Page 91 of The Paid Companion

“Who gave you the name of Goodhew and Willis, Clyde?” Arthur asked again in an even softer tone than he had used a moment before.

Jeremy gaped, but he managed to utter a wobbly protest. “Unhand me, sir.”

“I’m more of a mind to call you out for spreading malicious gossip about my fiancée, just as I once promised to do.”

Jeremy’s expression in the moonlight was one of appalled horror. “You are bluffing, sir. The whole world knows that you could not even be bothered to call out the man who ran off with your real fiancée. You are hardly likely to risk your neck in a duel over a woman you consider to be merely a convenience.”

“Clyde, you and the whole world know very little about me and what I might do. Tell me where you heard the name Goodhew and Willis now, or my seconds will call upon you within the hour.”

Jeremy’s defiance collapsed. “Very well,” he said, striving to maintain some dignity. “I suppose there is no reason why I should not tell you where I heard about your true intentions toward Miss Lodge.”

“Where was that?”

“At the Green Lyon.”

Elenora frowned. “What is the Green Lyon?”

“It’s a hell off St. James,” Arthur said. He did not take his attention off Jeremy. “How did you happen to go there, Clyde? Or is it one of your frequent haunts?”

“Don’t be insulting.” Jeremy drew himself up to his full height. “I went there on a whim last night because I was rather bored and someone suggested that it might be amusing.”

“You just happened to go there last night and you just happened to encounter someone who told you about Goodhew and Willis? I don’t think so. Try again.”

“It’s the truth, damn your eyes. I was feeling out of sorts and someone suggested that we go to the Green Lyon. We went there together and played at hazard for an hour or so. Somewhere in the course of the evening, he mentioned the rumors about Goodhew and Willis.”

“This person is a friend of yours?” Arthur asked evenly.

“Not a friend. An acquaintance. Never met him before last night.”

“Where did you encounter him?”

Jeremy looked quickly at Elenora and then just as swiftly away again. “Outside an establishment in Orchid Street,” he muttered.

“Orchid Street.” Arthur’s mouth curved humorlessly. “Yes, of course, that would be the address of the brothel operated by the old bawd who calls herself Mrs. Flowers.”

Elenora made a tut-tutting sound. “You patronize brothels, Jeremy? That is very distressing news. Does your wife know?”

“I just happened to be in Orchid Street on business,” Jeremy mumbled. “I know nothing about any brothel there.”

“Never mind,” Arthur said. “Tell me more about the man who introduced himself to you last night and suggested that you go to the Green Lyon.”

Jeremy tried to shrug. He was only partially successful due to the fact that Arthur still had hold of his coat. “There is not much to tell. I think he said his name was Stone or Stoner or something like that. Seemed familiar with the Green Lyon.”

“What did he look like?” Elenora asked.

Jeremy’s features contorted with puzzlement. “Why the devil does that matter?”

Arthur pushed Jeremy harder against the statue’s rear. “Answer her question, Clyde.”

“Damnation, I cannot recall any particulars about his appearance. I’d had several bottles of claret by the time I met him, if you must know.”

“You were in your cups?” Elenora was surprised by that bit of news. During the time Jeremy had been courting her, she had never known him to be a heavy drinker. “There is nothing worse than a drunkard. Your poor wife has my deepest sympathies.”

“I’ve got a bloody good reason to want to forget my troubles,” Jeremy snarled. “My marriage is not what anyone would call a love match. It’s a living hell. Before we were wed, my father-in-law implied that he would settle a considerable portion on my wife, but afterward he reneged. He controls our income and he insists that I dance to his tune. I am trapped,trapped, I tell you.”

“Your marital woes are of no concern to us,” Arthur said. “Describe the man you met in Orchid Street.”

Jeremy grimaced. “I suppose he was about my height. Brown hair.” He rubbed his forehead. “Leastways, I think it was brown.”

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