, lunging forward to shove at her shoulder with one hand and sweep his leg out to topple her. Lucy jumped back before he could touch her, and this time, when she retaliated, she landed a blow to his thigh with a resounding smack.

Seaton grabbed hold of the end of the staff and tugged them around in a circle. If he hoped to unbalance her, he had miscalculated because Lucy changed her grip and thrust the staff forward, so the end of it drove into Seaton’s stomach.

He grunted and held his hand up in surrender. “I concede, Your Grace.”

Lucy beamed. “That was so much fun.” She held out a hand to Seaton.

Seaton slowly straightened and shook her outstretched hand. “I have been wondering about the way you handled that cane since the park. It’s not often someone surprises me or gets that close to me with a weapon.”

Hart moved to pull Lucy to his side. “Was that really necessary, you two?” he said scowling at each of them. Their scuffle had taken a year off his life and had been over in less than three minutes.

“I can’t convince Hart to spar with me. Thank you, Mr. Seaton, it was quite exhilarating,” Lucy said.

“Anytime,” Seaton replied.

“No,” Hart barked. Then he turned to Lucy and kissed her cheek just in case she thought he was cross at her. “You were magnificent, sweet.” Seeing his fierce warrior in action had more than surprise and worry racing through his veins. The look between them heated. Lucy bit down on her lower lip immediately making him go hard. Making him want to devour those lips.

“I’ll just be going,” Seaton said.

Hart nodded but didn’t tear his gaze from Lucy’s. “Don’t worry about watching me tonight. I plan on staying in.”

Seaton chuckled, his voice like gravel. “Good day to you, brother.”