She carried his child-even if it was a girl, he didn’t care. Just thinking of it sent a surge of feelings through him, emotions he’d never felt before.
He lifted his gaze to her face, and knew his shields were down, that she could read him like a book. He no longer cared. “Come.” Rising, he held out his hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”
She smiled-a knowing, understanding smile-put her hand in his, and let him draw her to her feet. “As I recall, my lord, I need to teach you more Italian.”
* * *
Two days later, Gyles convened another meeting in a private room at White’s. Devil was there, as were Horace and Waring.
“It’s Walwyn.” Gyles closed the door and waved them to the chairs.
Devil sat. “Your heir once removed?”
Gyles nodded. “Walwyn Rawlings-a cousin some number of times removed. We share a great-grandfather.” Fishing his copy of the family tree from his pocket, he handed it to Devil.
Devil studied it, then frowned. “You’ll need to do something about this principal line-you were an only child, and your father was one of two. And the other was a female.”
“Never mind that. Go back to the next generation.”
“Eight. And before that another eight.” Devil’s frown deepened. “I see what you mean. Branches everywhere.”
Devil handed the paper to Horace. Horace squinted at it. “This is what Henni and your mother have been helping Francesca with.”
Gyles nodded. “And they received help from Lady Osbaldestone and others. I doubt we’d get anything more accurate.”
Horace passed the paper to Waring. “Seems clear enough. Osbert’s your heir, and after him, Walwyn. But why did you want to know that?”
Waring, likewise, looked up inquiringly.
Gyles told them.
“That’s… not comforting.” Horace looked deeply troubled.
“Indeed not.” Waring had taken notes. “It appears that the first attempt was on your life, but subsequently, once the possibility of an heir more definitely arose, the would-be murderer turned his sights on Lady Francesca.”
“Blackguard!” Horace thumped the table. “But it would make sense, I suppose, to remove her first.”
“Indeed.” Gyles cut the thought off. “But now we’re alerted and she’s well guarded, we need to focus on laying this would-be murderer by the heels.”
Devil sat up. “So what do we know of Walwyn Rawlings?”
“He must be about fifty,” Gyles said. “I can only recall meeting him once, about the time of my father’s death.”
Horace nodded. “I remember. He was the black sheep no one wanted to acknowledge, a thoroughly disreputable sort. He’d been shipped off to the Indies. The family thought they’d seen the last of him, but like a bad penny, Walwyn turned up just after your father died.” Consulting the family tree, Horace pointed. “His father, old Gisborne, was still alive then-he sent Walwyn to the right-about. Gisborne sent me a letter warning me to have no truck with Walwyn, that he wasn’t to be trusted.”
Waring wrote steadily. “This Walwyn seems a more likely villain than Mr. Osbert Rawlings, I must say. Do we have a description of Walwyn, any idea where he might be found? Is he married?”
Horace snorted. “Unlikely. According to Gisborne, tavern wenches were more Walwyn’s style.”
“Walwyn,” Gyles said, “used to hobnob with those on the fringes of society. He developed a penchant for the company of sailors and, last I heard, he was living above some tavern in Wapping.”
“Wapping.” The fastidious look on Waring’s face elucidated his opinion on that.
The thought that the earldom and Lambourn Castle were a considerable step up from a tavern in Wapping resonated in all their minds.
“With your permission, my lord, I’ll set some men onto locating Mr. Walwyn Rawlings immediately.”
Gyles nodded. “And while you’re scouring Wapping and the docks, we”-his gaze took in Devil and Horace-“had better scout out nearer pastures. If he so chose, Walwyn could, I suspect, still pass for a gentleman.”