Darling Beast (Maiden Lane #7)(76)

Outside the breakfast room, footmen scurried back and forth, paying him no mind. He strode down the hall and ducked around the corner. His uncle’s study was at the back of the house on this floor, in an area normally reserved for the family.

He was nearly at the door when he was hailed from behind.

“Mr. Smith.”

He turned to find his uncle staring at him in puzzlement. “Might I help you, Mr. Smith? I fear there is nothing of interest down this way, merely my own study.”

“I apologize,” Apollo said easily. “I must’ve gotten turned around.”

“Quite.” The older man’s gaze sharpened on him and he cocked his head. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Mr. Smith. Have we perchance met before?”

“I don’t think so, sir,” Apollo replied, holding his uncle’s gaze. It was the truth, after all: he had no memory of his father’s family’s ever visiting when he was young, save for the one time his grandfather had come to announce Apollo’s enrollment in Harrow.

“Strange,” the older man murmured as they turned back toward the front of the house and the rest of the party. “But I find that something about you is reminiscent of…” He trailed away, shaking his head. “I feel that I’ve seen you before.”

He slowed as they came to the end of the corridor, and although Apollo wanted to rush away, he made himself slow as well.

“My father,” the older man said suddenly, “the earl, is a big man. I used to be quite afeard of him as boy. Broad shoulders like a bull, huge hands.” He seemed lost in a not entirely happy memory. “My brother and I did not inherit his frame—much to my father’s chagrin—but I’m told my nephew is at least as large as my father. And, of course, my son George bears him some resemblance.”

He looked at Apollo and there was a sort of frightened question in his eyes.

“Mr. Greaves.”

Both men looked up at the low voice. A servant stood at the other end of the hall, backlit by the window there.

“Ah, Vance,” the older man said. “There you are.” He turned back to Apollo. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Smith?”

“Of course,” Apollo murmured. He watched as his uncle walked to the manservant.

“I hope you have the matter well in hand?” William Greaves asked.

“Just as you ordered, sir, but if I may…” Vance leaned toward his master, murmuring something in his ear. As he did so, he turned his head just enough for his face to be revealed. Vance had a port-wine stain over much of his left cheek and chin.

Apollo stepped back, merging into the shadows of the corridor, his heart beating fast. He’d seen that face.

Four years ago in a tavern in Whitechapel.

He waited as the two men disappeared into Greaves’s study before slipping back to the breakfast room. It was simply too much of a coincidence for his uncle to have in his employ a man who’d been in the tavern that night. Was he an assassin? Had his uncle sent Vance that night to do such ugly work?

When he reentered the breakfast room, the guests were still dining. Quietly he slipped back into his seat beside the Duke of Montgomery.

“Did you learn anything?” His Grace asked casually as he buttered a piece of toast.

“In the necessary?” Apollo knit his brows as if confused.

“Come now,” the duke said. “Don’t prevaricate with a master like myself.”

He crunched into his toast.

Apollo sighed. He didn’t trust Montgomery, but at the moment the man was his only ally. “William Greaves’s valet was there at the tavern—the night before the murders.”

Montgomery paused mid-crunch. “You’re sure?”

Apollo gave him a look. “The man has a conspicuous port-wine stain on his face.”

“Ah.” The duke swallowed. “Then it seems to me that we ought to find out how long the man has been in William Greaves’s employ.”

“How—?”

But before Apollo could finish his question the duke had leaned forward over the table. “I say, George, how long has your father had that valet of his?”

“Three years,” George Greaves replied slowly, looking between the duke and Apollo.

Apollo swore to himself and hunched over his plate of eggs.

The duke, naturally, wasn’t perturbed at all. “Strange. Saw a man with a birthmark just like his in Cyprus two years ago.”

Cyprus? Apollo glanced up casually to see if George Greaves had bought this ridiculous story.

Judging by his suspicious look, he had not.

Apollo sighed as the other guests chattered around them. “What the hell was that?” he hissed at Montgomery.

“A question.” The duke reached for another piece of toast.

“Did you mean to alert him to our investigation on purpose?” Apollo growled.

“Yes and no.” Montgomery shrugged. “I’m bored. Nothing’s happening. Sometimes it’s best to send the fox into the chicken house to see if a snake slithers out.”

Apollo glared. “You know nothing at all about chickens.”

“Don’t I?” Montgomery smiled winsomely as he slathered butter on his new piece of toast. “If you think that, then perhaps you really ought not to be taking my advice on poultry, hmm?”