Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

“So who was this other man?”


“That would be the question, wouldn’t it? I searched for weeks, made inquiries.” Finding the man had been a harder task than one might think. Since Julian set the trends for fashion, a great many young gentlemen resembled him. “I finally learned his name. You should know it. Peter Faraday. He’s a former member of the Stud Club.”

“I remember,” the duke said, refilling both glasses. “I won his token just a few nights before Leo’s murder.”

“And just after the murder, Faraday fled Town for a remote cottage in Cornwall. I thought I had the answer. Faraday was disgruntled over losing, or desperate for funds, perhaps. I thought he must have lured Leo into an ambush. Ashworth and I went to Cornwall, bringing along this prostitute to identify him. But when we arrived at Faraday’s hideaway …” Julian expelled a rough sigh. “The man was an invalid. Could barely walk, even two months after the attack. He claims he and Leo were merely talking, and then these two brutes fell on them without warning.”

“And you believe him?”

He shrugged. “Ashworth does. Says he must be innocent—that no man would willingly incur injuries that severe, even to cover up his involvement in a murder plot. But I still say Faraday’s hiding something. Whether ambush or accident, there’s more he’s not telling us.” He reached for the token again and tapped its edge against the arm of his chair, beating a steady rhythm. “Now the investigation is stalled.”

Morland’s gaze trained on the token in Julian’s hand. “That should be mine, you know. I wrote you a bank draft to fund this investigation, on the understanding that token would come to me.”

“You are unbeliev—”

“Save it.” The duke waved off the remainder of Julian’s protest. “I don’t give a damn what you think of me. But I truly do want what’s best for that animal. You could make this easy and agree that Osiris deserves a comfortable retirement at my estate. But since you won’t, I’m forced to call in debts.”

“There are no debts.” Julian put away the token and withdrew the other item he’d secured in the breast pocket of his coat. He unfolded the rectangle of heavy paper and extended it to Morland.

The duke took it, frowning. “Is this …”

“Your bank draft, yes. I never drew the funds.”

Morland blinked at him.

“Oh, I performed a thorough search. Hired runners, investigators, crawled over every inch of this city. But I used my own money.”

“Then why did you accept this?” The duke held up the bank draft.

“As a bond, of sorts. To certify your good faith and innocence. I’m convinced of those things now.” Albeit grudgingly.

“Well,” Morland said dryly. “And here it only took five months. I thought I said the remainder of the amount was supposed to go to Lily.”

“She won’t take it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Well, then.” The duke folded the paper and ripped it in quarters before casting it into the fire.

“You still owe her your assistance.” Julian leaned forward to confront the duke, bracing his elbows on his knees.

“I assume you have something specific in mind.”

He nodded. “There’s more to the story. Faraday had a theory as to why those men attacked him and Leo. And the evidence supports his conclusion.”

“Which is …?” Morland leaned forward with interest.

Julian hesitated. He hadn’t spoken of this to anyone since Cornwall. “The attack was meant for me. Someone wants me dead.”

As he spoke the words, he felt the tension in his shoulders melt. Strange, that an admission of imminent danger and possible pursuant death would be accompanied by the sensation of relief. But it was. It helped to talk, and there were few people with whom he could discuss this openly. His usual confidants were Leo and Lily. One was dead, and the other must never know anything of this.

“Just one person?” Morland scoffed. “I would have wagered many.”

“God damn it. This is serious.” Julian rose from his chair and paced the carpet’s antique gold fringe. “Leo’s dead, and—”

His voice broke at the sudden memory of Leo’s battered face. That image haunted him, even now. Leo had died too quickly for much bruising to occur. His features had been not so much swollen as … misshapen. Broken beyond repair.