“Tell me his name.” He waited for Darius to explain.
Darius raised a brow. “His real name, as far as we can tell, is Matteo Bartolini. However, his mother was English, so his command of our language is flawless. He is calling himself Matthew Canning, but that is only one of many names. We—the Emperors, that is—first became aware of him when my cousin Augustus Vernon came across him in Rome. He wrote to his brother Julius, and he apprised me. We were working on a particularly delicate matter at the time, and Bartolini was doing his best to discover the information before we had it. Augustus discovered he was working for the French, with a sideline to the Vatican. This man has no scruples. He is a spy for hire.”
Andrew heaved a sigh. “I had a feeling General Court was in deeper than he should be. He arranged the raid and sent me to quietly obtain a paper from Bartolini. The raid was to be a distraction.”
Darius closed his eyes and groaned. “I should have guessed. He has been a thorn in our sides more than once. My family, I mean. He wishes to make his mark on society, but he’s too greedy and he has no guile. His favorite way of obtaining information is to extort it by threats.” He sharpened his gaze. “Has he threatened you?”
Andrew shrugged. “He tried. He sent me to Reed—the Bow Street Runner who headed the raid.”
Darius flattened his lips. “Believe me. I do not frequent such places as a matter of course. I did once, but no more. I prefer my pleasures a little more refined and private these days.”
Andrew the barrister would have pressed at this point. He sensed vulnerability here, something Darius was not telling him. The disinclination to do so ruled him, however. He refused to willingly hurt this accord building between them. He would leave Darius and himself with some dignity. “Why did you go to the house, then?”
“He has a list he should not have. One we would prefer not to fall into French hands.”
“We?”
“My family.” Darius paused. “The government.” He paused, his eyes focused on a point beyond Andrew’s head before he returned his attention to him. “The document contains a list of diplomats and military agents who work for us.”
“Ah.” Understanding flooded through him. “You mean spies.”
Darius spread his hands. “Intelligence gatherers, mainly centered in Rome and in Versailles. They travel between the cities, conveying information.”
“The convoluted ways of government.”
“Indeed. The list was purloined last week, so either Bartolini is on his way to the coast, or he is meeting another contact. Frankly, we expect the latter, but we do not know who.”
“Why were you embroiled?”
“Because of Matteo’s preferences.” Darius did not appear perturbed by that. “Like us, he prefers his own sex for personal recreation.”
Andrew did not object to Darius including him. How could he, when it was the simple truth? “So who asked you?”
“Julius. Of course, my father got to hear of it. When he called me into his study, I was expecting a reprimand for allowing myself to be caught in such a place. Instead, he asked me if I found the man.”
Andrew swallowed, hating the necessity of asking the next question. “What did you plan to do?”
“What do you think?” Darius threw back his head, thrusting out his chin, appearing at his most disdainful.
But Andrew knew him by now. “Would you have gone so far as to seduce him?”
With a wry grin, Darius lost the arrogance. “No. But I would have enticed him into a private room where I could have had a vigorous conversation with him, which would not have included taking off my clothes. Taking off his, maybe. However, I want more than Bartolini. I want his contact. I want to discover how he obtained this list. My first aim is to recover the document. The second, to uncover the next link in the chain.”
Andrew realized something else. “And you will become inviolate. The authorities will owe you a favor.”
Darius shrugged. “Maybe. They already owe me several. I am not concerned with that. I will shift for myself should I need to.”
Surrounded as he was by people of power, Darius was close to untouchable. An enemy would have to work hard to topple him, but discovery in a place like Mother Fleming’s might have been enough. He’d risked all he’d worked for by going there.
“What can I do?”
“You wish to help?”
Andrew nodded.
“Why?”
That question turned Andrew’s stomach. He could evade the question, but that would not do Darius or himself justice. Honesty reigned in this room. If he claimed loyalty to his country, that was true, but not his primary reason.
“Because I care for you,” he said. “You need someone to help.”
Darius glanced down and flicked a piece of dust from his sleeve before looking back up at him. Andrew had never seen such a bleak expression, such loneliness.
“I care for you, too. But it must not be more than that. I can never become so involved with a man that I threaten his safety, especially one such as you. I conduct affairs with men such as myself. Men who have surrounded themselves with protection. Men who can survive a scandal. You, my dear, cannot. Discovering you have a daughter makes any personal connection impossible between us.”
“So you would not consider it?” If he did not, friendship might be possible.
If, that was, Andrew could bear seeing Darius with another man and know that he was sharing intimacies Andrew was denied. If he could watch all that beauty go somewhere else.
Because honesty went both ways, and yes, the shot of jealousy a moment ago had cleared the fog from Andrew’s brain. He wanted Darius very much.
“I could not. If you did not care for me, if you were merely curious—but no. Not even then.” Darius got to his feet. His voice softened. “Make no mistake. In other circumstances, I would leap on your interest. I would leap on you. I have rarely known such an attraction to another man. If this desire subsides, we might consider friendship, but until then…while I thank you for your help, I must gratefully decline. I will shift for myself. I only returned to clear the air and inquire after your daughter.”
He bowed, his graceful gesture as deep and respectful as if he were greeting a prince, and then straightened. “Thank you for the tea.”
He left, the only sound his footsteps echoing on the old floorboards as he let himself out.
Chapter 7
Could a person die of grief? Of course not. As the days passed, Andrew first resigned himself to his loveless fate and then allowed anger to consume him, driving him through a few cases that had plagued him lately. In court, acting for a man claiming his brother had stolen property from him, he was nothing short of a firebrand, according to the judge.
His performance did his reputation no harm at all, and he found himself talked about. Visitors to his chambers increased, and his clerk was kept busy annotating new cases. At this rate they would have to take on more assistants.