The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(58)

“Kent and I will look into Theale and James first,” Mr. Lugo noted.

“I’ve compiled financial information on both of them,” Andrew said.

All heads swung in his direction.

“You have?” Papa looked surprised. “It’s been a little over a day since the shooting, and such information takes time to track down.”

“Information is part of my business,” Andrew replied. “In my experience, following the money is the quickest way to find the culprit.”

“A philosophy I happen to share.” Papa cleared his throat. “Tell us what you know, sir.”

“In a nutshell, both coves are in dun territory. Theale comes from a line of younger sons and inherits his poverty through natural bad luck. His attempts to gain a fortune at the gaming tables have not improved his situation, however. He’s in five thousand quid to a moneylender at a rate that doubles that debt within six months.”

“But Mr. Theale seems so nice,” Rosie said in surprise.

Andrew’s lips quirked. “Some of the nicest coves I know reside in the Marshalsea: debtor’s prison doesn’t discriminate. But I understand what you mean. Theale’s gaming seems an act of desperation whereas Alastair James pursues his vices with the dedication of a true rakehell. He has his vowels scattered through every gaming hell, bawdy house, and tavern in Covent Garden. And earlier this month at White’s, he placed a thousand pound bet with a crony over who could eat the most mincemeat pies.”

She canted her head. “What was the result?”

“The sod emptied his accounts—in more ways than one,” Andrew said derisively. “It’s only a matter of time before he faces the music or makes a run for the Continent.”

“Quite thorough, Corbett.”

Papa sounded impressed—and Rosie knew he wasn’t easily impressed. She, too, admired Andrew’s prowess. His power and command of this (and any other) situation.

“Maybe we ought to hire him on, Kent,” Mr. Lugo said. “Save us the shoe leather.”

“Bloody hell, we can’t afford the fellow.” Beside Mr. Lugo, Mr. McLeod shook his shaggy head. “You ken the kind of blunt his club pulls in?”

“Maybe he’ll work gratis.” Mr. Lugo flashed straight white teeth. “On account of the family connection.”

At Mr. McLeod’s guffaw, Rosie blushed. She slid a look at Andrew, worried about how he might react to the men’s good-natured jibing. Thankfully, he didn’t look annoyed. In fact, he seemed… pleased?

“If the two of you are finished,”—Papa sent his partners a quelling look—“we’ll move on with the plan. While McLeod searches for the shooter, Lugo and I will pay a visit to Theale and James. To my mind, the hiring of a cutthroat suggests that a male perpetrator is more likely, so we’ll deal with the ladies after. At any rate, I have a feeling that Emma will want to handle the interrogation of the female suspects.”

“Emma is coming all the way from Scotland?” Rosie said in surprise.

“We wrote the rest of the family about your troubles,” Mama replied. “I predict Emma, Thea, and Violet will be arriving forthwith.”

“Don’t forget Harry,” Papa said, referring to his younger brother, a scholar at Cambridge. “Lord knows we need all the help we can get. In the meantime, Rosie, you’ll have a pair of guards assigned to you. You’ll move back home, and you’re not to go anywhere alone. In fact, you’re not to go anywhere period until this case is concluded.”

Rosie appreciated her father’s concern, but there was no way on earth that she was going to endanger him, Mama, or her siblings. And she also wasn’t about to be treated like a wayward girl. To be locked in her room while the adults made decisions for her.

She had plans of her own—and for once she didn’t want to have to plead, pout, or charm to get her way. She wanted to address the matter head on, as a mature woman would.

“I appreciate everyone’s help,” she said earnestly, “but there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?” Grooves of tension deepened around Papa’s mouth.

You can’t delay this forever. ’Tis now or never.

Her hands gripping in her lap, she declared, “I’m moving into my own residence.”





Chapter Twenty-Four


“Did we do the right thing, Ambrose?” Marianne murmured later that evening.

Shucking his robe, Ambrose got into bed and gathered his wife against him. He stroked her silky hair, pensively watching the play of light and shadow on their bedchamber walls.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But short of locking Rosie in her room—an idea I’m not entirely opposed to—I don’t know what else we could have done. You know what she’s like when she’s set her mind on a course.”

“Of course I know. Where do you think she got that damnable tendency from?”

His lips twitched. “You mustn’t blame yourself. If anything, I ought to have been firmer with her as a child.”

In his mind, he saw Rosie as a small, bright-eyed poppet, and his chest tightened. How had time passed so quickly? In a blink of an eye, his little girl had grown into a woman… and now she was facing mortal danger.