The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

McNally backed up quickly, his hands spread in front of him. “All right, all right. I remember now. It was in the spring. May, I think. A lovely time, really. Young Carrington came to me and asked me to perform one of my special marriage ceremonies. I agreed, since that is my business, and he paid me sixty pounds, my going rate when the young man in question has very rich and celebrated relatives.

“I did not meet the young lady until the day of the wedding. She was quite young, very fresh and very scared, but young George diddled her as well as any of the other young scoundrels I’ve ever dealt with. He soothed her and kissed her nose and told her that it was the best thing for them to do, the only thing for them to do. Did she not love him? Did she not want to be with him? Truly, my lord, young Carrington was quite good at it.” McNally paused a moment and poured himself a hefty brandy. “Gentlemen?”

Both nodded. Rohan said, “Continue.” He thought his heart would both break and be torn asunder. His youngest brother George, so serious, such a scholar—such a damnable rotter.

“Well, as I was saying,” McNally went on after he’d given each of them a glass of brandy, “the young lady was scared, but she was excited too. What never ceases to amaze me is the ignorance, the stupidity of these young women. But this one had at least the beginnings of some wit. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old, scarce out of the schoolroom. And she was indeed a lady, not some flight o’ fancy a young man could pay for. No, this one was a lady, no coy protestations from her, and that is why I remember the whole thing so well. Because of her. She had no notion of what was really entailed in getting married, but still, she asked me about having bans read. Wasn’t that required? I gave her all sorts of nonsense answers that I’d developed over the years, quite fluent arguments, actually. She appeared satisfied. But then, just before the brief ceremony, she asked if it was legal, since neither she nor young Carrington had parental consent. Neither was of age.

“This is a more difficult question, as you can imagine. But between us, young Carrington and I soothed her fears. I remember that he lied extremely well. I do believe, upon reflection, that I might have felt a brief stab of remorse for that young lovely.”

Then he shrugged and poured himself more brandy. “Actually, I lost remorse many years ago. A man has to live, perhaps with just a bit of pleasure occasionally. I am not greedy. Ah, but she was a sweet young creature. Perhaps, my lord, you will tell me what happened to her? I know that your younger brother—her supposed husband—drowned nearly a year ago. A very unfortunate accident that. I proffer my condolences. What became of her? Or did he simply leave her once he’d had his fill of her? Many young men do that, you know. She did come to you, did she not? She did want something, didn’t she?”

“I have already told you that is none of your affair. Now, what I want to know is about the men who accompanied my brother that day.” It was a stab in the dark, but he was right. McNally was nodding.

“Men,” McNally repeated, then tossed down the rest of his brandy. “I remember that they weren’t as youthful as young Carrington. No, they were perhaps five or so years older. They were dressed properly enough, but young George dismissed them before the young lady appeared. I remember I wondered about them at the time, who they were, and all that. Obviously they were friends of his.”

“What were their names?”

“Surely, my lord, you can’t expect me to—”

McNally moaned when Rohan twisted his arm behind his back again. “Their names,” Rohan said softly into McNally’s ear. “I really don’t want to have to ask you again.”

“Oh, my God, how am I to remember their names?” He groaned, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He looked toward Viscount Derencourt, but that damned gentleman was sitting back on the settee, sipping his brandy, swinging his leg, as indolent as a snake sleeping in the sun. “All right.” His voice was breathless. He hated it, but he knew when a man was serious. “I would prefer not to tell you anything about them because they are dangerous men. They would kill without hesitation if it gained them what they wanted. I swear that I had no idea why they were with young Carrington.”

“Their names.”

“They were Lambie Lambert and Theodore Micah, strange names, both of them. Into all sorts of foul activities, they were. One saw them wherever there was wickedness afoot. They seemed on the best of terms with your brother. I will tell you this, though—if your brother had dealings with them, then it wasn’t good. They are scoundrels, as I said. Young George didn’t have their years of wickedness under his belt. No, he wouldn’t have had a chance with those men.”

“And you’re not a scoundrel?”

“No, not in the same way. Either of them could slip a stiletto into a man’s heart before he could draw a breath. A man who could do that is not a man I ever wish to deal with.”

“Yes, you’re a regular saint, aren’t you, McNally? You ruin young ladies.”

“She did write you, didn’t she? But that’s odd. It’s been nearly a year. Why did she wait so long?”

“She didn’t write to me.” Rohan released the man’s arm. McNally took a step back, rubbed his shoulder, shook his arms, slugged down the rest of his brandy. Finally, his wits more gathered together than not, he said, “Then why are you here? How do you know of all this? Why do you care about these men?”

“That,” Phillip Mercerault said, as he rose, stretching lazily and slowly, like a man who’s just made love to a woman, “is none of your business. Rohan, are you satisfied?”

“Not just yet. Were there any other men you ever saw with my brother? Not fellow students—men.” As he spoke, he looked lovingly at McNally’s arm.

“No. Well, perhaps there was one other. I swear to you, my lord, at first I did not know this one. He was standing in the shadows.”

“You said you didn’t at first recognize him. But you did at some point. Well, who was he?”

McNally frowned, appearing to be deep in thought. He poured more brandy, but he didn’t drink it. “It was some time after I’d married young Carrington to the girl. I was in one of the bookstores on High Street—you know the sort, my lords—all the students frequent them. The sort that carries very old manuscripts, some even original editions from the sixteenth century. I remember seeing young Carrington saunter into one of those old bookstores. I was meeting a friend at the same store and followed him in, without guile, you understand. Well, he met this man, this shadowy man I couldn’t begin to describe to you. He was in a recess of the shop, well hidden. They spoke quietly together, at least ten minutes.

“I was finished with my business, but something about the two of them, well, it quite held my attention. There was a whiff of no good in the air. Then this man buffeted young Carrington on the shoulder, then he left, head down, hat pulled low, but I recognized him.”

“Come,” Rohan said, his patience shredded now. “Stop this game of yours. Who was this man? What did he look like, this shadow man you saw clearly?”

“Very well, my lord. He looked very much like young Carrington,” McNally said finally, and there was sadness in his voice and a great weariness. “You have another brother, don’t you, my lord?”

Rohan didn’t move. Everything in him froze. He had no ready words, no thought, nothing, save this vast emptiness that held nothing alive, just this voice and darkness.

“Yes, he does, as you very well know, McNally,” Phillip Mercerault said, rising. He strode quickly to them. “Who was he, dammit?”

“He was Tibolt Carrington,” McNally said. “But who cares, my lord? Two brothers meet each other. What mystery is this? There is surely no mystery. They are brothers. They meet. They talk together, then one of them leaves.”