The Heart of a Duke(58)

Her eyes strayed to Daniel, and a pretty blush suffused her face. “Well, yes I . . .” Her words trailed off and she stared at Daniel, looking puzzled.

“What is it, Lanie?” Robbie asked.

She lifted her hand to indicate her hair, and nodded toward Daniel’s head. “It’s . . . well, sir, your hair looked as if it was cropped a mite shorter this mornin’.”

“Thank you, Lanie, that will be all.” Robbie nodded to the maid, who was as happy to depart as Corrine.

“The bastard,” Daniel snarled. “He waltzes in here without a by-your-leave and rifles through my stuff for a second time. I . . .” His words tapered off and he bolted to the desk, picking up each discarded book and flipping through its pages. Gone. It was gone. He looked at Robbie. “Something was taken. The letter from my father’s solicitor.”

Robbie frowned. “Well, it didn’t say too much. Just a cryptic note about claiming your destiny, which you already did in America. And you believed Bedford had received a copy of the letter anyway.”

“I did.” Daniel furrowed his brow, and ignored Davie’s curious look as he paced the room. “What if he did not write to Edmund?” His thoughts spiraled. “The note said I was to visit him as soon as I arrived. What if he wanted to tell me something that Edmund did not want me to hear? Or rather, give me something that Edmund did not want me to have? That would explain my tossed stuff. Edmund’s looking for it.”

“What? What is it?” Davie blurted, utterly fascinated.

Daniel shook his head. “I have no idea. Everything I owned burned in the fire.” He nodded to Robbie. “Whatever money I had left from my inheritance, I poured into Curtis Shipping.”

Davie warily eyed the mess of the room. “Whatever it is, you need to return it. He is a duke and all.”

“Will you be quiet,” Robbie snarled at his brother, causing him to jump. “Maybe it is time you did as the letter advised and spoke with this solicitor. Perhaps your father left you something in his will, and his solicitor learned that Edmund never gave it to you?”

Daniel nodded, picturing a rotund, jovial man, his features wrinkled like a walnut. “I agree. I need to speak to Abel Shaw. I remember him well because my father liked to make him wait for over an hour before seeing him. Believed it set the tone of a meeting by demonstrating who controlled matters from the onset. Abel thwarted my father’s power game, though, for he came prepared, always carried a deck of cards and a cheroot. Taught me to play vingt-et-un.”

“Do you believe he is still in London?” Robbie said.

“He should be.” Daniel shrugged. “He posted the letter at the beginning of the year.”

“Do you remember anything from when he read your father’s will? Were you present when it was read?” Robbie pressed.

Daniel shook his head regretfully. “No, I was there for the beginning. Then it was just Edmund. Edmund’s first act as Bedford was to let Shaw go and hire his own firm. Reading my father’s will was the last legal service Shaw provided.”

“No, writing to you was his last service to your family,” Davie corrected.

Robbie whirled on his brother. “Don’t you have a stall to muck or a woman to irritate?”

Davie muttered something under his breath, but fled the room when Robbie made a threatening advance.

When Davie had departed, Daniel sighed. “I had planned to visit Shaw, but I was not in any rush to do so. I had claimed my destiny, so his words read more melodramatic than imperative to me. And as you know, I had more pressing matters topping my agenda while home.”

“I understand. But you need to visit him now, and I should go to London with you.” Robbie eyed Daniel’s bruised cheek. “You might need someone to keep you out of trouble. And it is time my idiot brother learned some responsibility, I think.” He tossed a wary look in the direction that Davie had disappeared.

“Fine,” Daniel said. He could use another set of eyes and ears to keep a lookout.

Daniel would have his hands full, for he had another reward he valued far more.

He had a potential woman to woo and win.

Once again, his agenda was full.





Chapter Fifteen





AS Daniel alighted from the hackney, he resisted the urge to cover his nose with his handkerchief. He had only been in London for a few days, but he had already concluded that if the stench did not kill him, the cacophony of noise would. The clatter of carriage wheels, horses’ hooves, various bells, and vendor shouts composed the strident city orchestra.

They were meeting Brett at a tavern near the offices of Curtis Shipping, which were located in South London near the docks. Inside the tavern, more smells and noise assaulted Daniel. Ale, cheap gin, and other rank odors permeated the atmosphere. Men stood in groups, sat among the scattered tables, or congregated along the strip of the stained bar, their voices a buzzing hum. Daniel scanned the tavern for his friend, locating him at a table in the corner.