“Here, my lord?”
“London society. Lord Caliban could be any of a hundred men. All we know is that he’s wealthy and that he possibly possesses a title. But when the Little Season starts, he may well take part in the activities. I’m considering asking Wolverton to help us discover Caliban’s identity.”
Barton frowned. “I realize Lord Wolverton is a close friend of yours, but he does not strike me as the sort of man who cares a fig about anything but-” He came to a stammering halt, his features coloring at his boldness.
“But his own pleasures?” Lucian finished.
“Yes, my lord. Forgive my bluntness, but can Wolverton really be entrusted with matters of such importance as espying a traitor?”
“Dare can be trusted, believe me. He doesn’t seem serious, but he moves about the ton with ease-goes everywhere, sees everyone. He could help us narrow down the field of suspects at the very least. And while he will doubtless consider it a lark, it may give him a sense of purpose he’s been lacking thus far.”
“Then I suppose it would be wise to employ his assistance,” Barton said, though sounding reluctant.
Lucian bit back a grim smile. This would not be the first time Philip had questioned his unorthodox methods, but they’d been proven right far more often than not.
He saw his visitor to the front entrance, then slowly mounted the stairs, finding it hard to dispel his suddenly bleak mood. The report that the stolen gold was now in French hands was a taunting reminder that he had failed in his duty, that men had died because of his negligence while he was off seeing to his own personal affairs, acquiring a bride…
Tearing off his cravat angrily, Lucian entered his bedchamber, then came to a halt, remembering that bride. The doors that connected their apartments were ajar, with soft lamplight coming through.
To his surprise, he found Brynn in her sitting room, still fully dressed, as if she had purposefully waited up for him.
When she looked up from her book, her eyes met his, giving him the same jolt of sexual excitement as always. Yet the emerald brilliance was more subdued than usual, her wary gaze questioning.
“I trust the news was not too bad?” she murmured.
Here was a chance to extend their intimacy, Lucian knew. Yet he hesitated, his instincts at war with his longings.
On the one hand, if Brynn understood the reasons for his dark moods and his necessary absences, she would likely be more yielding toward him. She was already softening a finite degree, Lucian could feel it. But he couldn’t totally ignore the possibility that she might be involved with her brother’s nefarious activities. If so, he would be taking a dangerous risk to say anything at all. Sharing information with the enemy could be deadly.
Are you my enemy, Brynn?
Still, he could sound her out about her knowledge without divulging any crucial details.
“Bad enough,” he answered, keeping his tone even.
He settled in the wing chair across from her, casually stretching his long legs out before him. “A shipment of stolen contraband was recently smuggled to France.”
“Contraband?” Her eyebrows rose politely as she waited for an explanation.
“This isn’t the usual trafficking in black-market goods, but gold belonging to the British government. For some months now a band of smugglers has been stealing shipments of gold bullion and clandestinely transporting it to France.”
“Why France?” Brynn frowned, looking genuinely perplexed, Lucian noted with keen interest.
“Because Boney needs gold to fund his armies. French paper currency has been virtually worthless for years.” Lucian felt his mouth twist humorlessly. “These thefts are doubly galling. Not only does it deprive our government of the gold needed to pay our troops and allies, which is vital to Britain’s war effort, but Boney uses it to finance their slaughter.”
She digested this intelligence in thoughtful silence.
“This smuggling ring is particularly vicious,” Lucian continued. “They don’t hesitate to kill to achieve their ends.” He gave Brynn a pointed glance. “You grew up in Cornwall. Surely you must be familiar with the Free Trade.”
Her lashes lowered over her striking eyes. “A little. Most families there are involved in some fashion. It is a way of life.”
“Well, we have no good leads as to the perpetrators or their leader. Perhaps your brother could advise me on how to go about searching.”
“My brother?” she asked cautiously.
“Sir Grayson seems a savvy sort. He might have knowledge that could lead us to apprehend the gold smugglers.” At her wary expression, Lucian offered a slight smile. “I’m not interested in ending the livelihood of your fellow Cornishmen, Brynn. Only in keeping the gold out of French hands. If we hope to stop the bloodshed and put an end to the war, these smugglers must be caught.”
She suddenly looked troubled, distracted even. Lucian felt a sinking weight in his heart.