Page 43 of Only Pleasure Will Do

Chapter 19

After a restless night in which he tossed, and turned, and cursed, Reginald rose almost as tired as when he’d laid down. His mind had spun all night, reliving the day that had seemed never to end: from meeting Maddy yesterday morning, to the nightmare ride with Pearl, to the devastating news about Katarina and her family, to the trip to the House of Pleasure. Thoughts of the brothel last night had had no benefit at all save to lead him to think about lying in bed with Maddy, which had in turn resulted in an ache in both his heart and groin.

None of this had been productive, and so at eight o’clock, he forced himself to rise and attend to his morning routine. He could get begin at Bow Street, see if any new information had surfaced regarding Maddy’s whereabouts. Or he could do his duty and head to Jack’s townhouse to pay his respects to the family, what there was now left of it. Poor Jack. He’d come close to dying in March when he’d been embroiled in a duel with Sir Peter Fitch, whose ball had grazed Jack’s head, but thank God, the cur’s shot had missed.

Would that Maddy’s luck had been less deadly.

As it was early for the Runners to be about, he’d better head over to see Jack and Alethea first. He could at least tell them why Katarina had died and that Reginald himself, with his dying breath, if need be, would see Redmond brought to justice.

Calling for his valet, Reginald kicked back the covers then found his slippers and banyan. “Jakes, the black suit, please. And ready the mourning band for my hat. It will be needed soon.” He’d obtained the suit and band almost two years ago when his godfather, Uncle William, then Earl of Manning, had died, so they would be serviceable for this time of mourning as well.

“Who’s died, sir?” Jakes’s brows went up, uncharacteristic for the man.

“My cousin, her husband, and son.” His heart caught and he swallowed convulsively but fought the wave of emotion that threatened to overtake him. He could not do his job effectively if he were weeping and wailing all over London. To do his duty, he would save his grief for a more private time.

If he could push it off long enough, it might not hurt so much, perhaps.

“I am so very sorry, Sir Reginald. I shall arrange for everything.”

And indeed, Jakes turned him out in record time considering the valet was a stickler for every little detail of dress. Reginald had employed the man for that very reason, because then he himself would not have to bother with those very details that made a man a candidate for magistrate. His employment had worked to Reginald’s advantage excellently.

Today Reginald’s black superfine suit had been freshly sponged and pressed, his cravat snowy white. He tied it in a subdued knot, suitable for a house of mourning. Jakes then helped him on with his cloak and stood back, assessing his work. A curt nod, and Reginald was ready.

The ride to his cousin’s townhouse was painfully brief. Little as he wanted to make this call, he must face up to the duty. A mourning wreath adorned the front door, the knocker draped in black. Reginald rapped on the door with his knuckles, else he feared he’d not be heard.

The servant who answered the door frowned when Reginald asked for Lord Manning. “His lordship is from home at the moment.”

That was peculiar. Reginald would’ve thought his cousin would be prostrate with grief at the death of his sister. Where would Manning go? And so early in the morning? “Is the countess at home? I know it is early in the day for a call, but under the circumstances…”

“The circumstances, sir?” Confusion on the servant’s face led to a similar state in Reginald.

“The death in the family.” Perhaps the butler was indisposed and had to leave this very junior footman in charge. “Is Carlyle not here?”

“Mr. Carlyle is with her ladyship, sir.” A fighter who wasn’t going to give an inch.

Reginald had dealt with that sort before. “Then please show me to Lady Manning. I wish to pay my respects to her, at least.”

The footman nodded, and Reginald entered the foyer at last. “If you will wait here, sir. May I have your card?”

“You can tell her Sir Reginald Matthews. She will know the name.” Why had Carlyle left a stripling in charge of the house when such a tragedy had just occurred? This made no damned sense at all.

The footman retired, and Reginald began to pace. There must be something going on he wasn’t aware of.

Slippers softly pounding the parquet floors drew his attention down the corridor. Lady Manning pelted down the hallway, hair flying out in straggles, a companion right behind her. Was it Lady Juliet? He peered toward them, trying to distinguish one from the other, which was difficult when both had red hair.

Red hair?

He straightened as all his breath whooshed out of his lungs. Took one ragged gulp of air so he could call, “Kat!” before racing toward his cousin.

“Reginald!”

“Katarina.” He caught her as she almost ran by him. “Dear God, you’re alive.” Looking everywhere at once, he tried to see if she were hurt at all. “Were you in the explosion? Are Duncan and your son—”

“Both fine. But what of you?” She hugged him again, harder. “Madam Vestry said you and her daughter were being held hostage to force her to explode that infernal machine at Dunham House.”

“Which, according to my Runners, and my own eyes, is true.” His gaze darted all over her, his mind again unable to take in the incredible news.

“The device was exploded in the garden, with as much precaution as my husband could insist on.” Kat draped her arm around him and steered him toward the rear of the house, to the family’s drawing room. “It made an incredible noise. The boom even woke little Tye from a sound sleep here. But no one was hurt at all, thank goodness. Alethea,” she turned to her sister-in-law, “we shall require more tea.”