The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(9)
“You’ve done a fine job of it so far, my friend.”
“Aye, but Malcolm Todd weren’t involved afore this.”
The mention of his ruthless competitor gave him pause. “You’ve heard from Todd?”
“Not directly. It’s just rumblings so far, but word is that he ain’t pleased. And when Todd ain’t pleased…”
The Scot didn’t finish. Didn’t have to. Everyone in London’s Underworld knew the consequences of crossing Todd. The pieces of his enemies that surfaced in the Thames served as a frequent reminder.
“You’ve escaped ’is notice in the past because ye were small fish,” Grier went on when Andrew remained silent. “But the bigger ye grow, the smaller the ocean becomes, and sooner or later, you’re goin’ to cross paths with a shark.”
“I have my own set of teeth.” In the early years, he’d settled the brawls at Corbett’s with his own fists, and he still trained at a boxing club to stay in fighting shape. Even so, with success had come the need for added security; he now had over a dozen men on retainer for the purpose. “But, as to your point, I’ll ask Mrs. Argent to proceed with more discretion on the project. Let’s leave it at that.”
The Scot opened his mouth… and closed it. It was one of the factotum’s finer points that he knew when to hold his ground and when to stand down.
“Now onto the other matter I asked you to inquire into.” Andrew raised his brows. “Any progress?”
“Aye,” Grier said. “Dug up more on Daltry like ye asked.”
Information was Andrew’s stock-in-trade. The gossip that circulated in Corbett’s was as prime as that of the St. James’s clubs and worth its weight in gold. He kept files on anyone who stepped foot in his establishment (and some who hadn’t). Daltry wasn’t a regular, but he’d been in a few times, and Andrew had pegged him as an arrogant skinflint. He’d complained about the high prices while demanding the most exotic entertainments.
Andrew’s gut knotted as he recalled Daltry’s preference for young blondes. “Go on.”
“To start, ’e’s the black sheep o’ the family, coming from a branch that made their fortune in trade. You know ’ow nobs frown upon that.” Grier crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, ’is hoity-toity relations got a surprise when a bunch o’ their own cocked up their toes, leaving Daltry to inherit the earldom. Now they’ve ’ad to change their tune about ’im. The dead earl’s widow and one o’ Daltry’s aunts ’ost some ’igh-kick salon, and they’ve been singing ’is praises there. But, truth is, there’s no love lost between Daltry and ’is kin.”
“What about his personal affairs?”
“Never married. Three bastards by three different mistresses,” Grier said, scratching his ear, “maybe more I ’aven’t found. Daltry gave ’em all a ’undred pounds and washed ’is hands o’ ’em.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened. “And his business dealings?”
“Owns a slew o’ mills in Lancashire.” Grier’s face darkened. “Women and even bairns ’ave lost limbs and lives in ’is factories, but ’e hasn’t done a thing about it. For ’is sort, it’s all about profit—even if it’s made on the backs o’ others.”
Andrew’s hands curled. Damnit, little chick. Why did you set your cap for this blackguard?
As last night’s encounter had proven, Primrose had grown into a surprisingly willful woman, and he knew that it would be no easy task to dissuade her from pursuing Daltry. To protect her from a disastrous course of action.
Somehow, he’d have to find a way. Because he wasn’t going to let her down.
Not this time.
Chapter Three
“Oh, please, may I hold her next, Marianne?” Polly, the Countess of Revelstoke, begged.
Rosie’s mama smiled from the chaise where she cradled Sophia Helena, the newest member of the Kent family, in her arms. “Of course you may, my dear.”
Rosie tried not to sigh as Polly, her bosom companion, eagerly abandoned the settee—and the conversation they’d been having—to admire the babe. Since Polly’s marriage several months ago, the girls hadn’t spent as much time together, and Rosie missed the other dreadfully. She’d been looking forward to catching up before supper. But seeing Polly’s aquamarine eyes light up, her face wreathed in smiles as she cuddled Sophie, Rosie knew that wouldn’t be happening.
She supposed it was yet another flaw in her character that she didn’t understand what all the fuss over the babe was about. Fastidious by nature, she had no urge to hold a small human who would drool on her new lavender satin frock and wreak havoc upon her coiffure (a pearl-studded coronet that had taken her maid over an hour to arrange). And what was so enticing about a creature who did nothing but sleep, slobber, and wet her nappy?
Shame followed in the wake of her uncharitable and, worse yet, unsisterly thoughts.
What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be good—like the rest of the family?
She watched as Polly rocked the babe in her arms, clucking and making silly expressions with unselfconscious delight. She thought of Polly as her sister although, technically, the other was her aunt. The youngest of Papa’s five siblings, Polly was the same age as Rosie, and they’d been bosom companions since the age of eight, when Papa had married Mama and adopted Rosie, officially making her a Kent.