The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(56)

"Mr. Glass," I said. "Who are you?"

"I don't understand the question."

"Let me rephrase that." I picked up my spoon and dipped it into my egg, but did not eat. "What do you do in America? What is your business?"

He sipped his tea slowly. Duke and Cyclops stopped eating to watch their friend. They seemed as curious as to how he'd answer as I was. "Let's not discuss such vulgar things, as Aunt would put it," he finally said. "I don't want to bore you, Miss Steele."

"I wouldn't find the opportunity to get to know you better boring," I said, hoping to bait him into telling me something.

His lips parted. Then they kicked up on one side.

"If you insist on finding the intruder first and not the watchmaker, then so be it," Duke said quickly before Mr. Glass could speak. "But I'd like it noted that I'm unhappy with the order of your priorities."

"Noted." Mr. Glass fetched the teapot from the sideboard. He refilled my empty cup. There was no more discussion of his business affairs or of the intruder. Of course, if he were an outlaw, he wouldn't tell me outright, yet I was surprised he didn't lie either. "Miss Steele, may I ask you some questions about last night?"

"Of course," I said, hoping he wouldn't ask for specifics about the attack on Lord Dennison. I didn't want to relive the moments leading up to the clash. The thought of what could have happened made me feel even sicker today. I set aside my egg, no longer hungry, and placed my hand to my stomach.

"Miss Steele, is everything—?"

"Mr. Glass! The tea!"

He'd been refilling his teacup, but his gaze had been on me, not on his task. Tea spilled over the rim onto the saucer. He returned the teapot to the sideboard and picked up an empty cup. He tipped the spilled tea on the saucer into it and some of the excess from his own cup.

"Your questions, Mr. Glass?" I prompted.

"Yes. Last night." He cleared his throat and sat. "The man who won Willie's locket, Lord Travers. What was he like?"

"Portly, middle-aged. He liked cigars and he laughed a lot, but it had a somewhat arrogant edge to it. I also believe he cheated."

"If we were in America, I'd call him out," Duke snarled. "If a mob didn't attack him first. We don't stand for cheats, Miss Steele."

"We English don't, either." Except Mr. Unger, the dealers and other gamblers hadn't challenged Lord Travers. Were they afraid of him? Was he too valuable to the house? Or was it a case of Britain versus America? "Usually, anyway."

"How was his accent?" Mr. Glass asked.

I shrugged. "Plummy, as with all toffs. Why?"

"Did the others seem to know him?"

"Yes. Why, Mr. Glass?"

"He played poker extremely well if he beat Willie. It's an American game, and he went from losing to her on previous nights to winning last night."

"You think he's actually an experienced American poker player disguising himself as an Englishman in order to dupe people into betting against him? That's quite an accusation."

"Aye," Cyclops muttered.

"Perhaps he's a fast learner," Duke said.

"Perhaps," Mr. Glass said, thoughtful. "But I think it's something to consider."

I shook my head. "I disagree."

"Do you now?" he drawled.

"Yes," I said primly. "If he is an American pretending to be an Englishman for the sakes of fleecing unsuspecting gamblers, why would he choose to be a lord? It only draws more attention to himself, when he'd want to avoid notice. Besides, it's likely he'd run into other lords at gambling houses, and surely they must all know each other, if only by name."

"A good point," Cyclops said with a challenging lift of his one good eyebrow.

"It would seem my theory doesn't hold water," Mr. Glass said on a sigh.

"What theory is that?" I asked. "Why did you think Lord Travers might be American?"

"That is my affair."

"Oh? Do you think the explanation would bore me?" I asked, throwing his words back in his face. "Or are you hiding something?"

"We all have our secrets," he said quietly. "Even you."

I met his dark gaze with what I hoped was a fierce one of my own.

"Tell her," Cyclops said suddenly. "Tell her what you do, what you've done. I don't see no reason not to."

Mr. Glass's gaze slid to his friend and darkened. His nostrils flared. "My business is mine alone. If I wish to keep it to myself, that is my affair."

"But—"

"Don't, Cyclops." Mr. Glass's hand curled into a fist on the table. He held himself rigid as he continued to glare at his friend.

Cyclops was the first to look away. "You're making a mistake."

Mr. Glass got up and walked out. I waited, hoping Cyclops would go against his friend's wishes and tell me anyway, but he didn't. He and Duke finished their breakfast in silence. I gathered up a plate of eggs and bacon and took it up to Miss Glass's rooms.

I read the morning newspaper to her as she ate, then carried the tray and dishes downstairs afterward. I took the service stairs and met Miss Glass's maid, Polly Picket, on her way up, a shawl over her arm. She stepped aside to allow me to pass and bobbed a curtsy.