Were there no limits to this woman’s depravity?
“Not when I’m as selfish as I am morbid.” Lawrence had every intention of escorting Miss Vale back to the hotel, and then he would hunt for that wretch Wincote. “And we have a prior engagement we cannot cancel.”
The woman’s eager smile faded. She tugged on Cavanagh’s arm. “Then it will just have to be the two of us.”
“I’m afraid I must leave, too.” Cavanagh yanked his arm free and stepped away.
“I see.” Mrs Crandall lifted her chin. “It’s rather rude to abandon a party. Next time, I shall have to be more selective when drawing up the guest list.”
Despite Mrs Crandall’s numerous threats to entice them to stay, they escaped the study and were soon back in the carriage heading to Jaunay’s Hotel. Desire threatened to overrule logic, but Lawrence fought the urge to deliver Cavanagh to his house in Jermyn Street in order to spend time alone in a closed carriage with Miss Vale.
The yearning—the guttural pull—was becoming increasingly hard to manage. Particularly when seated opposite and her luscious breasts jiggled whenever the carriage drove over a rut in the road.
“So, it’s fair to assume Wincote is a member of the Brethren,” Cavanagh said. “He named you the victim and pinned the card to your chest as a warning.”
“A warning not to pry.” Lawrence cast his friend a sidelong glance. With Cavanagh’s hungry eyes trained on Miss Vale’s impressive cleavage, he silently berated his mistake in letting the lady sit opposite.
Miss Vale released an anxious sigh. “Did I not say that everyone who gets involved with these men ends up dead in the Thames?”
“Have no fear. It would take the strength of ten men to hold me face down in the water.”
“You’re not invincible.” Miss Vale’s expression remained downcast. “A strong punch is no match against evil cunning.” She huffed. “And so you admit, that in all likelihood, the Brethren murdered both our relatives?”
“I admit I have some suspicions regarding the nature of their deaths.” But what reason would the Brethren have for killing members of their own club?
Atrocious murderer!
The underlined words in Vathek rang in Lawrence’s ears.
Had Vale and Farrow done the unthinkable? Had they taken another man’s life and so received their just deserts?
Betrayed!
Had they betrayed the Brethren?
He should visit his father’s estate in Walton-on-Thames and search the library for a copy of Vathek. Knowing Charles, he would have scoffed at the threat and used the damn book as kindling. But Lawrence did not care to come within a hundred feet of Lord Ranfield. His fathe
r would hurl the same tirade of abuse, bemoan the unfairness of losing his legitimate son and being left with the useless bastard. Lawrence would remind him he should have kept his cock in his drawers and saved them both a lifetime of misery.
No. He would rather press Mr Bradley to reveal what secrets lay in his brother’s copy.
And then there was the nagging question of money.
What reason might a man have for demanding extortionate amounts from his kin? To pay gambling debts. A ransom demand. A blackmailer.
“Layton must be Wincote’s accomplice.” Cavanagh’s voice drew Lawrence from his reverie.
“Mr Layton kept company with Mr Bradley’s brother, who was also a member of this wicked club,” Miss Vale added. “From their strange actions this evening, it is clear both men have something to hide.”
“Clearly, they want to prevent people from discovering more about the club. It cannot have anything to do with the deaths of Vale and Farrow.” Cavanagh had omitted that part of the tale during their meeting with Mrs Crandall. “Mrs Crandall knew only that this was a case of jealousy and spurned love. That a member of the Brethren sent me a threatening note.”
Miss Vale’s curious hum drew his attention to her bow-shaped lips. “They’re shrewd men. They might assume that you saw the mark on your brother’s chest, that you found death by drowning implausible and so are conducting your own investigation. Mrs Crandall confirmed you knew the name of their silly group.” Miss Vale fiddled with her mask. “Might I remove this now?”
“No!” Lawrence snapped. Her sound logic faltered when it came to her safety. “And I think you should always wear a disguise when venturing out with me.”
“A disguise?” Miss Vale’s nose wrinkled. “You mean don a wig and spectacles?”
“Anything that might prevent Wincote from discovering your identity.”