Page 22 of Seducing an Earl under the Mistletoe
Marcus looked around as the two men approached the bar, but before they could near it, Marcus pulled him by the upper arm.
“There,” he said, pointing at a man who was sitting at a secluded table, nursing a glass of spirits in his hand. He was a man weathered by time and the dubious choices of his past, his eyes betraying the weight of a life filled with secrets and betrayals. Arthur wondered if such a man was even to be trusted. But Marcus had told him he was a Bow Street Runner. That alone demanded respect.
Approaching him cautiously, Marcus addressed him first. “Mr. Gregory Punch?”
The man lifted his head. “Who wants to know?”
“I am Marcus Winters. My father, Lord Saltdean, has spoken highly of your uhm…discretion and expertise in these matters.”
“What matters are those?” Gregory Punch was a man who obviously had nothing against wasting his own time but hated when others tried to do the same.
“My father mentioned you once aided a close family member in a…delicate situation,” Marcus added, but that didn’t explain anything. So, Gregory waited, taking another sip of his pale yellow drink. “You see, we need help, and it concerns a lady’s safety. There is also a deeper matter at play, one that could have implications far beyond what meets the eye, but we need an investigator of your expertise to reveal what truly lies beneath the surface.”
Gregory’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of recognition finally crossing his face. “Go on.”
In hushed tones, Marcus and Arthur outlined the broader circumstances—mysterious occurrences, unexplained appearances of shadowy figures, and the unsettling feeling that something nefarious was at play. They emphasized the urgency of their request, highlighting the importance of swift action and vigilance.
Gregory downed his drink before continuing. “I see. This ain’t no ordinary job then. I’ll take the job. There is just a slight matter of payment.”
Arthur threw five guineas on the table. “For starters, this should suffice, I believe.” Gregory seemed to agree as he grabbed the money and pocketed it immediately. “Of course, seeing that this investigation might involve significant risks and it is of great importance to me, you can rest assured that you will be compensated more than fairly for your troubles.”
Gregory nodded again, lifting his hand up in the air. The bartender understood the sign immediately, nodding back.
“You can find us at The Albany,” Marcus added as both men were ready to leave.
Gregory nodded again. “When I have something, I’ll come find you.”
As they leftThe Lion’s Den,the dim light of gas lamps illuminated their path across the street. Arthur could see that there was something heavy on his friend’s mind. He could venture a pretty good guess as to what that something was.
“You weren’t expecting this sort of place?” Arthur asked when they closed the door to his carriage and bid the footman to take them back home.
“Honestly, no,” Marcus shook his head, looking slightly pale. “If these are the sort of individuals he associates with while in London, and these are the circles he frequents…I don’t know what to think of all this. There is so much of my father’s past I don’t know about.”
“The past has a nasty habit of coming back to haunt you,” Arthur observed pensively, as he sat across from his friend. “I’m sure that your father will eventually reveal this part of his life to you, and everything will be clear.”
Arthur believed this only partly. But he sensed that his friend needed to be reassured of it.
“The opera starts soon,” Marcus said, changing the subject, which Arthur welcomed. “But that still gives us enough time to change.”
Arthur shook his head. “I’ll leave you to have fun on your own this evening, old boy.”
“Are you sure?” Marcus wondered. “They say it should be a good one.”
“No, no,” Arthur was determined. “I’ve had too much excitement for one evening. I plan on staying home with a good book and a glass of port.”
“A rather dull evening, if I do say so myself,” Marcus teased his friend. “But I understand.”
***
About three hours later, Arthur had finished reading the latest installment of his guilty pleasure. Unlike the other times, when reading provided him with a satisfying conclusion to the day, he now sat frozen, the words of the serial echoing in his mind. The scene described was uncannily reminiscent of the encounter he had shared with Catherine at the soirée—beneath the mistletoe, their unexpected kiss that had ignited a spark between them. It was as though the author had drawn from real-life events.
His thoughts raced as he considered the implications. Could it be mere coincidence, or was there a deeper connection between Carver Frost’s story and the events that had unfolded in his own life?
The parallels were too striking to be accidental. Was Carver Frost at that ball? And if he was, how on earth did he get the manuscript to his publisher within such a short period of time? Or was it really just a coincidence, because after all, people did kiss accidentally under the mistletoe…
He suddenly jolted in surprise, causing his arm to flail involuntarily and knock over his drink.
“Damnation!” he muttered, looking around in a desperate effort to save the correspondence that had already started to soak up the liquid.
