The lady nudged the horse forward.
He watched her, inclined his head when she glanced back over her shoulder and smiled.
Some ten minutes later, the glow of candlelight appeared in an upper window. Lawrence could not see the figure holding the metal stick, though his mind conjured an image of Miss Vale wearing a silk nightgown that clung to her hips. Her nipples pushed against the delicate material. Her mussed hair tumbled wildly about her shoulders. Bright blue eyes called to him, invited him to plunge deep and let her healing waters soothe his soul.
Lawrence shook the erotic image from his head, though his body ached for release.
Thank the Lord he was returning to London tonight. Hopefully, there was truth in the adage out of sight out of mind. And yet as he continued along the lane heading towards Shepperton’s main thoroughfare, instinct told him he would see Miss Vale again.
Soon.
Chapter Four
“The Brethren?” The Marquis of Blackbeck, father to the illegitimate Damian Wycliff, steepled his elegant fingers and arched a mocking brow. “Men who gather in groups to display their superiority are naught but craven fools.”
Lawrence glanced at Wycliff seated next to him on the marquis’ plush velvet sofa. Having sought the advice of his trusted friend, Wycliff insisted on coming to Lawrence’s aid. How was it no one had heard of this club where men branded their chests with a mark guaranteed to last a lifetime? The marquis was the most informed man in the ton. Perhaps if they’d been speaking of a mark on a lady’s chest, the rakish lord would be a fount of information.
Lawrence sat forward. “These men—”
“Boys,” the marquis corrected. “Only boys hide within the ranks of a brotherhood. Men rely upon their own strength and skill to make their way in the world.”
“Boys can be cruel, vicious devils,” Wycliff said, for he enjoyed drawing attention to his father’s failings. “Those of us born on the wrong side of the blanket are easy targets.”
Wycliff referred to the pompous lords at school, the pure-blooded offspring of privileged parents. Boys who treated the illegitimate like gutter rats. Not that Lawrence was bitter. Fighting for survival had been an education in itself.
“Immature devils.” The marquis snorted. “The same can be said for the scoundrels who brand symbols on their chests.” He turned his attention to Wycliff. “Perhaps someone within the demi-monde has entertained a rogue with such a mark. One presumes Mrs Crandall is the best person to answer questions on men’s perversions.”
Mrs Crandall hosted many illicit parties, had seen more than her share of naked men. But the woman spun gossip like a spider did a web. She weaved lies, ensnared the unsuspecting in her deadly traps.
Lawrence had not told the marquis about Miss Vale and her need to ease her guilt over the deaths of Sebastian Vale and Charles Farrow. He certainly had no intention of telling Mrs Crandall. One whiff that he held a mild attraction for an innocent and the widow would seek to play matchmaker, to find a devious way to bring Miss Vale into the fold.
Two nights had passed since Lawrence dragged himself away from the manor house in Shepperton. Two nights spent recalling every aspect of his lengthy conversation with Miss Vale. Not because he hoped to remember something important about his brother’s fate, but because the woman had left a lasting impression.
“Then we shall leave you to your supper and call on Mrs Crandall.” Wycliff stood and tugged the cuffs of his coat.
“Will your wife not raise a complaint when she finds her beloved has spent the night at a den for the debauched?” A mere trace of a smile played at the corners of the marquis’ mouth, for he was a man who despised excessive displays of emotion.
“My wife knows why I am here and what I am doing,” Wycliff countered. “Trust and honesty play an important part in any relationship. Would you not agree?”
The marquis inclined his head as cool amusement flickered in his eyes. “Indeed.”
Lawrence stood, too. He thanked the marquis for his time and then they left the lord to indulge in a lavish supper alone.
“You cannot tell Mrs Crandall what you have told me,” Wycliff said as he climbed into Lawrence’s conveyance. “Not unless you want to warn this brethren blackguard that you’re out hunting for his blood.”
Having instructed Sleeth to deliver them to Wycliff’s residence on Bruton Street, Lawrence closed the door and rapped on the roof.
“I have no intention of telling the woman anything.” But he was out to hurt the fiend who enjoyed ruining innocents whilst hiding behind a mask. Hurt was too tame a word. Whenever he thought of Miss Vale’s helpless struggle, he wanted to slaughter the man responsible. “But your father is right. Mrs Crandall may be the only person with information.”
“You have the names of the men Miss Vale met at the house party. Let’s pick them off one by one, torture them until someone confesses.” Wycliff’s eyes flashed dangerously dark. “Let us make their lives a living nightmare until we learn the truth.”
“I cannot ask you to help me with this problem. You married but a few days ago.” If Lawrence had a wife at home who loved him, he would not be scouring the streets looking for a fight. And his friend’s cheerful countenance reminded Lawrence that love was the only thing to bring a man salvation. “You should be with the woman you’ve yearned for these last three years.”
Wycliff cast him a wicked grin. “Love is like a wonderful addiction, and I cannot get enough of my wife. But you heard what Scarlett said. She once suffered at the hands of a monster and wishes me to help you find the rogue who attacked Miss Vale.”
The comment raised an important point. Why was Lawrence more interested in Miss Vale’s safety than discovering if the Brethren had played a part in his brother’s death?
“Two men are dead.” And Miss Vale was definitely not to blame. “Both men carried the mark on their chests. Both men drowned weeks after pleading for large amounts of money.” And yet a trip to Charles’ solicitor this morning confirmed that his debts had amounted to a few hundred pounds and not the thousands he’d demanded. “For the first time in your life, you’re happy. I’ll not have you taking unnecessary risks on my account.”