Page 28 of An Inconvenient Duke

Stunned, Merritt halted, his sword hand falling to his side as he stared in disbelief.

Marcus flicked the tip of his sword across Merritt’s chest in a well-controlled slice that cut through his waistcoat and left a gaping tear in the silk brocade.

Panting hard to catch his breath, not all of it lost from physical exertion, he tossed away his rapier. It banged against the stone floor in an echoing clatter, the only sound in the armory as his two closest friends continued to stare at him, unable in their shock to find their voices.

Not wanting to see their startled expressions, Marcus snatched up the towel. He rubbed it over his face to wipe away the rivulets of sweat stinging his eyes, taking this moment’s pause to collect himself. Then he flipped the towel over his shoulder and crossed the room to a little cabinet pushed up against the wall. He kept his attention on the cabinet, still unable to bring himself to look at them.

“Elise was killed the night before her body was found, I’m certain of it. She didn’t break her neck falling from her horse. Someone murdered her.” His hand trembled as he reached into the cabinet and withdrew three glasses and a bottle of brandy. They would all need a strong drink after this. “When I was packing away her things last month, I came across a note.”

As he poured brandy into each glass, he told them what he’d found, what the letter had said, how the details that Danielle had shared about Elise’s death simply didn’t fit together. He fixed his gaze to the golden liquid in each glass as he unburdened himself. Gratefully, both men kept their silence.

When he finished with his story, including what he felt was safe to share about Nightingale, he turned around and held out the glasses.

Somberly, both men came forward to claim them, then took contemplative swallows, not knowing what to say. Their silence was fine with Marcus, because he didn’t know what he needed to hear. Except…

“How can we help, General?”

He warmed with gratitude at Pearce’s quiet question, spoken with no doubt of offering assistance. After all, they considered themselves to be brothers, the bond between them forged by blood and hellfire on muddy battlefields stretching from southern Spain to Belgium.

“I need to find the man she was supposed to have met with that night.” He took a large swallow of brandy and welcomed the burn down his throat. “John Porter. Miss Williams believes he may be connected to a brothel. And I need to learn more about Scepter.”

“Is that wise?” Pearce finished his brandy. “From what you’ve said, they sound dangerous.”

So am I.“If this group had any connection to Elise’s death, I need to discover what it was.” And wouldn’t stop until he did. “Can I count on your help in finding Porter?”

The two men exchanged dubious glances at the paltry bit of information they had to work with.

“We’ll ask around, but…” Pearce shook his head at the improbability of finding one specific man in all of London based solely on his connection to a brothel.

“I know.” Marcus’s mouth tightened at the task he was giving them. “But I appreciate whatever help you can offer.” More than he could say.

“We should call on Clayton,” Merritt suggested, frowning thoughtfully into his glass. “He has the resources of the Home Office at his fingertips.”

Clayton Elliott had served under Marcus as a major in the last year of the fight against Napoleon. Of all his closest friends from the army, only Clayton seemed to be thriving now that the wars were over. But then, he hadn’t strayed too far from the ranks, simply moving from the governing auspices of the War Office to the Home Office, taking a position as an undersecretary.

Pearce nodded and took the rapier from Merritt. “Good idea. He can reach out to his contacts while the two of us work through London in person.” He paused. “Unless you don’t want anyone else to know, General.”

Eventually, all of England would know when he found the person responsible for Elise’s death and had him hanged. But now, it was better to be cautious, especially after how Danielle was nearly attacked tonight. She’d sworn that Kimball’s betrayal had nothing to do with Elise, but a niggling doubt pricked at his gut.

“Tell Clayton but no one else.” He dropped the towel to the floor. “Until we know what we’re dealing with, we can’t take any chances.”

Not with Danielle’s safety hanging in the balance.

“We’ll start first thing in the morning,” Merritt assured him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “We won’t let you down.”

His throat tightened. This was what he missed about the wars, what he would trade his new title and every penny of his fortune to possess forever—this bond of brotherhood.

“If we’re all done here, then I’d like to head home.” Pearce hung the rapier and its mate into place on the wall. “It’s been a long night, with the promise of an even longer day tomorrow, and I have a warm bed waiting for me.”

“With a warm widow in it, I’m sure,” Merritt added knowingly.

Pearce grinned as he moved toward the door. “Who am I to complain if a beautiful woman wants to comfort a poor soldier recently back from fighting Old Boney?”

“A poor soldier who recently inherited an earldom,” Merritt corrected, which only widened Pearce’s grin.

“That damned title might as well be good for something besides giving me a headache.” He opened the door and amended over his shoulder as he stepped out into the night, “Who am I to complain if a beautiful woman wants to comfort a wealthy earl recently back from fighting in the Lords?”

Then he was gone, the doors closing behind him with a rusty squeal and a banging clatter.