Blame It on Bath Page 0,72

head and bit back a frustrated curse. He was simply incapable of waiting patiently for that to happen, but so far his efforts all seemed impotent and wasted.

Behind him the door opened and closed. Another man stepped out. Gerard caught the sharp aroma of a Spanish cigar, something he’d not smelled since he returned to England. He moved a few steps away, not much in the mood to talk.

“Beastly weather,” said the other man after a few minutes of silence. “Bloody Bath.”

“I like it,” Gerard replied. “It reminds me I’m in England.”

A quiet chuckle was the only answer. A distant roll of thunder sounded, as slow and undulating as if the gods barely had the will to send it.

“De Lacey, am I right?” The other man came toward him. He blew out another puff of smoke.

Gerard watched it evaporate in the misty rain. “Yes.”

His companion smiled. He was a good decade or more older than Gerard, a distinguished-looking man with streaks of silver in his dark hair. He was impeccably dressed, and a gold signet flashed on his left hand as he removed the cigar from his mouth. “Condolences on your father’s passing,” he said.

“Thank you,” murmured Gerard, inclining his head a degree. Apparently solitude was too much to ask tonight. “Forgive me, I haven’t the honor . . .”

“I’m Worley.” The man returned Gerard’s slight bow. “Of Uppercombe.”

That meant nothing to him. “A pleasure, sir.”

Worley still wore his small smile. “You’re the one who married Howe’s widow.”

“Yes.” That was no secret, and he’d rather be known for that than for the damned Durham Dilemma. There was really nothing exceptional about Worley but that annoying smile, as if he laughed at some private jest. Gerard wished he would go away.

Worley peered out into the rain. “Well done, young man. Quite a purse on that lady. I always knew you were the most resourceful of Durham’s boys.”

Something resonated deep inside his breast at those words—not in preening satisfaction, but in alert to some undercurrent in Worley’s words. Who the hell was Worley, and why had he come out in the rain to speak to him? Because, Gerard was instinctively certain, it was not mere chance. “My brother Edward would be ill pleased to hear such a slur upon his character,” he said, almost carelessly.

Worley puffed on his cigar, blowing out a long stream of smoke. Gerard shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the wall, away from the plume and into a better position to see Worley. He didn’t think he’d ever heard the man’s name before, but Worley clearly knew something about his family. “Ah, yes. Edward the diligent one. Rather too bound by rules and tradition, don’t you think?” Worley tilted his head to look at Gerard. “Of course you do. Otherwise you’d still be in London, waiting for the lawyers to do their worst.” He tapped ash from his cigar. “Not out here in the wilds of Bath, with no apparent purpose.”

“My wedding trip.” Gerard lifted one shoulder. “An escape from the suffocation of London.”

Worley’s sly smile widened. “Of course.”

“You seem well acquainted with my family, sir. You must forgive me—I’ve been out of the country a great deal—but were you a friend of my father?”

“Friend.” Worley considered. “I shouldn’t say friends,” he replied thoughtfully. “We had business together from time to time. I had a great respect for your father.” He heaved a sigh. “Such a shock, the rumors that have abounded since his death.”

All Gerard’s instincts sat up at attention. Everyone in London, and apparently in Bath as well, wanted to talk about his personal scandal, true; but something was different about Worley’s curiosity. His sigh managed to imply glee rather than sorrow. Gerard made a bored face even though Worley had his complete concentration now. “Oh. That. I expect that to blow over before we return to the city. People will find something new and scandalous to talk about before the end of the month.”

“Yes, of course,” murmured Worley. “Your brothers, I hope, are bearing up as well as you?”

“I suppose Edward wishes he could escape London as I did, but he’s tied up with the attorneys over Father’s will. He is, as you said, the most diligent of us three. And Gresham—or I should call him Durham now . . .” Gerard shrugged. “I daresay he hardly noticed. He’s accustomed to being talked about.”

As fleeting as a flash of lightning, a frown touched Worley’s brow. If Gerard hadn’t been watching closely,