No, he gave the impression he was skilled at most things. And yet she couldn’t wait to see a frown appear on his brow, couldn’t wait to see the puzzled expression as he tried to make sense of the facts.
Eva smiled to hide the sudden flurry of nerves. The incredulous story was like something from one of her novels. Playing the narrator rather than the victim would make it easier to relay the information.
“Let me begin, sir, by explaining my background. While society considers my father a gentleman, he is a rake and a wastrel and has no concept of moral standards. He has lived in Italy since my mother’s death ten years ago and has recently remarried. At four and twenty, I am three years older than my Italian stepmother.”
“I see.” Mr Ashwood arched a knowing brow. “So, you have lived with a relative since the age of fourteen. You must resent your father.”
&
nbsp; “As much as any child abandoned by a parent. And yes, I lived with my godfather, Mr Thomas Becker, until he passed away last year.”
“Thomas Becker? The poet?” Mr Ashwood’s eyes widened. They really were the most magnificent shade of green. “If so, I have his entire collection. The Wanderer is a personal favourite.”
So, this dangerous-looking gentleman loved poetry. That piqued Eva’s interest. “Yes, his love of Norse mythology is evident in many of his works.”
“I find the notion of Odin disguising himself as a wounded vagrant to teach humility rather fascinating.”
Eva’s breath caught in her throat. Mr Ashwood’s intelligent comment enhanced his appeal. “A vagrant may be wiser than a king, but without position and power few take notice.”
“Indeed.” A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Do you pen poems, too, Miss Dunn? The ink stains and the red marks on your fingers suggest you write more than the odd letter. Why else would you have an interest in an acid that can kill a man in seconds?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re remarkably perceptive, Mr Ashwood.” Too perceptive. What else had the gentleman determined during their brief conversation? “Yes, I write, though not poetry. But I shall come to that in a moment.”
“Then I await your explanation with anticipation, Miss Dunn.”
Eva paused while deciding where to restart her tale. “My brother, Mr Howard Dunn, inherited twenty thousand pounds upon our godfather’s death. Though I am sorry to say, he also inherited our father’s outlandish behaviour and has frittered away his good fortune at the gaming tables.”
Mr Ashwood sat forward. Disappointment marred his fine features. “We help those in dire need, Miss Dunn. We save boys from the hangman’s noose. We do not bring wastrel brothers to heel.”
No, that was a task beyond a mere mortal’s capabilities.
“Even if that were my reason for calling, it would prove an impossible feat considering my brother has been missing for a week.” Anticipating Mr Ashwood’s next comment, she added, “And no, Howard is not abed with his mistress, nor is he comatose in an opium den. Not this time, at least.”
“Perhaps he has eloped with an heiress.”
“Howard would never shackle himself to one woman.” A fact he had made abundantly clear.
Mr Ashwood smirked. “Most married men keep a mistress, so your point is mute. Have you considered the possibility that he’s fled the country to escape his creditors?”
She would have drawn that conclusion, too, had it not been for the other strange happenings. “Having broken the lock on his bedside drawer, I discovered Howard owes three thousand pounds to The Silver Serpent. It’s a gaming hell on—”
“Yes, Miss Dunn. I know the proprietor.”
Relief burst through her veins. “Oh, then you might discover if Howard’s debts have something to do with his disappearance. It’s said a man who fails to pay is thrown into the Thames with a sack of bricks strapped to his back.”
Mr Ashwood cast a look of reproach. “An intelligent woman should not lend weight to gossip.”
“Would you have me believe such things never happen?”
“No,” he said with a sigh. “Though you have my assurance Dermot Flannery has not murdered your brother.” Mr Ashwood pushed out of the chair. Clearly, he had heard enough. “Forgive me, Miss Dunn, but we haven’t the time to search for profligates who should know better. However, I will speak to Dermot Flannery about your brother’s debt. If you leave your direction with Mrs—”
“But I’ve yet to explain my reason for calling.”
Mr Ashwood frowned. “You said your brother is missing. I assumed that’s why you’re here.”
“As you say, rogues often go astray.” Eva had already enquired at every high-end brothel, every backstreet whorehouse, every gaming hell. She had even sent her footman to the mortuary looking for a fool with a fatal gunshot wound. “Were it not for a catalogue of other worrying events, I would not waste your time, sir.”
“Forgive me,” he said in the rich drawl that warmed her insides. “I’m used to people so desperate to tell their tale they barely draw breath. Your calm voice belies the distressing nature of your problem.”