Chapter Sixteen

H ettie knocked on the door of her sister's home. Honoria no longer resided in the townhouse that had belonged to her late husband. And Vincent refused to allow her to stay in rooms over his club. To that end, he'd bought a house on the very next block—far enough removed from the gaming hell, but still in a very genteel neighborhood. In many ways, he was much more of a stickler for propriety than either she or her sister were.

Stavers opened the door. "Lady Ernsdale! What a pleasure it is to see your lovely face. Do come in... I'll inform Mrs. Carrow that you have arrived."

Hettie smiled. "Thank you, Stavers. I do wish to visit my sister, but before that, I need a private word with Vincent—no. I need a private word with the Hound ."

One of the butler's silver brows lifted. The other, bisected by a scar, did not budge. Clearly he understood the distinction. Trouble was brewing. "You may wait in the study, Lady Ernsdale. I'll have him fetched from the club."

Hettie nodded and went to the small study off the entryway. Closing the door softly behind her, she seated herself in one of the green velvet upholstered chairs. They were definitely Vincent's taste and not Honoria's. He was a man who appreciated luxury. Honoria would have looked at the velvet and figured out how many warm coats could be made for women and children rather than how many chairs she could cover with it.

They were such polar opposites, she mused. And yet despite their many contradictions, they were so perfectly suited to one another that, at times, it was painful to see. Because she was envious.

It was a terrible thing to admit, even to herself. She had wanted her sister to be happy for so long, to be free of her late husband's awful temper and heavy hands. Even as a young girl, long before her own debut, she'd known that something was amiss there. But she'd never known the whole of it. Not until she was married herself. Only then did she understand just how little recourse a wife had against the abuses of a husband.

Now, Honoria was married to a man the world called a criminal. But he cherished her sister. Loved and worshipped her with a devotion that was positively staggering. She would never begrudge her sister such happiness, but was it really so wrong to want a similar sort of happiness for herself? Though she supposed her priorities would have to change now. It was no longer simply about what she wanted and needed. She would have a child's needs to consider.

The enormity of that thought overwhelmed her. Leaning forward, Hettie placed her head in her hands and tried to fight back the headache that threatened to lay her low. She could not afford to give in to such ailments when there was so much to be done.

And that was how Honoria found her, looking as if the weight of the world rested upon her shoulders.

"Are you unwell?" Honoria asked, her concern evident in her voice.

Hettie looked up. "I need to borrow your widow's weeds... Ernsdale is dead. And a Bow Street detective believes I killed him."

*

Joss had been waiting in the office at the club for some time when Vincent finally walked through the door.

"Sorry. Had a bit of a problem on the floor. Beaumont called Mawbry a cheat, and they very nearly dueled with the cutlery," the Hound relayed with derisive amusement. "Children."

"Could be worse," Joss remarked. "A fortnight ago it was Hamstead and Carlisle. Over some insult to Carlisle's wife, I believe?"

"Daughter. Insult to the man's daughter," Vincent replied absently. "Hamstead said it was a damn good thing she's rich because her face won't catch her a husband; it'd barely catch flies."

Joss blinked. "Oh. I suppose that might be worth a fight, after all."

Vincent shrugged. "Hamstead is an ass, but he's not wrong. Poor girl... but none of that tells me why you are here, Joss. And you wouldn't be here without a reason. Not when you've been avoiding me since my return so you wouldn't have to answer the question I posed to you before I left."

He'd considered more than a dozen different ways to relay it all. But simply, matter of factly and with a minimum of detail seemed best. "Ernsdale was murdered, Maurice Bates wants to pin it on Henrietta, and she's with child... my child."

The Hound stared at him. Then after the longest moment of very uncomfortable silence, he uttered a single vulgarity that summed it all up perfectly.

"Yes," Joss replied. "That is generally how conception occurs."

"Christ, you've really cocked it all up."

Joss just shrugged. He wasn't wrong. "I'm aware. But I can't very well uncock it, so let's do what we can to manage it. Starting with Bates. I need to find out who did actually murder Ernsdale. Hettie has her theories, and she's likely correct. But I don't want to miss something by being so singularly focused. Ernsdale was a very hated man, after all. Most people are murdered for money, love, or revenge—and there is an entire city full of people who would have happily avenged themselves against that shite."

Vincent moved past him and sat down at his desk. There were several ledgers spread across the desktop, most of them chocked full of secrets and scandals that would set the whole of London on its ears. "So why are you here? Just to tell me that you did the absolute one thing you should not have done when charged with rescuing a woman?"

It goaded Joss to admit it. "I'm here because I need your help to do this. And because you once offered me a position managing this club... as your partner."

"Ah... so you can support the wee Ettinger? You may want to rethink that. Henrietta is a lady. Ladies do not marry men who run textile mills or shipping businesses... or even very successful gaming hells." Vincent leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. "You're going to have to become something you look down your slightly misshapen nose at: a man of leisure."

Joss felt everything inside him recoil at the prospect. He had little respect for men who did no work, honest or otherwise. The idea of joining their ranks, of being a kept man, living off of a woman rather than supporting himself—it was anathema to him. "Bite your tongue. I'll do this my own way."

"You have already. That's why Hettie's with child and without husband."

Joss uttered a curse that mirrored Vincent's earlier one, prompting a bark of laughter from the other man. But the laughter died away when the door opened and Stavers appeared. The very unlikely butler was, to put it mildly, rough around the edges. "Pardon the intrusion, but Lady Ernsdale has arrived at the house and wishes to speak with you."

Vincent kept his eyes trained on him, and Joss, despite the fact that he had a good two stone in weight and nearly four inches in height on him, had to fight the urge to squirm and fidget beneath that penetrating gaze.

"This should be interesting," Vincent mused. "Care to join me?"

He wasn't about to remain behind. Not when he hadn't seen Hettie since she had come to his office the day prior. They needed to talk. But they couldn't do that with Vincent and Honoria hovering about them as they tried to fix all their problems for them.

Getting up from the chair he'd occupied, Joss reached for his coat. "Let's go."