Page 6 of After the Abduction

“And pistols in particular are yours,” Griff remarked.

Lord Templemore cast him a cryptic look. “I take it you’ve heard of my hobby.”

“More than a hobby, from what I understand.”

He shrugged. “My grandfather piqued my interest in guns when I was young. Then my father gave me a Manton flintlock when I came of age, which cemented my lifelong fascination.”

“Manton, eh?” Griff said. “I’ve been going to his former employee, James Purdey. Purdey has invented a new vent plug—”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it,” Lord Templemore broke in. “Forsyth says…”

When they went on to discuss firearms and their relative merits, Juliet’s mind remained caught by two words. Manton flintlock. Two years ago, Morgan had commented on someone’s having “two Manton flintlocks” when he was helping her escape the smugglers. How many men would note the make of a weapon when surrounded by danger? And would both twins know so much about guns?

Rosalind fell back to walk alongside her. “Men are such boys—prattling on about their favorite pistols and gunsmiths as if they spend their days fighting battles in the streets. Griff rarely shoots a gun, and then only at partridges. Yet from all his talk you’d think he was a soldier.”

When Juliet said nothing, Rosalind shot her a concerned glance. “What’s wrong, dear heart? Are you disappointed we haven’t yet found Morgan?”

“I think we have found him.” Juliet fixed her eyes on his lordship’s broad back.

Rosalind’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Surely you can’t still believe…” She trailed off as Lord Templemore stopped outside a room and turned to address them.

“We’ll have our discussion in my study. Uncle Lew, why don’t you go see that the servant brings us some tea?”

His uncle looked at him askance. “Oh no, my boy, you’re mad if you think I shall miss this entertaining discussion. Why not just ring for tea?”

Lord Templemore arched an eyebrow and said sarcastically, “An excellent idea. I wonder why I didn’t think of it.” Then he ushered them into his study.

It was as sumptuous as the rest of his house, of course. And rampantly masculine, too, all glossy dark woods and brass fittings and solid furniture. Sober austerity seemed the order of the day, with one exception—a tall painting of Bacchus leading his revelries that graced one wall. But poor Bacchus faced a wall bearing half a king’s library adorned in gilt and leather. How fitting that a man who showed two faces to the world should have a study that did the same.

Rosalind was admiring the expensive damask curtains and Griff—a wealthy man in his own right—was appraising the massive mahogany desk, but all Juliet felt was despair. They’d come to snare the black sheep of a noble family, not the scion. So why was it the scion she suspected?

He’d undoubtedly shown them in here on purpose. The man was no fool—how better to intimidate his visitors than to flex the muscles of his wealth and power before them? First the guns and now this.

Well, she wouldn’t be swayed this time. She’d hold true to the facts, and those said that Morgan was a scoundrel, no matter how pretty his estate. And she knew Lord Templemore was Morgan, despite his claims about an identical twin. Let him shove his money and influence in their faces all he wanted—it wouldn’t prevent her from unmasking the wretch and stopping his attempts to ruin her future.

She and Rosalind took seats on the two chairs near the desk that Lord Templemore sat down behind. Griff stood beside them while the uncle leaned against a bookcase.

“I’m surprised we’ve never met in London,” Griff told Lord Templemore. “I heard you aren’t often in society, but—”

“Not in society at all, you mean,” Mr. Pryce interjected. “My nephew has an aversion to the entertainments of town. He always has.”

“With good reason,” Lord Templemore retorted. He met Griff’s curious gaze, and his expression turned bland. “As you undoubtedly know, my father partook more freely of society than was good for the family name. I didn’t think it wise to have two Blakelys wreaking havoc in London. And since I’ve ascended to the title, I’ve had little time to waste in frivolous town pursuits.”

Either that…or he wanted to avoid being recognized by people who knew of his involvement in less “frivolous” pursuits. Juliet’s eyes narrowed. “You were in London only a few months after your ascendance to the title, as I recall.”

At long last he looked at her, and fire flickered in the shadowy depths of his black gaze. Dear me, she felt distinctly like a virgin who’d poked a sleeping, smoking dragon.

“I was indeed in London,” he said. “Since you attach significance to that fact, you’d best tell me why. And while you’re at it, you might explain the purpose of your search for my brother, Lady…” He paused. “Juliet, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Drat him, he knew very well what her name was. And she’d make him reveal his real self if it killed her. “With all due respect, unless you’re Morgan Pryce, our search is none of your concern. Just tell us where to find him, and we’ll leave.”

Griff and Rosalind were agape at her forthright demand, but Lord Templemore’s gaze remained locked with hers, flinty, unwavering. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“You needn’t worry that there will be a repetition of today’s—”

“Juliet,” Griff interrupted, “we’d planned from the first to divulge the entire story to his lordship, so that he’d see we had cause for our pursuit.”

“Yes, but why lay out our private affairs to a stranger? His lordship has already deduced that a lady is involved. All that’s left is for him to be a gentleman and tell us where Morgan is.”