Page 9 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
No ill will befall Lydia. Never again.
Later that night, Richard found himself in the familiar comfort of the dimly lit, smoke-filled atmosphere of White’s—one of London’s most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs, of which his family had been members since its inception in the late seventeenth century.
Instead of his usual spot, this evening he sat at a remote corner table opposite Lord Arlington, a man known for his deep connections with the local authorities—and even deeper pockets.
“Arlington,” Richard began as he swirled the brown liquid in his tumbler. “Is there any news to report about my brother and sister-in-law? I trust you have been working on this and reaching out to your contacts, as we had previously discussed?”
Arlington shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he gathered his thoughts. Richard expected that he had not planned to run into the duke, judging by the way he avoided eye contact and nervously swirled his glass.
He took a hearty sip from his brandy snifter and began. “The authorities apprehended some other bandits who were known to raid that area, Your Grace. They’re unsavory chaps who have been an issue for some time. They were known to associate with the men convicted of the crime last year,” he said as he scratched the back of his head nervously.
“And what do you think? Were they a part of the plan? I feel there is so much more to this than meets the eye,” Richard stated almost breathlessly, the idea of unraveling the final pieces of the puzzle a balm for his aching head.
“No, we do not think they were capable of something like that. They lack the acumen for that work. It’s more of an opportunity to ascertain information… further leads have not surfaced just yet … but the authorities are confident they can work them over to learn something… once they sober up, that is.”
“Come again, Arlington?” Richard pressed, impatient now as he began to sense that the conversation would be anything but fruitful. “What is the status of the investigation at this presentmoment? We know with Anna’s most expensive jewelry left behind in the carriage that this was not the work of mere thieves looking for a prize,” he growled.
Arlington considered his response carefully as Richard signaled for another round of drinks, as he would not let him get off easily.
“As it stands now,” Arlington swallowed, downing the last of the glass. “No new evidence. No activity to suggest anything else. I’ve had to do a lot of work to get them to continue to look at this case, with the bandits having confessed to the crime. I can understand your suspicions about this, and believe me, I share them, but?—”
Richard’s frustration boiled over as he slammed his glass hard on the table. “That’s it? That’s all you have? After what I’ve offered, all you can come up with is the same passing bandits?”
He leaned forward as his eyes burned into Arlington’s.
“Is that really all you have? Because I need more. Much more. Something ofvalue. Whoever orchestrated this, they will pay, and to that end, I will pay whatever it costs to get that. I need the truth.”
He took a steadying breath and pressed his fingers harder around the glass, his knuckles growing white.
“Since you’ve already wasted enough time, it’s best I pursue this matter myself. Surely you have connections, Arlington. Everyone in London knows this. Men of influence. Men whoknowthings. I need their names. Don’t you understand? I cannot rest until this has been resolved.”
Arlington recoiled slightly as Richard’s intensity pulsated between them.
“Your Grace, I understand your concerns. Truly, I do. But there’s nothing more to pursue at this time, I can assure you of that, with all my honor. Unless new evidence emerges, or someone steps forward…” He trailed off, his gaze darting away from Richard toward the exit.
Richard leaned forward, needing—damnit—needing this man to understand. His hand moved to the decanter between them, not in anger but desperation. Still, his grip was too forceful, and the crystal gave a faint crack as it knocked against the rim of his glass.
He poured without finesse. Brandy splashed over the side and onto the polished wood, pooling darkly. He didn’t care.
“You speak of honor,” Richard said, his voice low, tight. “But what of justice? What of truth?”
He set the decanter down harder than he meant to—not a threat, not truly, but the sound rang too loud, too sharp. Heads turned. Arlington’s shoulders drew tight.
“I… I have a prior engagement,” he stammered as he started to rise abruptly.
Richard slammed his hand on the table, the noise echoing throughout the club as a sudden pause in conversation amplified the acoustics.
The sound made Arlington jump into the air. He scrambled to disappear into the belly of the crowded room, smoke swirling around as men puffed on pipes, and made his way to the door without looking back.
Richard gripped his glass tighter. His knuckles were white with strain, and he downed the remaining brown liquid from his most recent glass. He barely registered that the crystal had begun to crack under the pressure of his strength.
Before it could completely shatter, a familiar voice called to him and broke through the crowd. He was shaken from his frustrations and lifted his head up to take in a most welcome distraction.
“Bit tense in here tonight, isn’t it?” Michael, the Marquess of Hargrave, said, sliding into the seat beside him. “A lot of nefarious dealings between the elite going on, I wager. What’s got you so sour?”
Richard turned to face him, his expression dark but beginning to soften at the sight of his closest friend.
“I’ve concluded that Arlington is utterly useless,” he said curtly as Michael’s smile fell.
