Vexing the Viscount

“You do?” Braden’s heart pounded in his chest. “Is he alive?”

“As of last night he was, my lord. There was a scuffle at the Red Door between Mr. Tavers and Mr. Chambers. Poor Mr. Chambers took the worst of it, from all accounts.”

“Do you know where Jonathon is now?”

Mr. Brady shook his head. “He was seen walking down Maddox Street, but that was all we have. At least we know for certain that he is in town.”

And he was alive. “Do you know what the fight was about?”

“Mr. Tavers accused Mr. Chambers of cheating. A few of the men agreed that they had seen Chambers cheat, but the man would not back down.”

“Thank you, Brady. I will go there tonight to see if anyone knows anything.”

Brady rose and nodded. “Good day, my lord. As soon as I know of anything else, I will let you know.” He hesitated a long moment. “Might I ask a question, my lord?”

“Of course.”

“How did you find her?”

Braden smiled. “Do not feel badly, Brady. It was purely by chance. She had been with a new friend for a fortnight and never left the house. You would not have found her. I only found her because we were at the same ball.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Relief flooded the man’s face. “Good day.”

Braden sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. The Red Door. He should have known Jonathon would turn up there. And he should have told Adams what was happening with his brother. Braden was still troubled that the co-owner of the hell hadn’t notified him of his brother’s exploits. Adams knew he was concerned about Jonathon.

“Nelson?”

“Coming, my lord.” Nelson’s quick footsteps echoed down the hall. He stood at the threshold.

“Is she up yet?”

“Yes, my lord. She had a visitor, Lady Eldridge, who left a few minutes ago. She is eating luncheon in the dining room.”

Braden’s lips twitched, wondering how her stomach felt this afternoon. “I suppose I should join her.”

He found her all but slumped over at the table. Her hands shook as she sipped her tea and by the looks of her mostly full plate, she hadn’t eaten much of anything. “Good afternoon,” he said in a booming voice.

“Shh,” she said, holding her finger to her lips. “There is no need to be so loud.”

“Don’t tell me you have a headache.” Braden sat down with a grin.

“Do be quiet, my lord.” She stared at her tea, but made no move to drink it. “I forgot to ask last night if your arm has healed well.”

“It has, thanks to your excellent ministration.”

She started to nod and then stopped. “You are welcome. If you would like me to check it, I will do so.”

“There is no need. So,” he drawled, “are you ready to leave yet?” He had no intention of leaving London right now, but he did intend to put her in his coach and send her back to the estate.

“Not today, I beg of you, my lord.” She looked up at him with dark circles under her eyes.

“I did warn you not to keep drinking all my brandy.”

“Again . . . do be quiet. I realize whose fault this is.” She sipped her tea slowly. “And I will never drink brandy again.”

“Ah, spoken like a truly reformed woman. Perhaps you should go one better and say no spirits at all?”

“Why do you insist on talking when you know I feel dreadful?”