He had stared at his father’s heaving chest for several moments and had quietly said, “I am ashamed you are my father.”
The very next day he had run to Paris and drowned his sorrows in drink, a steady, reckless hate growing in his heart. There he had lived through the revolution, the terrors of the Committee of Public Safety and the horrors of Emperor Napoleon’s bid to conquer Europe. He had fought precisely six duels, all defending women who had no one to right the wrongs done to them, until he had been compelled to return to England with one thought driving him. Arianna’s pain and death would not be in vain, while those responsible laughed and made merry as if they had not stolen something precious.
The hackney rumbled to a stop, and he alighted into a crowd of people in the streets heading to the entrance of the gardens. He spied the large frame of Montrose hovering in the shadows, almost unrecognizable unless a man was used to seeking danger when it was not obviously presented.
Nicolas made his way over to his friend and stood beside him.
“Farringdon holds scandals and secrets on many in society. He uses the information to shamelessly bribe and blackmail those he wants under his power. He even has a file on Viscount Weychell.”
That surprised Nicolas. The two were thick as thieves, their debauchery and dishonor a shared affinity.
Viscount Weychell— Blond hair and blue eyes with a scar splitting his lower lip. He laughed through my screams, tis a sound I shall remember on my way to hell, for I am no longer worthy of heaven.
This man was almost within Nicolas’s grasp. He had enough to embarrass him, perhaps, but he wanted the icing that would let the man feel his punishment for years to come.
“Farringdon…” The dragon wings spread wide, a rose of coronet upon its head…how merciless this dragon was, tempting me with chances of escape only to catch me again when I tasted freedom.
He ignored the haunting whisper of Arianna’s voice and said, “The Duke is suspicious of me.”
“It wasn’t he who asked me about your secrets,” the Broker murmured.
The duke was indolent and spendthrift, and the dragon in Arianna’s letter. Farringdon shamelessly importuned on his late father’s connections, which had made him a powerful man in his own right. He had genuinely believed him to be the one questioning Nicolas’s motives in their lives. “Viscount Weychell?”
“No.”
Rhys had a reputation of protecting anyone who came to him to trade information. Though he and Nicolas had been friends for some years, Rhys would not betray any link within his network.
“That is interesting,” Nicolas said. “Someone else has placed themselves on my board. Someone I did not account for.”
“Be careful, my friend.”
A warning. Disquiet sat heavy in his gut and with a jolt, he realized it was not for himself. “You believe this person is dangerous to me.”
“Very.”
“That means he is powerful. Even more so than I?”
Rhys sent him a chiding look, and Nicolas opened his arms wide as if to imply the query was innocent. But the knot in his gut drew even tighter. Whoever wanted to know his weakness was connected and powerful.
Who have I offended?
“What must I know about Weychell?” Nicolas asked, driving to the heart of why he had met Rhys. Nicolas had paid handsomely for the underworld to be on the lookout for anything in regard to the men he would bring down.
“There are whispers he might be leaving England soon and may not return for some time.”
Bloody hell. “Is it a certainty?”
“It is just a whisper.”
The fact that it existed was cause for worry, though. “Thank you, Montrose.”
“Our word is our business,” Rhys murmured calmly.
They shook hands, and Nicolas walked away. He needed to move a bit faster. It was important that he procured whatever Farringdon had on Weychell. Montrose would not sell the information to more than one buyer—honor among blackguards and devils.
“If she is important, cast a net around her,” Montrose said, some distance away.
Ice formed in Nicolas’s veins, and he faltered into stillness. “If who is important?” he asked with dangerous restraint.
Rhys’s chuckle was filled with mocking amusement.
“You stopped, my friend…you stopped.”
And Nicolas supposed the theory was that if the lady were insignificant, he would have kept walking. “You are a friend…aren’t you?” Nicolas drawled, unable to do anything about the dark throb of warning in his voice.
“Definitely a friend,” Rhys said, coming up beside him. “And I will keep it