Henrietta looked again at Mountford, then snuffled and ambled over to Leonora and Humphrey. After greeting them, she circled, then collapsed in a shaggy heap between them. Resting her huge head on her paws, she fixed an implacably hostile gaze on Duke.
Leonora glanced at Charles. He looked well pleased.
Jeremy reappeared and held the library door wide; Tristan and Deverell carried the chaise from the parlor with Jonathon Martinbury reclining on it into the room.
Duke gasped. He stared at Jonathon; the last vestige of color drained from his face. “Good Lord! What happened to you?”
No actor could have given such a performance; he was transparently shocked by his cousin’s state.
Tristan and Deverell set the chaise down; Jonathon met Duke’s eyes steadily. “I gather I met some friends of yours.”
Duke looked ill. His face waxen, he stared, then slowly shook his head. “But how did they know? I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Your friends are determined, and they have very long arms.” Tristan sank onto the chaise beside Leonora.
Jeremy closed the door. Deverell had returned to his position beside Charles. Crossing the room, Jeremy pulled out his chair from behind the desk and sat.
“Right.” Tristan exchanged glances with Charles and Deverell, then looked at Duke. “You’re in a serious and dire position. If you have any wits at all, you’ll answer the questions we put to you quickly, straightforwardly, and honestly. And, most importantly, accurately.” He paused, then went on, “We’re not interested in hearing your excuses—justifications would be wasted breath. But for understanding’s sake, what started you off on this tack?”
Duke’s dark eyes rested on Tristan’s face; from her position beside Tristan, Leonora could read their expression. All Duke’s violent bravado had deserted him; the only emotion now investing his eyes was fear.
He swallowed. “Newmarket. It was last year’s Autumn Carnival. I hadn’t before dealt with the London cent-per-cents, but there was this nag…I was certain…” He grimaced. “Anyway, I got in deep—deeper than I’ve ever been. And those sharks—they have thugs who act as collectors. I went up north, but they followed. And then I got the letter about A. J.’s discovery.”
“So you came to see me,” Jonathon put in.
Duke glanced at him, nodded. “When the collectors caught up with me a few days later, I told them about it—they made me write it all down and took it back to the cent-per-cent. I thought the promise would hold him for a while…” He glanced at Tristan. “That’s when things went from bad to hellish.”
He drew breath; his gaze fixed on Henrietta. “The cent-per-cent sold my vowels on, on the strength of the discovery.”
“To a foreign gentleman?” Tristan asked.
Duke nodded. “At first it seemed all right. He—the foreigner—encouraged me to get hold of the discovery. He told me how there was clearly no need to include the others”—Duke flushed—“Jonathon and the Carlings, as they hadn’t bothered about the discovery for all this time—”
“So you attempted by various means to get into Cedric Carling’s workshop, which by asking the servants you’d learned had been closed up since his death.”
Again Duke nodded.
“You didn’t think to check your aunt’s journals?”
Duke blinked. “No. I mean…well, she was a woman. She could only have been helping Carling. The final formula had to be in Carling’s books.”
Tristan glanced at Jeremy, who returned a wry look. “Very well,” Tristan continued. “So your new foreign backer encouraged you to find this formula.”
“Yes.” Duke shifted on the chair. “At first, it seemed quite a lark. A challenge to see if I could get the thing. He was even willing to underwrite buying the house.” His face clouded. “But things kept going wrong.”
“We can dispense with a list—we know most of it. I take it your foreign friend became more and more insistent?”
Duke shivered. His eyes, when they met Tristan’s, looked haunted. “I offered to find the money, buy back my debt, but he wouldn’t have it. He wanted the formula—he was willing to give me as much money as it took to get it, but it was get the damned thing for him—or die. He meant it!”
Tristan’s smile was cold. “Foreigners of his ilk generally do.” He paused, then asked, “What’s his name?”
What little color had returned to Duke’s face fled. A moment passed, then he moistened his lips. “He told me if I told anyone at all about him, he’d kill me.”
Tristan inclined his head, gently said, “And what do you imagine will happen to you if you don’t tell us about him?”
Duke stared, then glanced at Charles.
Who met his gaze. “Don’t you know the punishment for treason?”