The New Marquess (Wardington Park) (A Regency Romance Book)

Lewis averted his gaze. “No, but she’s a great artist. She’s where I get my talent for detail.”

Morgan frowned and wondered why Lewis would be ashamed of such a thing. “It seems you come from a very talented home. What does your father do?”

Lewis looked at him, and his eyes became serious. Every trace of the young carefree man they’d met before was gone. “I never knew my father and neither did my mother.”

Morgan understood everything Lewis said and everything he didn’t say. He also understood why he was so close to Seven Dials. His mother was probably a prostitute, but that didn’t answer how he’d come to have the shop.

“Mr. Lewis,” Simon called.

The young man turned to him, his expression guarded.

Simon went on. “Do you run an honest business?”

That seemed to surprise him. “Yes, I do.”

“Who funded you?” Simon asked.

Lewis swallowed and said, “My mother and some of her friends, my lord.”

Simon had started on a path of no return as far as his questions were concerned. “Are these friends prostitutes?”

Lewis folded the papers and looked away. It was clear be believed his confession would be the end of their business. “Yes. A bunch of prostitutes saw a boy with a dream and helped him get it. Have you any other questions?” He was defensive about the women who’d helped him open his shop. He probably cared for them. It was clear they cared for him.

“Does anyone else fund your shop?” Simon asked.

Lewis sighed and stared at the men with a look that wasn’t friendly. He placed the papers on the small table in the room and put his hand on his hips. “No, and a portion of my money goes to the women who helped me open this shop.”

Morgan asked, “Do you know Creed?”

The tailor’s head wiped around with a great amount of surprise. “What?” He looked at him and Simon and asked, “What is this about?”

“Answer the question,” Simon said, taking a step forward.

“No.” Lewis lifted his hands. “I don’t know that man.” He looked at Simon and Morgan. Something flashed in his eyes. Fear. He whispered, “Do you know him?”

“We do,” Morgan said. “But we do not count him as a friend.”

Lewis visibly relaxed, and he dropped his hands. “I don’t understand. Why are you asking me these questions?”

Simon took a step away and looked Lewis over. “Because, we like to know more about a man before we invest a fortune into him.”

Lewis’ face went blank. “Fortune?” He looked at Simon and Morgan. “I don’t understand.”

“You have a good business here,” Morgan told him. “But you’d have a better one on Bond Street. Your clientele would also be of higher quality, which means you’d need to raise your prices. Does your mother enjoy her work?”

Lewis blinked. “No.”

“Good,” Morgan went on. “We think you need a catalogue as well. Your mother would run it. Her designs are without flaw, and I’m sure the rest of the women you care for can take on any position you feel they’d fit.”

Lewis looked amazed and asked, “Why would you do this?”

“Because we like money,” Simon told him. “And we like you.”

“But I’m a bastard,” Lewis said blankly.

“Lucky you,” Morgan murmured before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a card. “Set an appointment with my secretary, and we’ll talk business.”

Lewis took the card, and his eyes widened before he looked at Morgan. “You own Atlantic Imports?”

Morgan nodded.

Simon gained his attention again. “Now, Lewis, we’re going to change subjects for a moment and I need you to follow me. I need you to use that sharp mind of yours to answer my questions.”

Lewis looked at Simon, straightened his spine, and nodded. Morgan could see the change in his eyes. He was focused and ready to hear anything Simon said.

“Have you heard this tune before?” Simon began to hum.

Lewis’ eyes widened. “’I’d Marry Him Tomorrow.’” He cursed. “Excuse me, but the song has been in my head since I heard it. Yes, I know the song.”

“Where did you hear it?” Simon asked.

“Here, in my shop,” he told him. “A man came in with two friends from the theatre and told me they needed uniforms for a play. I was honored, so I made them. He kept humming that song during his fitting though. One of his friends sang the words.”

“Were they large men?” Morgan asked.

Lewis nodded. “Oh, yes, and I thought them perfect for the positions of guards in the play. I made three uniforms.”

“Three uniforms in a week?” Simon asked.

Lewis smiled. “Yes, my mother’s friends have many talents. One of those talents is sewing, but they don’t work here in the shop because they don’t wish to ruin my reputation.” He was well loved and investing in him was starting to make Morgan feel good.

“What were the names of the men who ordered the uniforms?” Morgan asked.

“Timothy, Loftus, and Joshua.”

Morgan looked at Simon and wanted to ask him how likely it was that the three large men Lewis remembered were Thomas, Luke, and John? But he couldn’t say that in front of Lewis.

Simon nodded in understanding and turned back to Lewis. “Do those men plan to come back?”

Lewis shrugged. “Our business is complete, but I would hope so. One always wishes for easy clients to return.”

He had good business sense, but Morgan focused on Creed. What were the men planning to guard? Because one thing was certain, the O.S.S. had gone over the script for the play and there were no guards in it.

“Could you sketch the design of the uniform for us?” Simon asked.

“Of course,” Lewis said. “It might take my mother a day, but I’ll have it to you as soon as possible.”

Simon and Morgan left Lewis after that, reassuring the man that they looked forward to their meeting.

Outside, Simon said, “I like him. I hope he’s innocent.”

“Me, too,” Morgan said because he was in the mood to give the man a chance… much like the one Mena was giving him. The thought of her made him smile, and he decided that after a visit home, he’d go see her.



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23





CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE



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“Watch how you handle her.” …





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Mena quickly reached for the blindfold as the carriage pulled away. Her heart raced and for the first time in a long time, she asked the man who sat across from her in the carriage a question. “Are you sure he can’t come?”



The carriage was moving quickly, as if to answer her own question.

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