Greg scowled at his old friend. “Yes, well, some of us had the need to grow up at some point.”
“You did come into your title long before I did mine,” Simon conceded as he dropped into an empty seat. “It would only stand to reason you’d marry before me.” He nodded and a serious expression settled on his face as Greg and Tristan took a pair of empty seats at the table as well. “In all honesty, you are one of my oldest friends, Greg, and I am happy for you. Lady Arabella seems a delightful girl.”
“Do you know her?” Greg asked.
His friend smirked at that. “How many proper girls do you think I’m familiar with?”
“What was I thinking?” Greg teased in return. Then he glanced back toward the Hazard table where Simon had been and asked, “Still showing your American partner all the sights of Town?” He didn’t see the man, but he hated to abandon him if he was amongst the throng somewhere.
Simon snorted. “Both of my new American partners have absconded with my coach, headed for Derbyshire, believe it or not.”
“Derbyshire?” Greg echoed. “The Peak District seems an odd choice for owners of a shipping company.”
His friend frowned. “Yes, well, it seems that my Captain Pierce is the not-so-dead husband of Lady Felicity Pierce, believe it or not; and the lady in question seems to be at Prestwick Chase.”
“I beg your pardon?” Tristan asked, sitting a little straighter in his seat.
“Exactly my thoughts on the matter,” Simon said with a shake of his head. “Apparently they each thought the other was dead. I’m not sure how that happened, but Pierce was quite determined to be reunited with his wife.” Then he frowned slightly. “Though he did not seem to be happy about that revelation, to be honest.”
Tristan blew out a breath. “Lady Felicity’s dead husband?”
“It appears as such.” Simon nodded.
A frown marred Tristan’s face. “The lady is a dear friend of my wife’s.”
And Lady Felicity was a dear friend of Bella’s too.
“I do hope she’s all right,” his brother continued.
“No idea how something like that happens,” Simon added. “One of the most bizarre things I’ve ever heard. And I have heard some strange things in my days.”
At that moment, Greg noticed a fellow leap from a seat at a card table and start bellowing at the dealer, and…
Damn it all. “Speaking of bizarre things,” Greg muttered. What the devil was Gillingham doing now?
“Oh,” Tristan began, “I didn’t think they allowed him in here anymore.”
“Completely insolvent,” Simon agreed. “But he came in this evening flashing a handful of pound notes.”
And Greg knew exactly where the ne’er-do-well baron had gotten those notes. Selling Bella’s earbobs. Anger washed over him anew, just as a large flash-man made his way to Gillingham’s table and grabbed the baron by the back of his collar. Then the muscled servant pushed Gillingham, rather roughly, toward the exit.
Damn it. Greg found himself pushing out of his own seat and following after the pair, though he had no idea why he was doing so. Reasoning with Bella’s brother had not borne any success thus far, but making one more attempt couldn’t hurt, could it? On the off chance he might have the tiniest bit of luck, Greg did have to try.
“Excuse me, will you?” he muttered to his brother and his friend.
Then Greg pushed his way through the crowd and strode outside the hell and down the front stoop just in time to hear the flash-man growl, “I will snap your neck next time ya show your face in ‘ere,” as he pushed Gillingham onto his arse in the middle of the street.
Greg stepped aside to let the muscled employee pass him, back into the hell.
But the man stopped and frowned down at Greg. “Friend of yours?”
Friend was not the word Greg would use. “Future brother,” he replied.
“Condolences,” the man muttered. “Unless ya want to see ‘im broken in two, ya should keep ‘im away from ‘ere.”
Not that Greg had any sort of control over what Gillingham did or didn’t do. “I will tell him.”
Without another word, the flash-man climbed the stoop and re-entered the gaming hall.