No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(19)

They were the only men alive who had gone to hell and come back again because the missions Draven had been taxed to give the troop dubbed the Survivors were not missions the men were expected to return from. Only men who had special skills, who were younger sons, and who had no dependents were chosen. Only men who answered no to Draven’s infamous question were accepted.

Are you afraid to die?

Neil had answered no when he’d been asked shortly after Christopher’s death. He’d wanted to die at the time, would have welcomed death to shut out the pain he’d felt. Maybe that was why Draven had chosen him as the group’s leader. He was a warrior, a man who lived for nothing but combat.

He’d certainly had his share of war, and he’d managed to beat the odds and come home. He didn’t want to fight anymore. And that was part of the problem. If he wasn’t the Warrior any longer, who was he?

“I suppose you need me to play Runner,” Jasper said when Neil didn’t elaborate immediately. Jasper was the best tracker and scout among Draven’s men. In fact, he was the best Neil had ever known. Now that he was in London again, Jasper often took work as a bounty hunter or assisted the Bow Street Runners. Despite what would have seemed a very conspicuous mask, Lord Jasper could slide in and out of places without ever being seen, and that was how Jasper liked it. The wicked scar of burned flesh on his face made him self-conscious everywhere but in the Draven Club.

Before the ambush where he’d been burned, Jasper, one of the higher-ranking men in the troop, had often attended social functions and was quite popular with the ladies. Now, he was never seen in public, and Neil suspected Jasper kept his distance from women too. He would have liked to tell his friend the scar was not as monstrous as Jasper seemed to think, but when he’d tried, Jasper argued that was because Neil was used to it.

“There’s a man named Goring,” Neil said. “He’s employed as the manservant for St. Dismas Home for Wayward Youth, but he’s a frequent deserter. Assuming he returns for dinner, I want you to watch him tomorrow and tell me where he goes and what he does. If he doesn’t return, find him and report back.”

Jasper shrugged. “Call Porter back with the brandy. I can finish this racket in my sleep. In fact, I don’t even have to look for him to tell you where he is.”

Rafe placed the cue balls on the baulk line for the lag. “Are you playing?” he asked Neil.

“No.”

“Jasper?”

“Sure.”

Rafe handed Jasper a cue.

“Where is he?” Neil asked Jasper.

“One of two places: drinking in a gin shop”—he watched as Rafe took aim—“or in bed with a woman. Probably a brunette with tits like…” Rafe looked over and his cue scratched the table. Jasper smiled and held his hand out. “Like billiard balls.”

“Arse,” Rafe muttered.

Jasper blinked innocently. “What? Do you like buxom brunettes?”

Neil rolled his eyes. Rafe liked every shape, size, and flavor of woman, but he had a weakness for dark-haired ladies with ample charms.

“Those are the logical choices,” Neil said, watching Jasper circle the table.

“Then why do you need me?”

“Because despite that fact that St. Maur’s daughter seems to have gone temporarily daft, risking her reputation and her safety to run an orphanage, she doesn’t strike me as a lackwit. If Goring disappeared like this every day, she would have discharged him by now.”

“So what changed?” Rafe asked, scowling as Jasper considered his next move.

“I don’t know, but I’ll know more when Jasper tells me where Goring has been all day and where he goes tomorrow.”

Jasper lowered the cue. “Oh, now I have to find out not only where he goes, but where he’s been?”

“Too difficult?”

“Nice try.” Jasper was the least likely of his men to fall prey to goading, but Neil knew the man was proud of his skills and probably wouldn’t hesitate at the chance to show them off.

“Mr. Wraxall,” Porter said, leaning into the room. “The cook has your dinner ready. Would you like it loaded into the conveyance now, or would you prefer to keep it warm a little longer?”

Neil checked his pocket watch. It was growing late, and he had a dozen hungry boys waiting for him. “Now, Porter. Tell John Coachman I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Very good, sir.” Porter nodded and was gone.

“What conveyance is this? Did you buy a coach?” Rafe asked. Then, “Hell’s teeth, Grantham, will you take the shot already?”

Jasper ignored him.

“It’s the club’s carriage,” Neil answered.

“The club has a carriage?” Rafe looked as surprised as Neil had been earlier. “Why didn’t I know that? I could have been using it for nefarious purposes all this time.”

“That’s probably why you didn’t know,” Jasper answered.

“I didn’t know either.” Neil turned to Jasper. “But you did?”

“Of course.” He leaned down and took a shot, striking Rafe’s cue ball, then the red ball for a cannon.

Rafe groaned.

“I’m paid to know these sorts of things.”

That was what Neil counted on.