Page 58 of When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord
Seated in a wing chair with his legs stretched out before him, Benedict was uncharacteristically quiet. Had he been as stunned by Harold Stockwell’s drunken confession as the others?
Professor Stockwell’s oldest son had spoken of a tomb. Of a legend. Had Harold set his father on a quest for the map both Benedict and Rooney pursued?
After Harold had blurted out his grief-stricken statement of guilt, Benedict rushed to her side, appearances be damned. As Raymond Stockwell led his brother from the room, seeking to minimize the damage inflicted upon his celebration, Benedict escorted Alex from the ballroom. By the time they made it to the lobby, she was shaking like the leaves of a sapling on a stormy day.
He’d held her hand, his touch tender and unabashedly gentle. He’d soothed her grief and the shock that shook her to the core. The professor’s death was still so very fresh. The brutal wound had not even come close to scabbing over, much less beginning to heal. His son’s uncensored display of grief had been nearly unbearable.
She knew, without doubt, that Harold Stockwell’s words had affected Benedict more than he’d allowed himself to show. Now, he sat stiff-backed and granite-jawed, immersed in his thoughts.
“Nelson’s presence was a bit of a surprise,” Sophie said, taking a sip of tea. “I certainly had not expected to lay eyes on the likes of him.”
Alex turned to Sophie. “I may have encountered the man before tonight, but I couldn’t quite place his face. What do you know about him?”
“He’s suspected to be involved in a smuggling ring operating out of Liverpool,” Gavin Stanwyck spoke up. “A lucrative, dirty business.”
“The chap is a most unsavory character,” Sophie went on. “Nelson owns a legitimate business, a curiosity shop of sorts, but it’s believed to be nothing more than a front for his other ventures. He is suspected of trafficking in stolen gems. But there’s not enough evidence to arrest and detain him.”
“It seems odd that Stockwell would invite a man like that to his celebration.”
Sophie took another sip of tea. “Raymond Stockwell needed money for his theatrical enterprises. Before his death, Sir Lawrence Bond had put up a large sum toward Stockwell’s first drama. Rumor has it the venture was a losing proposition, wiping out Bond’s investment. After that, the showman steered clear of Stockwell’s productions. But someone has financed his plays. Nelson is known to have advanced at least a part of the required funds.”
Benedict turned to Sophie. “What interest could Nelson have in Stockwell’s maudlin tragedies?”
“Now that, Lord Marlsbrook, is anyone’s guess,” Sophie said. “I’ve wondered if Stockwell might have gotten his hands on some evidence, some leverage he’s employed to extort funds from Nelson. But there is no proof.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Benedict commented. “His character is questionable at best.”
“So unlike his father,” Alex added. “His lack of grief is appalling.”
“Everyone mourns in their own way,” Sophie said. “I am curious about the matter of an inheritance, since he’s not the elder brother…he is not the heir.”
“True,” Benedict said. “But Professor Stockwell cared deeply for his son, despite the rift between them. I suspect Raymond will inherit funds in addition to those that pass to the elder son.”
“The agents have not yet uncovered that information.” Stanwyck focused his cool-eyed gaze on Benedict. “Stockwell spoke of a map. If it’s intended to be a secret, it has been poorly kept. What do you know about it?”
Benedict met the inquiry without hesitation. “Stockwell insisted he had given it to Alexandra.”
Alex shot him a little scowl. “As I’ve told you, I have no idea where that map might be.”
Gavin turned to her. “Could the professor have concealed it, perhaps within a book or another document?”
“I suppose it’s possible. But I have no notion of where it might be. Stockwell entrusted me with his research. During my last expedition to Egypt, I met with the professor. He placed his notes and an artifact in my care—the Pharaoh’s Sun.”
“Bloody hell,” Stanwyck muttered.
“The antiquity itself has little value. It’s rather ordinary, really,” she said. “Nothing that would be of interest to a typical thief.”
“Somehow, the Pharaoh’s Sun is connected to the map.” Benedict rubbed his neck as if it ached. “Stockwell was convinced the map would be worthless without it.”
Sophie wandered to the window and peered into the darkness beyond their residence. “It is late, and this has all been quite difficult for Alex.” Turning back to face them, her attention flickered to Benedict. “As well as you, Lord Marlsbrook. It has been a trying time, indeed. Might I suggest we begin a search for the document in the morning?”
“An excellent suggestion,” Benedict agreed.
“Gavin and I would like you both to be our guests tonight. We would sleep far better knowing you were safe.”
“Thank you, but that will not be necessary,” Alex replied. “Colton has arranged to have my townhouse under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Her Majesty’s palace could not be under better guard.”
“You are quite certain?” Sophie pressed gently.
