Page 2 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Two

“W ith the rates for the current transport across the sea, we could be looking at it being worth importing the goods.”

Edmund Hawke, the Duke of Blackstone, caught wind of the exact nature of the conversation as he strode into Bracken Inn, a tavern set back on the darker streets of London.

“Exactly,” a second man whispered to the first one, the four of them huddled in a dimly lit corner as if the darkness granted them privacy. “I can make the drop this coming week, right there at the docks, if Mr. Haddon can arrange transport.”

There was a meaningful look at the man who had first spoken, and he snorted. “Of course I can. That’s what my business does, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, it does.” Edmund interrupted their conversation, having snuck up on their table, keeping to the shadows.

The four men were so engrossed in discussing their deal that they hadn’t noticed. At once, they started and looked up at him.

“Although not the transport legally stated on your documents, I assume,” Edmund added, arching an eyebrow.

He recognized three of them—Haddon, Gardener, and Roland. The fourth man was someone he didn’t know, and didn’t need to.

The game of cards lay in progress on the wooden, stained table the men sat around.

It was Roland who sneered at him. “And who are you to make such accusations, walking into our game in your polished boots and your fine, expensive coat? Do you look down on us? Accuse us to make yourself feel better?—”

“Hush,” hissed Gardener. “He is the Duke of Blackstone.”

At that, Roland’s face went pale, and Edmund only stared back at him calmly. Promptly, he took up the empty seat at the table, eyeing each man in turn.

“Your Grace,” Haddon said quietly, bowing his head. “I imagine we have nothing of use at our table for the likes of y?—”

With a hard slam of his palm to shut the man up, for he would get what he’d come for tonight, Edmund gathered the cards. Restarting their game, he let them wait in anticipation as he shuffled the deck and dealt five hands.

One by one, they were taken, the men exchanging uneasy glances, knowing who sat in their company.

“Gentlemen, I will not waste my time, nor yours, so I will get straight to it.” His eyes narrowed on each of them. Fear flashed in their eyes, and he knew they thought he was there to rat them out. “I am looking for information on James Logan. I am sure with your… operations in and out of London’s docks, and to wider waters, you will know something.”

“Never heard of the man, Your Grace,” Roland spoke up boldly, shaking his head without a second thought.

“Same here,” Gardener added, taking a great interest in his set of cards. His eyes met Edmund’s for a moment before he skittishly looked away. “Don’t know the fella.”

“And you?” Edmund regarded the man. “Haddon?”

Haddon swallowed. “I keep to myself,” he told him, shrugging. “I never got involved in shady dealings.”

Edmund took a moment to compose himself. Stone walls when he wished for open doors frustrated him. Men not knowing their places frustrated him. It was one simple request. Was London’s underground society so dim that they could not follow simple orders?

“I understand you do not,” he said, shifting his gaze to Haddon as he tossed his first card onto the pile. “However, I have staff ready to investigate that ship of yours at the docks. I am sure they would not find anything to contradict your claim.”

“No, Your Grace,” Haddon answered— lied . “Nothing at all. Clean as a whistle, I am.”

“Continue dealing your hands,” Edmund ordered, looking around at the four men. “And as you do, you will listen very, very carefully. Haddon, I know you transport illegal substances to and from Europe. I am sure the constables and the Crown will be most interested to know that, and perhaps will revoke your merchant license. After all, you are so low-ranked in the merchant world that nobody would truly miss your wares.”

He put more cards down, winning against his opponents with each new placement, as he continued.

“Roland, your so-called art studio is lovely, I am sure, but what will your uncle, as the benefactor and investor, say if he hears about the true goings-on behind the canvas? The women might not all be willingly working within those rooms, no?”

“Your Grace—” Roland began, but Edmund cut him off with a glare before turning on Gardener.

“You. Oh, I heard you boasting before Haddon here spoke of his transportation business. You are right in the midst of it all with him. Aiding and being complicit in such dealings does not bode well. Do you not have a daughter you are attempting to introduce into Society, Gardener? It would be terrible for her should news of her father’s shameful involvement in such a business spread far and wide, all but chasing you both out of every respectable business and city nearby.”

“Come now, Your Grace?—”

He cut off Gardener with a sharp, furious look before turning to the other man. “And you. Admittedly, I do not know you, therefore I believe you hold no importance. However, all it takes is one small inquiry and I shall have your secrets splashed across every scandal sheet, should I find out you are not a man of honor. If these men are your company tonight, I do not have great hope for you.”

Silence fell over the table. He knew at least one man there was titled, likely hiding out in a quiet tavern for some peace, or because he needed to forget his status for a plethora of reasons.

“As I said,” Edmund continued, “play your hands, or I shall play them for you in quite a different way if I do not get the information I requested.”

When they did not—too scared, or too stunned—Edmund set down his cards with more force than needed and slowly swept his attention across all four of the men.

