“I’m sure we’ll all get the chance to work with you, Miss Sands.” Sloane had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, but the man sought every opportunity to torment and tease.
Dante wondered how he would fare working with someon
e who knew so much about him. Someone who could elicit a host of odd reactions. “Indeed, one wonders why we’ve all been called here today.”
Dante had been summoned to explain his actions.
Were the others summoned to bear witness?
Lucius Daventry moved to stand near the fireplace and clasped his hands behind his back. He faced Dante. “You may be an agent of the Order, but you’re my friend. For that reason, I hope you understand what I’m about to do.”
What the devil?
Dante’s throat constricted. Was Daventry about to banish him from the Order? The rules were clear. No lies. No secrets. No personal vendettas.
Evidently fearing the worst, Ashwood sat forward. “We’ve all used vices to banish the demons. We’ve all seen things that make it hard to sleep at night. Fighting at the White Boar is merely D’Angelo’s way of ridding his mind of harrowing images.”
“I’m sure he’ll agree to find other methods of dealing with his trauma,” Cole added, making his plea to the judge.
Dante could not recall when he’d last felt a warm glow of affection. He couldn’t think about his mother without a sudden pang of grief, and he’d spent his formative years with a grandmother who often grew tired of seeing his face. But these men were like brothers, as close as kin. Being expelled from the Order would be the second greatest tragedy of his life.
“I should have come to you,” Dante said, knowing he only had himself to blame for his situation. “But I live to catch the devil who killed my parents. Vengeance is all-consuming.”
He would die for his cause.
Nothing would deter him from his plan.
But for the first time, the thought of not being part of the Order, not seeing these men, never knowing the taste of Miss Sands’ lips, made him question his reasoning.
Daventry nodded. “I understand. Nothing I say or do will stop you in your pursuit of justice.” He turned his attention to those seated in the room. “Which is why I am assigning you all to the case of finding the fiend who murdered D’Angelo’s parents.”
Cursed saints!
Shock rendered Dante speechless.
A mix of emotions warred in his chest. Relief and anger battled like deadly enemies. What right did Daventry have to assume control? Dante would find the killer, would deliver the punishment. He’d witnessed the crime, suffered the loss, had his life torn apart. But it was a mammoth task for a man on his own. And if Dante died, who would play the avenger then? Miss Sands?
I intend to find the culprit and punish him.
The lady was not as strong as she would have people believe. In his absence, who would come to her aid? There were many ways a villain might silence a woman, some worse than death.
“D’Angelo will lead the investigation with Miss Sands’ help,” Daventry added. “You will do as he instructs, follow any potential leads.”
Relief threw the finishing blow, relegating Dante’s anger to the dust. “I’ve spent years searching for evidence, but to no avail.”
Sloane cleared his throat. “But Miss Sands has her father’s notes.” He took a moment to inform Ashwood and Cole of the facts surrounding Miss Sands’ connection to the case. From the look on Daventry’s face, he already knew. “We will examine her father’s findings and begin there.”
Miss Sands shuffled in her seat. “I’m afraid I must offer a minor objection. Should Mr D’Angelo not read the notes first? He may need time to process the information, and we cannot discount his personal and emotional interest in the case.”
Lord, this woman did not need to strip off her clothes to get Dante’s attention. She stirred him to life with nothing but her thoughtful comments. Indeed, she might fool a man into thinking she cared.
“D’Angelo?” Daventry prompted.
“I agree with Miss Sands and wish to see what’s written about my parents before we strip her father’s theories apart.”
“Mr D’Angelo may call at Howland Street and collect the notes,” Miss Sands said. “Then he can plan a strategy, decide what information to use and what to discard.”
“Agreed.” Daventry moved to the low table and poured coffee into a china cup. “D’Angelo, you will call at Howland Street today once you’ve given Sir Malcolm your statement.” He sat next to Sloane and sipped his beverage. “Now, perhaps it’s best we all hear what happened with Babington and why a case of fraud has some connection to the death of your parents.”