Page 3 of One Dangerous Desire
The inquiry agent settled into a chair opposite Rex’s desk and cast him a dubious look, one bronze brow winging high on his forehead.
“What?” Rex sank into his chair and waited for a bit of the free wisdom Sullivan always offered with the information Rex actually paid for.
“Gentlemen do not apologize to their staff.”
He sounded so bloody righteous when he said it. His pomposity was only tolerable because Rex knew Sullivan had come from nothing, as he had. He was also the single man in London from whom Rex kept few secrets. There was little use. Jack could uncover any man’s mysteries. It was what Rex employed him to do.
“Judging by your list of what gentlemen should and shouldn’t do, all the gents you know must be real bastards.”
The detective let out a rare bark of laughter. “Quite so, Mr. Leighton.” Then he turned thoughtful. “Yet there is a kind of comfort in rules and discipline. Tyrants have their uses.”
Before the man could indulge his tendency for maudlin reflection, Rex jumped in with a lighter tone, hoping to steer them back to business matters.
“I have no desire to be a tyrant, and I’ll apologize to whomever I damn well please. Now tell me what you’ve learned about the Duke of Ashworth.”
A maid carried in a tray of tea and coffee, edging it carefully onto the wide expanse of the desk while Sullivan reached into his inner jacket pocket and extracted a journal.
Rex lifted a brimming cup to his lips, pausing to inhale the brew’s rich aroma before taking the first scalding sip.
“He is still investing freely. The man has more wealth than he knows what do with—”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Rex reached for a stack of newspaper clippings and sifted them through his fingertips like slender black-and-white snowflakes. “I’ve been tracking his investments for the last year. He risks funds liberally, pouncing on every newfangled venture that comes his way.” He collected the clippings and rebuilt a haphazard pile. “What I need from you is what’s not here in print. Does he have electricity installed in his London or country residences?”
“No.” Sullivan flipped to a page in his journal. “However, he did attend a gala to celebrate the lighting of the Crystal Palace with ninety arc lamps.”
“Then the hotel will intrigue him.” Rex locked his gaze on a blueprint of his hotel he’d had framed and hung above the fireplace. Firelight flickered over the image, and he could envision electric lights twinkling with even greater vibrancy in his new hotel. His soon-to-be home. Not a rented castle or a fine townhouse designed to suit someone else’s taste. Not some elaborate half-empty heap in the country.Hishome. The whole thing would run on electricity, from top to bottom. Now he just needed to obtain the piece of London real estate he’d long had his eye on and provide funds for initial construction costs. Most of his money was tied up in investments, many of which had yet to pay out. But he didn’t wish to wait any longer to break ground on the Pinnacle. He’d need an investor like Ashworth to launch the project.
“There’s a snag.” Sullivan sipped at his tea much more daintily than Rex would ever bother drinking anything.
“I don’t like snags.”
“You won’t like this one either, though I may be able to suggest a solution.” The fact man flipped to another page in his journal. Rex had come to think of the thing as a kind of Pandora’s box that held, if not the evils men did, then at least the secrets they wished to keep hidden. “After looking a bit deeper into his finances, it’s clear he only invests after he’s formed a relationship.”
“A relationship?” The concept sounded murky, entangling.
“The man gives money to friends.”
“Friends?” Rex scooted back and gripped each arm of his chair until the leather squeaked under his fingertips. “That’s ridiculous. Business has nothing to do with friendship. The men I’ve counted as friends would have robbed me blind, given half the chance.” Friendships were about survival, mutual benefit, or the means to an end. And they involved risk. Privacy was difficult to maintain when you allowed an acquaintance to grow, and Rex had secrets to keep.
Sullivan cleared his throat. “I’m well aware of your views on friendship, sir. May I suggest an alternative?”
Rex spun his finger in the air, encouraging the man to continue. Sullivan had never been so coy when delivering his reports. He employed the man to collect facts and didn’t expect to have to cajole them out of him.
“The duke has an unmarried daughter.”
Interesting.“Tell me more.”
“She’s . . . ” Sullivan looked down at the pages open on his lap and then closed the journal with a slap, as if it contained none of the answers he needed. Or he’d memorized everything he intended to say. “Bookish.”
“A bluestocking, you mean.”
“She is a well-read woman.”
Rex imagined a room lined with books, books on the bedside table, piles of books in the morning room. He’d always been fond of books, especially when he was a child, and they’d seemed as unattainable as precious jewels. “I suppose there are worse things. What else?”
“His Grace’s eldest is a woman of mature years.”
“How old?”
