And The Widow Wore Scarlet (Scandalous Sons 1)

Flannery’s groans and grumbles mirrored Damian’s frustration. The Irishman slapped another receipt on top of the discarded pile before frowning and snatching it back again. “Who did you say Scarlett was dining with tonight?”

Damian’s head shot up. “Lady Rathbone. Why?”

“This one here bears the same name.” Flannery handed Damian the note. “But it’s an old receipt, twenty years or more.”

The note bore a date, although the last two numerals were hard to decipher. It could be 1801 or 1807. Either way, Christopher Rathbone owed the sum of twenty thousand pounds, and Jack Jewell has signed off the debt as paid. On the reverse, Christopher Rathbone had written a declaration transferring guardianship of his cargo to Jack Jewell.

Cargo? Crates of silk, cotton or tea?

And guardianship, not ownership?

It seemed odd.

“What do you know of Christopher Rathbone?” Damian asked.

“Nothing at all. Twenty years ago, I lived in Kilkenny.”

They continued reading the other receipts and dockets but found nothing of interest. Still, Damian’s thoughts returned to Christopher Rathbone. He could hardly bombard the Rathbones with questions. However, there was one person in the ton who kept abreast of the gossip. Perhaps the marquis knew something about the character who had traded cargo for vowels. An exchange so important Jack Jewell had kept the receipt in a case until the day he died.

“As there is nothing else to be done here, I might pay my father a visit.” The marquis would no doubt hide his shock, for Damian had only ever called on the man once. And that was to hurl vile abuse a mere week after his mother’s death. “The marquis makes it his business to keep abreast of society’s affairs.”

Suspicion flared in Flannery’s green eyes. “So you think this might have something to do with the attacks on Scarlett?”

Damian shrugged. “Who can say? But it is too much of a coincidence to ignore.”

“Take the note with you. Speak to Scarlett. Jack may have mentioned this Rathbone fellow at some time.” Flannery pushed out of the chair. “I’ll send O’Donnell to watch Miss Steele. While the only man who proved a danger is dead, it pays to be cautious, so it does.”

Damian bid Flannery farewell and was about to leave when the Irishman decided he had something else to say.

“Oh, Mr Wycliff.”

“Yes?”

“A

man who kisses a lady in the street might want to think about marriage.”

* * *

If the Marquis of Blackbeck was shocked, offended or delighted to have his only son escorted into his study, Damian could not tell. At no point during the thirty seconds of silence did a muscle move on the marquis’ face.

“Some people believe books contain the devil’s magic.” The marquis leant back in the chair behind his desk and steepled his long, elegant fingers. The diamonds on his onyx ring glittered in the candlelight. “They speak of fictional stories, of course. Then again, all stories are subjective.”

What was it about his obsession with stories? “As always you speak in riddles when a simple greeting would suffice.”

“Life is abound with puzzling conundrums.”

“Yes, like why you are still intent on fathering a child at your age.” Damian dropped into the sofa flanking the fire. He would not sit opposite his father like a young pup awaiting instruction. “Is temperance not said to be the flower of old age?”

While the marquis appeared the epitome of self-control, clearly it was an illusion.

The marquis arched a neat brow. “I may have graced this world for fifty years, but I am as youthful and as virile as you.”

“Has it not occurred to you that these empty liaisons only please on a superficial level?” Damian realised there was something hypocritical in his statement. A point reinforced when his father’s eyes flashed with mockery.

“An insightful notion, though I am yet to see a sinner preaching to the masses on Sundays.”

Damian deserved that. “I’ll not deny I’ve led a less than moral life. Perhaps that’s because the blood of a transgressor flows through my veins.” He recalled a comment made by Joshua Steele regarding the child he’d fathered out of wedlock. “At any point, did you doubt I was your son?”