Andrew Lord of Despair(85)

“I’ll take her your draft, and you’ll have no need to travel on to Enfield, how’s that?” Andrew smiled at his opponent—for that’s what Amery was—while a wish sprang up that Douglas would haul him off his horse for his rudeness and indulge him in a bare knuckle discussion of men who sought to harm Astrid.

“Let us at least repair to the village tavern,” Douglas suggested. “I would not conduct my business on the open road, even though it appears deserted.”

Deserted. Subtle—Douglas was subtle, and Andrew was nigh freezing.

“As you wish.” Andrew nudged Magic into a trot, but reined in as he approached the local tavern. The establishment was cozy, served a decent pint, and was reasonably clean. At mid-to-late morning, the common would also be devoid of custom.

Douglas took his bay around to the stable in back, which was more consideration than Andrew would have thought the man capable of.

“Come along,” Andrew said to Magic. “You can cadge secrets from Douglas’s horse while I ply his owner with winter ale.”

Douglas paid a groom to unsaddle his horse, while Andrew merely loosened Magic’s girth and slipped the bridle from his head.

“He’s a lovely animal,” Douglas said. “One hopes you appreciate him.”

His lordship did not lack for balls. “Shall we trade our insults over a tankard of ale?”

“Tea will do.”

His primness brought Andrew a reluctant smile. If Herbert had been anything like his brother, Astrid would have seen to his demise inside of five years. When they gained the common, Andrew ordered tea and two tots of brandy, then made his way to the snug tucked into the back corner.

“You have business to transact with me?” Andrew asked, sliding onto the bench along one side of the table.

Douglas took his time, unfastening his greatcoat, removing his riding gloves, and removing his hat. Andrew, bare headed and long since divested of his gloves, watched these maneuvers with amusement.

“I have business to transact with my former sister-in-law,” Douglas said when he’d hung his greatcoat on a peg, tucked his gloves in his pocket, and set his hat on the table. “Because you are her husband, I suppose… you will do.”

Such exquisite condescension befitted a duke, at least.

“You have reconciled yourself to the legality of our union  ?” Andrew asked as the serving girl brought them their tea and brandy.

“I have. Shall I pour?”

The viscount’s manners were the outside of too much, and yet, somebody had to pour the damned tea. “Please.”

“I should say, rather”—Douglas daintily poured them each a mug of tea—“I am convinced of the legality of your union  , until further evidence can be gathered.”

“Brandy?” Andrew asked, holding up a glass.

“No, thank you. Feel free to enjoy my portion.”

“As you enjoyed Astrid’s portion?” Andrew replied politely.

Douglas looked pained, and also, now that Andrew studied him, tired. “If you familiarized yourself with the timing of the embezzled withdrawals, Greymoor, you would see my brother was the one enjoying his wife’s money, and for that, Astrid has had my sincere apologies.”

Andrew dumped the brandy into his tea, though the resulting combination had never appealed to him. “My error. I’m afraid the details of the crime would be more familiar to you than to me.”

“I suppose if one considers stupidity a crime, then my brother must be convicted of same,” Douglas said, sipping his tea with just the smallest grimace.

Sitting across from the man, it was hard to like him. He was fussy, cold, and bearing a bank draft Andrew had never expected to see.

And yet, it was also hard to believe Douglas had murdered his older brother and attempted to murder Astrid. Hard, but not impossible. “The brandy might be an improvement.”

“The tea is hot,” Douglas replied, adding more sugar. “I would probably drink pig swill right now if it were served hot.”

He’d have the patience to lie in wait until timbers could be sawed through, one by one in the dead of night, but would he have been able to push Astrid down a flight of stairs then pretend to scold her for her clumsiness? Would he have arranged to poison her when she dwelled in the same home as his own mother?

“I would be happy to order some pig swill for you, Amery.”

“No doubt, your manners would extend that far,” Douglas remarked dryly. “Shall you accept this draft on your wife’s behalf?” He tossed a document across the table, as if the bank draft were distasteful to him.

Andrew unfolded the paper, raising an eyebrow at the amount. “You truly are out to impress the courts, aren’t you?” he said, any sympathy toward Douglas evaporating.