Page 74 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“Have you discovered anything about Moreton?”
“Very little,” Joseph admitted. “He has some debts, but not large ones, and the bulk of them were paid off when he inherited.”
“Convenient,” Adrian muttered.
“Very much so. But it proves nothing. I found no evidence of connection to shady people, but I’ll continue making investigations.”
“My valet told me he sacked every member of staff when he inherited from his brother. Everyone replaced, including all the old retainers.”
“Hmm.”
“Precisely,” Adrian said dryly. “But again, it proves nothing. Isobel tells me that she believes her friend was poisoned—she fell ill rather abruptly. I asked around, and my Scottish contact informs me that her illness was sudden, but not suspicious. No doubt Isobel would have thought nothing of it if she hadn’t seen Moreton threaten the girl.”
“And she told no one else?” Joseph asked.
“Not that I know of. I’m investigating, but I can’t afford to let Moreton know that I know.” He opened his mouth to continue discussing the situation when Joseph elbowed him.
When he glanced up, it was to see the man himself walking toward them.
“Gentlemen,” Moreton said with a cold smile.
Adrian assessed him. A large man, but not overly so—tall, but not as tall as him, and thin rather than broad. He dressed with meticulous care, and it was obvious that he wanted no one to forget his newfound status of marquess.
No doubt he had been planning to attain it for quite some time.
“Lord Moreton,” Adrian said, inclining his head and neglecting to rise.
“Your Grace.” Moreton gave him a little bow and turned to Joseph. “Lord Rowton.”
“Moreton,” Joseph said pleasantly. “I remember your brother. Very sorry to hear of his passing. Tragic that he should have left us so young.”
“Tragic indeed,” Moreton said, his voice giving no signs of grief or sorrow. “But I hadn’t come here to speak of tragedies. I wanted to offer you my congratulations on your recent nuptials, Your Grace.”
Adrian smiled, not letting his anger reach his face. “She is an angel. I am the luckiest man in the world.”
Moreton’s inclined his head again. “She made quite a splash when she arrived in London, I understand. You are the fortunate man who proposed in time. Many gentlemen are disappointed, I assure you.”
The implication that she would have accepted another gentleman, had he asked, made Adrian’s fingers tighten on the arm of his chair.
But he merely smiled. “I’m gratified to think so. Tell me, are you one of the disappointed few?”
“Me?” Moreton’s brows rose. “I have barely exchanged a handful of words with her.”
“Then I need not worry you’ll steal my wife from me.” Adrian’s smile was just as cold as Moreton’s. He raised his glass. “Many thanks for your congratulations. And may I offer some of my own—you have risen in the world.”
“Ah, but at what cost?” Moreton bowed, then moved away, the conversation at an end.
Adrian scowled at his back, fighting the urge to strike the man. He could not. Would not. Should not.
Wanted to. Desperately.
“He was feeling you out,” Joseph murmured. “Trying to see how much you knew.”
“Do you think he suspects anything?”
“He certainly will if you attack him in the middle of White’s. Easy, old boy.” Joseph offered an easy smile. “Remember, he might be a marquess, but you are a duke, and you will find a way of ruining him. He won’t get to her.”
Adrian inhaled deeply. No, she wouldn’t get to him—he wouldn’t let her.
