The only obvious difference between the two men was that Roscoe wore his dark hair in a close crop, while Dalziel’s sat in elegant waves about his head.
Watching the pair take stock of each other, Christian hid a wry grin. “I believe you haven’t previously met. Dalziel. Neville Roscoe.”
After an instant’s hesitation, both inclined their heads, the action eerily similar.
Roscoe transferred his attention to Justin. “And this, I take it, is Lord Justin Vaux.”
Justin politely inclined his head.
Roscoe didn’t offer to shake hands; he waved them to the three substantial chairs set before the desk.
Christian knew Roscoe’s history. He’d appeared in London about a decade earlier, and had made his fortune much as Randall had, although in Roscoe’s case he’d had no truck with secrecy—that wasn’t his style. The other difference was that, while Randall had worked to come up in the world, Roscoe had patently, and very deliberately, stepped down from whatever his base within the aristocracy was to run a string of select gambling hells. He was a superb card player, was known to have won fortunes, yet rarely lost more than modest amounts. Even by the ton’s jaded standards, he was a gamester extraordinaire. Yet although he was now very wealthy, rather than
attempt to rejoin the ton—something he most likely could do with reasonable ease—he continued to eschew society. Indeed, he lived a very private life.
One of the few concessions he made to his true station was his surroundings; he lived in luxury, and the way he moved within the elegance of his house verified beyond doubt that that was, indeed, the milieu to which he’d been born.
He sat as they did, then arched his brows. “And how may I help you, gentlemen?”
“At this stage,” Christian replied, “we’re interested in information about the proposed sale of the Orient Trading Company. We’ve been led to believe you were hoping to be the buyer.”
Roscoe’s eyes were watchful. “And what’s your interest in the sale?”
“I’m acting for Lady Letitia Randall née Vaux, Randall’s widow.” Christian waved at Justin. “Lord Vaux is here as her surrogate.”
Roscoe’s gaze flicked to Justin. “The one with a warrant sworn against him for Randall’s murder?” His gaze shifted to Dalziel. “But of course, you’d know that.”
“Indeed,” Dalziel replied. “We also know someone else murdered Randall.”
Roscoe’s brows rose. That was news to him.
“We’re currently pursuing the avenue,” Christian smoothly went on, “that Randall was murdered because of the proposed sale.”
Roscoe met his eyes, then dropped all pretense of nonchalance; leaning his forearms on the desk, eyes narrowing, he was suddenly all business. “If that’s the case, obviously the murderer wasn’t me.”
Christian inclined his head. “Just so. But we need to learn all we can about the proposed sale in order to identify those most affected—at present there’s possibilities aplenty as to who might actually have done the deed.”
Roscoe’s gaze turned inward.
They waited.
“First,” he eventually said, his gaze lowering to fix on his hands, clasped on the desk, “I should clarify that, as matters stand, at some point I would, almost certainly, have made an offer for the Orient Trading Company—an offer Randall and his partners wouldn’t have been able to refuse.” Lifting his gaze, Roscoe met Dalziel’s eyes, then looked at Christian. “Randall and the others had worked diligently to establish themselves. They’d come a long way.”
“All the way from Hexham,” Christian said.
Roscoe smiled; that had indeed been the information he’d been probing for. “You discovered that, did you?”
“Indeed. And you?” Christian asked.
“Only recently.” Roscoe met Dalziel’s eyes. “I make it a point of learning all I can about those I propose to do business with.”
“So you approached Randall?” Dalziel continued the interrogation.
Roscoe shook his head. “I would have eventually—there’s many who’ll tell you that. But I didn’t have to make overtures. Randall came to me—or rather, he let it be known in the right quarters that he and his partners were interested in selling the Orient Trading Company, lock, stock, and barrel.”
“There were other potential buyers,” Dalziel remarked.
“True, but none with pockets as deep as mine. And I was prepared to pay well—acquiring the company was always a part of my long-term strategy.”