“I have landed in the midst of one hell of a tangle,” Will said, quietly, lest the other men in the club’s dining room overhear him.
Casriel topped up Will’s wineglass. “You, Willow? Are Cam and Ash behind this? I don’t recall you ever being in a tangle, not even with a woman, and they are the very definition of a tangle.”
“Unless that woman is your wife,” Will said, taking a sip of cool, fruity red wine. Susannah’s kisses were like this vintage, startling in their verve and impact, but sweet, too, and full of subtleties.
“Willow, will you explain this tangle to me or not?” Casriel asked, setting the bottle on Will’s side of the table. “I am the head of your family, also your devoted brother. I would be surpassingly gratified to solve a problem for you for a change, instead of the other way round.”
Will might once have used that opening to lecture the head of his family on the necessity of acquiring a countess, but such single-mindedness—such simplemindedness—was beyond his grasp at the moment. The notion that Casriel was concerned, even eager to help, was quite odd.
Also reassuring.
“I’ll lay it out as best I can,” Will said. “Several large, handsome, well-cared-for dogs have gone missing from aristocratic owners, and I suspect there are more I haven’t yet heard of.”
“I know about the Duchess of Ambrose and Lady March’s dogs,” Casriel said, circling his wrist in a gesture reminiscent of Cam. “Impressive rewards posted by both women.”
“Cam is determined to find the dogs,” Will said. “I cannot see any good resulting from his involvement in such dangerous matters, but neither will common sense dissuade him. I am thus considering lending my expertise to the search, provided I can do so discreetly. The duchess and I are on familiar terms, but Lady March and I are not well acquainted. I enlisted Lady Susannah’s company to pay a call on Lady March.”
Storytelling gave a man a thirst, and Will’s glass had somehow become only half full.
“This steak is undercooked,” Casriel said, pushing his plate away. “I don’t care for Lord March myself. Can’t hold his drink, and must let all and sundry know he’s a regular at the tables where the deepest play is to be had.”
Will buttered a crust of bread and popped it into his mouth. Paste jewels, gambling markers, a reward that could not be paid…the bread was too dry, and the conclusion clamoring in Will’s mind utterly sour.
“Between calling on Her Grace,” Will went on, “and calling on Lady March, I ran into Cam and Ash. Cam related a tale of pursuing some fellow who showed every sign of having stolen the mastiff he was dragging along. Cam followed and freed the dog, and the animal matches the description of Lady March’s missing Alexander.”
Casriel refilled his own wineglass. “Shite.”
“Shite, because Cam nearly got into a scrape, or shite because Cam let the dog go when he might have earned a reward?”
Casriel took a sip of his libation, while the club’s candlelight flickered over dark hair, a shrewd gaze, and features that looked more like their papa’s with each passing year.
Grey was the earl. In that single, mundane moment, watching Grey take a considering sip of good German wine, Will realized that the title had settled on his brother’s shoulders more firmly in recent months. The earl was more focused, more in charge of the family’s affairs.
He met with the solicitors not at their offices, but in his library. He sat in the Lords and took his responsibilities seriously, but did not become preoccupied with affairs of state to the detriment of the earldom’s affairs.
The realization sent Will’s emotions in several directions at once, like puppies spilling out of their whelping box.
“I am proud of you,” Will said, though he hadn’t intended to burden his brother with that sentiment aloud.
“How much wine have you had, Willow?” Casriel asked, sitting back with his glass cradled in his hand. “I’m proud of Sycamore. He needs to learn that a fellow can get into all manner of interesting contretemps as long as he can also get out of them.”
“Yes, well, I’m proud of Cam too,” Will said. “For getting out of the scrape, but also for setting the dog free. One can’t know, of course, who the dog’s owner is, but Cam saw an animal in need of aid and intervened.”
Will’s feeling went beyond mere pride, to a sense of gratitude, for Cam had taken the risk Will himself ought to have shouldered. If the dogs of that size were being stolen, their fates would be miserable—a short life of violence and deprivation, a bad end.
“He took a risk,” Casriel replied, holding the wine up to the light. “Cam excels at tackling risky ventures, and usually comes out the worse for it, as does my exchequer. Back to your recitation, Willow. I’m expected at some ball or other before the hour grows too late, and I cannot like that you’d embroil yourself in this matter of stolen dogs.”