It hadn’t takenJasper’s men long to discover where Archer Tierney laid his head at night. The address, however, was something of a surprise. An elegant town house tucked away on a street not far from Grosvenor Square. Aye, it was an esteemed address for an East End moneylender-turned-printer, that much was bloody certain. Recently leased. Apparently, Mr. Tierney was moving up in the world even further.
The reason for Tierney’s change of address was not Wolf’s concern, however.
His role as Portia’s half brother was.
And so it was that after leaving Portia safely at Blakewell House, Wolf found himself rapping on the door of the stately home Tierney was currently calling his.
The hour was late.
The butler who answered was understandably miffed, not just by the call, but by the appearance of a lowborn ruffian at the door. Wolf knew he didn’t look the part of a gentleman. And he wasn’t one, so that was just fine by him. He preferred black, his cravats were simply knotted, and he didn’t give a damn about walking sticks and top hats and pocket watches, nor any of the other trappings of nobs. Simplicity was what he liked, and he wouldn’t apologize for it. Besides, a man could be a marquess and dress in the finest togs, but it didn’t make his insides any less despicable. Portia’s brother, Lord Granville, was proof of that.
“Mr. Wolf Sutton to see Tierney,” he said to the butler without hesitation.
“The master ain’t at ’ome,” the cove declared, shocking Wolf with his accent. For despite resembling an elegant butler, the man didn’t possess the bland tones of one who had been raised to service in a fancy lord’s estate. Rather, his speech bore the mark of the rookeries.
Same as Wolf’s.
Interesting.
But never mind that. He was attempting to keep Wolf from his objective, and that would not bloody well hold.
It was a predictable denial the butler had issued. Tierney would not wish to entertain callers here at such an hour. Perhaps not ever. It was a curious thing, this house, much like the man himself. A conundrum wrapped in a mystery. Why would a man who was printing revolutionary pamphlets live in such a grand abode, even if the printer’s shop and the house were both newly acquired? It made no sense.
But the specifics of Tierney’s circumstances were a question for another day. Wolf had something far more important to attend to.
Portia.
My woman.
“I’ll not leave until he sees me,” Wolf countered, putting his booted foot on the threshold, lest the man attempt to snap the door closed in his face. “You’d best tell him it concerns his sister.”
The butler pinned him with a rather ferocious glare. “Wait where ye are, or it ain’t going to go well for you.”
The threat did not concern him.
The moment the servant turned and disappeared into the house, Wolf pressed his advantage, slipping into the entry through the door which had been left slightly ajar. He closed it at his back, for whilst this was the West End, there was no telling what manner of miscreants were afoot at night. Himself included.
Eh, while he was at it, why wait as he’d been instructed? He wanted this matter to be settled tonight. Which meant Tierney was going to have to be flushed up, like a startled bird, one way or another.
Wolf followed the sound of the butler’s footsteps, which led him down a carpeted hall and to a door, where the butler stopped and rapped. Fortunately, his youthful habit of housebreaking had imbued Wolf with stealth. Despite his large size, he could travel silently, undetected, with ease. The butler did not even know he had been followed until it was too late.
“There’s a cove at the door who says ’e wishes to see ye, sir,” the butler was saying. “Claims it’s about yer sister—stop there, ye bleedin’ arsehole. I told ye to wait at the damned door. Say the word, sir, and I’ll gut ’im like a fish.”
The man—not any manner of true butler—sputtered as Wolf slipped past him, unconcerned. The room he entered was clearly being used as an office of sorts. He had the vague impression of intricate, dark woodwork and pictures dotting the walls, before he spied Tierney seated at a desk, a fire in the grate behind him and a glowing cigar in his mouth.
Tierney shot to his feet at Wolf’s appearance, plucking the cigar from his lips. “Sutton. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Ought I to call for anyone, sir?” the henchman asked behind Wolf, sounding agitated.
“I need to have a patter with you,” Wolf addressed Tierney, ignoring the other man. “It’s about your sister and your brother.”
Tierney blew a ring of smoke into the air, his expression remaining unconcerned, though his jaw clenched, the only sign of his displeasure. “Carry on then, Lucky. I’ll see to Mr. Sutton.”
“Be ye certain, sir?”
“Aye,” Tierney drawled, raising a brow as he held Wolf’s gaze. “Wouldn’t harm a fly, this one. Besides, he’s already well acquainted with my pistols, aren’t you, Sutton?”
Wolf glared back at him. “I’ve seen your barking irons. Not afraid of them, neither.”
Tierney grinned, then flicked his gaze to the other man in the room. “Thank you, Lucky. You may go.”
The henchman glowered, clearly disapproving. “I’ll be near if ye need me, sir.”
Definitely not a butler, that one. Some manner of guard? Certainly, a criminal of some sort.
Wolf waited for the door to click closed before advancing on Tierney, crossing the carpets. “What do you know of the Marquess of Granville?” he demanded.
Tierney’s lip curled. “I know I can’t kill him, much as I’d like to.”
Wolf stopped as he reached the desk, the scent of Tierney’s cigar smoke swirling around him. “I understand you’ve been to see Portia.”
“And I understand you’ve been bedding my sister, Sutton.” Calmly, Tierney took a long, slow puff of his cigar. “I may not be able to kill Granville, but you…you’re another matter, ain’t you?”
“I’ll thank you not to speak so crudely about her,” Wolf ground out. Planting a facer on a cove had never been more tempting. “I’m in love with your sister, and I’m going to marry her. All I want to do is to protect her and her son.”
“You love her,” Tierney repeated, his expression as harsh as his voice.
It was plain to see he did not believe in the emotion, and he most certainly did not believe in Wolf either.
“As I said.”
Tierney puffed on his cigar once more. “And how am I to trust this ain’t about you and the rest of your brothers having your backs up over my business partner?”
It nettled, hearing the man refer to Logan as his business partner, particularly if Tierney and Loge were involved in something as dangerous as Jasper suspected. But as much as Wolf loved his brother, Loge was not the reason he had come here.
“Because this is about making certain the Marquess of Granville can’t beat your sister ever again,” Wolf said grimly. “You know him. I’d wager you understand what he’s capable of. Portia told me you’d saved her from her brother’s wrath in your youth, and that the two of you were close before you were taken away.”