Page 12 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
“I’ve been working with the Bow Street Runners.”
Kit blinked. “The Runners?”
“I’m not officially on the roster. Given my title, my family would prefer to keep things quiet, but I often help on cases, when a gentleman is needed to access certain places or to speak to certain people.”
Kit drank the cup of tea in front of him. Real tea... He hadn’t had that in ages. He finally stood and looked at Darius.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
Darius pushed back his chair. “No further questions regarding my clandestine activities?”
Kit gave a wry smile. “If you wish to tell me about such things, I am more than happy to listen.”
Darius chuckled. “Perhaps another time I shall regale you with my legendary tales. Today we have more pressing matters, like transforming you into a polished peer of the realm.”
The butler met them on the way out of the dining room.
“My lord, you might wish to pay a call to your father’s solicitor and have any necessary paperwork drawn up to formalize your control of his estate. Then I would advise you to visit Lord Lennox and get a sense of your father’s accounts. I have some letters about his estate and investments, but it would be best if you spoke with him directly.”
“Thank you, Palmer.” Kit’s headache was back. He didn’t want to think of accounts, investments, ledgers or anything else that a peer’s life entailed. He just wanted to be left alone, but that was not to be. His path to revenge required him to resume the life taken from him, whether he wanted it or not. Soon all eyes would be on him as the new Earl of Kentwell had returned to England.
* * *
Suzannah saton a stone bench in Hyde Park, an easel and a fresh canvas set up in front of her. Smaller easels were arranged behind her with her finished works on display for sale. Men in fine riding jackets and shiny boots trotted past on glossy-coated horses, doffing their hats to ladies who walked arm in arm with each other, their parasols protecting them from the sun.
Gossip had fluttered like butterflies from the lips of the beau monde all morning. Someone named Darius St. John had been seen out on the town with a mysterious stranger who was more than a little frightening but also intriguing, according to the gossips. The man had set chins wagging all over London.
“I tell you, Maximilian,” one woman said as she and her husband strolled past Suzannah. “It was him, the Hollingsworth boy. The one who stole all those goods from that East India ship—what was it, six or seven years ago?”
The gentleman, Maximilian, frowned, his gray mustache twitching. “You mean Lord Kentwell’s son?”
Kentwell...The name sent a ripple of terror through Suzannah. She craned her head as casually as possible, hoping not to be noticed as the couple moved down the path past her.
“That’s the one. Cecily Robertson swears she saw Kentwell’s son leaving a tailor’s shop on Lark Street in some of the finest clothes a man could wear.”
“Cecily saw him? She’s sure?”
“Yes, quite sure. He was with the Duke of Tiverton,” the woman added, “Darius St. John.”
“By Jove, it could be him, I suppose. Old Kentwell bought him off the noose, and the boy was sent to Australia. That would’ve been about seven years ago. Christ, he must be back to claim his title as the new earl.”
The woman gave a faint gasp, as if the idea was scandalous. “What does that mean?”
“It means he’s a free man. He’ll be able to do whatever he wishes, within the bounds of the law.” The older gentleman glanced about the path as if worried about being overheard. No one saw Suzannah, however. That used to bother her, but in this moment she was relieved that she counted for nothing in this gentleman’s eyes. “What did she say he looked like? I mean, seven years away in such aprimitiveland... He must look dreadful.”
The woman shook her head, eyes wide. “She said he looked...large.”
“Large?” the older man queried in confusion.
“Yes, he was built like a warrior of old, or so Cecily says. She was practically giggling as she mentioned how he looked quite magnificent in his fitted jacket. She also said he looked positively wild. Apparently, he has a beard and long hair. She said he looked quite deliciously terrifying.”
The gentleman mouthed “deliciously terrifying” and other words in bafflement.
“Oh heavens, Max, we should be off or we will be late for dinner.” The woman pulled her husband along, and they resumed their walk.
Suzannah gripped her paintbrush so hard that the slender wooden stick snapped clean in two. She knew that name. Hollingsworth. That was the name of the young man her father had sent to prison.
“How much?”
