Darling Beast (Maiden Lane #7)(63)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

He slowed as they came to the end of the corridor, and although Apollo wanted to rush away, he made himself slow as well.

“My father,” the older man said suddenly, “the earl, is a big man. I used to be quite afeard of him as boy. Broad shoulders like a bull, huge hands.” He seemed lost in a not entirely happy memory. “My brother and I did not inherit his frame—much to my father’s chagrin—but I’m told my nephew is at least as large as my father. And, of course, my son George bears him some resemblance.”

He looked at Apollo and there was a sort of frightened question in his eyes.

“Mr. Greaves.”

Both men looked up at the low voice. A servant stood at the other end of the hall, backlit by the window there.

“Ah, Vance,” the older man said. “There you are.” He turned back to Apollo. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Smith?”

“Of course,” Apollo murmured. He watched as his uncle walked to the manservant.

“I hope you have the matter well in hand?” William Greaves asked.

“Just as you ordered, sir, but if I may…” Vance leaned toward his master, murmuring something in his ear. As he did so, he turned his head just enough for his face to be revealed. Vance had a port-wine stain over much of his left cheek and chin.

Apollo stepped back, merging into the shadows of the corridor, his heart beating fast. He’d seen that face.

Four years ago in a tavern in Whitechapel.

He waited as the two men disappeared into Greaves’s study before slipping back to the breakfast room. It was simply too much of a coincidence for his uncle to have in his employ a man who’d been in the tavern that night. Was he an assassin? Had his uncle sent Vance that night to do such ugly work?

When he reentered the breakfast room, the guests were still dining. Quietly he slipped back into his seat beside the Duke of Montgomery.

“Did you learn anything?” His Grace asked casually as he buttered a piece of toast.

“In the necessary?” Apollo knit his brows as if confused.

“Come now,” the duke said. “Don’t prevaricate with a master like myself.”

He crunched into his toast.

Apollo sighed. He didn’t trust Montgomery, but at the moment the man was his only ally. “William Greaves’s valet was there at the tavern—the night before the murders.”

Montgomery paused mid-crunch. “You’re sure?”

Apollo gave him a look. “The man has a conspicuous port-wine stain on his face.”

“Ah.” The duke swallowed. “Then it seems to me that we ought to find out how long the man has been in William Greaves’s employ.”

“How—?”

But before Apollo could finish his question the duke had leaned forward over the table. “I say, George, how long has your father had that valet of his?”

“Three years,” George Greaves replied slowly, looking between the duke and Apollo.

Apollo swore to himself and hunched over his plate of eggs.

The duke, naturally, wasn’t perturbed at all. “Strange. Saw a man with a birthmark just like his in Cyprus two years ago.”

Cyprus? Apollo glanced up casually to see if George Greaves had bought this ridiculous story.

Judging by his suspicious look, he had not.

Apollo sighed as the other guests chattered around them. “What the hell was that?” he hissed at Montgomery.

“A question.” The duke reached for another piece of toast.

“Did you mean to alert him to our investigation on purpose?” Apollo growled.

“Yes and no.” Montgomery shrugged. “I’m bored. Nothing’s happening. Sometimes it’s best to send the fox into the chicken house to see if a snake slithers out.”

Apollo glared. “You know nothing at all about chickens.”

“Don’t I?” Montgomery smiled winsomely as he slathered butter on his new piece of toast. “If you think that, then perhaps you really ought not to be taking my advice on poultry, hmm?”

Well, and that was the question, wasn’t it? Apollo thought as he took a bitter sip of coffee. Should he be trusting the duke with anything at all?

He glanced again at his cousin, blithely drinking his tea. George had said that Vance hadn’t been in William’s employ four years ago. But that didn’t mean William couldn’t have known Vance at the time of the murders. And, of course, George might’ve simply lied. Perhaps father and son had acted together. After all, it was to George’s benefit as well should Apollo be hanged.

Apollo shook his head, taking a bite of coddled eggs. If only he had concrete evidence against his uncle.

That decided him.

He had to take another chance at his uncle’s study—tonight.

APOLLO WAS IN her rooms again when Lily returned that night. She should have been outraged at his presumption, but all she felt was happiness tinged with sadness.

She doubted that they’d last much beyond this house party. He’d find the murderer and justice and return to his life, she was sure of it. Apollo had a sort of calm resolve that she’d seen before in men who got what they wanted. He was born to be an earl and he would be someday.

An actress had no place in such a life.

As the days of the party passed, so too did their time together.

“You look pensive,” he said quietly, holding his hand out from where he lay on the bed. He wore only his shirt and breeches.

She went to him without protest. Why pretend when they really had so little time left together?

He gathered her against him, her back to his front, and began plucking the pins from her coiffure. “Have I told you how much I admire your hair?”

“It’s just plain brown,” she murmured.

“Plain, lovely brown,” he replied, raising a lock he’d freed to his face.

“Are you smelling my hair?” she asked in amusement.

“Yes.”

“Silly man,” she said lightly.

“Smitten man,” he corrected, spreading her hair over her shoulders. “I’ve been watching you today.”

“In between escorting Miss Royle about the garden?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Yes. I’d rather it’d been you, but that wouldn’t’ve been prudent.” He frowned down at the strands of her hair caught between his fingers. “Or, perhaps, safe.”

She stilled. “What do you mean?”

“My uncle commented that I looked like my grandfather today, and then later Montgomery said some rather unwise words to my cousin.”