Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(80)

Osiris snorted, sending a little cloud of vapor into the brisk December morning.

“This stallion’s none too youthful, either.”

Ashworth asked, “You think Morland will agree to your plan?”

Julian nodded. “I have my ways of convincing him.”

The duke himself arrived at that moment, approaching the mews astride a stately bay gelding. He dismounted smoothly and handed his reins to a waiting groom.

“Ashworth,” he said, catching his breath as he removed his gloves. “This is a surprise. When did you arrive in Town?”

“Just now.”

“I hear you’ve married.”

“Aye. My lady’s resting at our lodgings. But I hope to introduce her to you and Her Grace while we’re in London. She and Amelia will get on well, I think.”

“We’d be delighted. Where are you staying in Town?”

“At the Pulteney.”

“You’re at a hotel?” The duke’s brow wrinkled with disdain. Odd, how Morland’s superior expressions used to enrage Julian. Now he just found them mildly irritating. Not nearly worthy of a punch to the jaw, at any rate.

“Don’t stay at a hotel,” the duke continued. “You’re more than welcome at Morland House. We’ve plenty of rooms, and Amelia loves nothing more than guests.”

“That’s generous of you, but Merry had her heart set on the Pulteney.”

“Trade research,” Julian explained to the duke. “The new Lady Ashworth is the proprietor of Devonshire’s finest coaching inn. Only natural she’d want to investigate the London hotels. Anyway, Morland, you’ll be needing your guest rooms for someone else.”

“Who?”

Ashworth took his cue and went over to his waiting coach, opening the door and reaching inside to help Peter Faraday down. Yet another man Julian had once been desperate to pummel. Christ, had he truly walked around irate for so much of his adult life? It all felt so foreign and far away now.

Faraday slowly advanced, unaided by Ashworth but relying heavily on the assistance of a walking stick. The man looked to be in better health than he had in Cornwall, but that wasn’t saying much. He was still pale, still obviously in a great deal of pain. If he hadn’t healed after six months’ time, it was unlikely he’d ever walk unaided again.

“Mr. Bellamy. Your Grace.” Faraday inclined his head. “Forgive me if I don’t bow.”

“Peter Faraday,” Morland said, returning the man’s nod of greeting. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Last time we met, your attention was on the cards.”

“What are you doing here now?”

“Let me explain,” Julian said. He summarized the progress—or lack thereof—of his investigation into Leo’s death. Then explained how last month, the idea had finally occurred to him to check the prison and court records. “My investigator explored that angle in the first weeks after Leo’s death, but at that time we had no real description. A few weeks ago I received these names. Angus Macleod and Horace Stone. They match Cora Dunn’s physical description of the men. They were jailed the morning after Leo’s death, apprehended not a mile away from the scene of his beating. Sentenced to six months’ hard labor for breaking and entering.”

Ashworth whistled low. “Has to be them. Too many coincidences not to be.”

Julian nodded. “They’re serving on a prison hulk, due to be released in just over a week. We’ll ride out that morning and meet them on the docks. As lords, either one of you”—he indicated Morland and Ashworth—“can easily have them rearrested. With Faraday’s testimony, they’ll swing by the turn of the New Year.”

Faraday gave a heavy sigh. “I told you in Cornwall, I don’t recall a thing about the attack itself. I don’t know that I’ll be able to identify them.”

Julian said tightly, “Well, I’m positive that seeing them will jog your memory. If not, we’ll send for Cora.”

“Sorry I couldn’t bring her along,” Ashworth said. “But someone has to mind the inn. Besides, it felt cruel to pull the girl away from her honeymoon.”

“The comely Miss Dunn’s married, too?” Faraday gripped his walking stick. “What a shame. It’s a veritable plague of matrimony. Stay far clear of me, all three of you.”

With that, he hobbled to the side and lowered his weight onto a bench. Julian sensed the man’s loud decrial of marriage was merely an excuse to take a much-needed rest. After the exertion of standing upright all of five minutes, the poor soul needed a rest. Julian almost felt bad for him.

Or he would have, if he felt certain he could trust the man.

“Morland,” he said low, “I need you to keep a watchful eye on Faraday.”

“You want me to take the man under my protection?”

“I want you to take the man under your roof.”

“Now hold just a minute—” the duke began to object.

“You just said you have plenty of rooms. Your wife loves hosting guests.” When Morland’s face didn’t soften, Julian lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “Not to mention, you’re already hiding one invalid.”

Morland’s eyes flared. “How did you learn that? Did Amelia tell—”