“James Logan. Tell me all you know, or you might find my words are not mere suggestions, but threats awaiting action.”

“I—” the man he hadn’t recognized began. “I heard he had a whole staff of men. Men whom people wouldn’t even suspect. You know, do-gooders to everyone else, but shady in his company.”

Edmund’s jaw clenched. That was not the most obscure knowledge; it was already something he knew.

He waved his hand dismissively before looking at Roland. “And you?”

“All I know is that Logan had holdings everywhere. Spain, France, even the Caribbean.”

A shiver ran through Edmund at the mention of the Caribbean. Again, it was something he knew. Something he knew rather intimately.

Biting back a frustrated sigh, he turned his attention to Gardener and Haddon. “You two.”

“The list of the crimes he was accused of is as long as my entire body, Your Grace,” Haddon said. “I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but the truth is that he did really bad things. Murder, theft, kidnapping. Some said not even women were safe in his company.”

The who he wanted was being left unanswered, and Edmund let the silence do more pushing, before he realized that he had perhaps hit that stone wall of no further information.

Clenching his fists, he gritted his teeth.

“Utter a word about any of my questions tonight, or my presence, and you shall regret it very, very quickly,” he warned before standing up.

Wide, scared eyes met his, and the men all nodded, terrified into submission.

Fine. He’d keep searching.

Standing up from the table, he left the men to the remainder of their game and strode out of Bracken Inn, trying to keep his frustration banked.

The need for answers boiled inside of him, demanding more and more information on the very man he couldn’t intimidate or reach, no matter how many times he threatened anyone.

James Logan was dead, and no amount of questioning would bring him back, but no amount of digging seemed to give Edmund the answers he was still missing about the vile filth Logan had been.

He had barely made it twenty steps away from the tavern when he heard the light scuff of shoes on the road.

He was being followed.

The steps were too light, too calculated, to be one of the men from earlier. They’d be heavier, he suspected, less smooth. This was a man who knew how to tread lightly when needed.

Edmund didn’t dare glance back, but he felt the prickle of being followed down the back of his neck.

He veered left, instead of right as he needed to in order to return to his townhouse, and rerouted through a maze of alleyways. He turned one way and ducked behind a corner, only to be followed still.

He detoured again through another alley, emerging on the other side and striding past another tavern. His stalker didn’t take the bait and continued trailing him.

He lured him deeper into the shadows before slipping into a dark alcove, letting the darkness hide him as his stalker approached.

Right as the light footsteps got closer, Edmund stepped out, fist already raised.

He’d barely prepared his punch, ready to land the blow, as hands flew up to the other man’s face.

“Easy, Cousin! Lower your fists. Let us speak.”

“Benjamin?” Edmund growled, annoyed at the interruption to his night. “What are you doing, following me?”

His fair-haired cousin, Benjamin Routledge, the Viscount Enthorpe, gave him a nervous smile as he lowered his hands.

“Can a cousin not express concern?”

“You were sneaking around and following me. I do not appreciate it if this is your way of showing concern.”

“I noticed you entered a rather shady place, is all. I wanted to make sure you did not emerge with a split lip or a bruise on those strong features all Hawkes seem to have. Honestly, Edmund, do have some gratitude that is not wreathed in sarcasm. After all, I am not entirely wrong to ensure your safety.”

“I am more than capable of ensuring my own safety, Benjamin,” Edmund shot back. “At one-and-thirty, I can assure you I am most capable of doing that.”

“I am sure you had the same assuredness seven years ago, Edmund.”

At that, Edmund stiffened, his lip curling. “This is not the night to push me.”

“I do not intend it. Only that I worry for you. You only returned to London two months ago, after being gone for seven years. You were very capable at the age of four-and-twenty, but you were still kidnapped.”

Edmund’s hands clenched into fists. “Yes, I have returned, and I shall not speak further on the matter. I am quite fine, and I do not need your help any longer. I understand you handled the dukedom following my father’s death a year ago, but your involvement is no longer necessary.”

“Well, you do sound very capable, at least,” Benjamin said cheerfully, rocking back on his heels. “It is good to see the dukedom restored to its rightful owner.”

Edmund only glowered at his cousin, but the fair-haired man was not deterred.

“It must be nice,” Benjamin spoke. “To be so favored by the Crown that they put a lot of work into searching for you.”

“The Hawkes have influence,” Edmund told him drily. “That is all there is to it. And, in the end, I made it out myself.”

“Of course, of course.” Benjamin looked around, noting where they were. “Have you done a great deal of mingling since your return? I imagine some men wish to catch up with you.”

“I am sure I will.”

“I think it will be?—”

“Good night, Benjamin,” Edmund cut him off abruptly, his frustration snapping out with the hard dismissal.

He could not quell his irritation, not when his mind was already racing.

“Some men wish to catch up with…”

His cousin had a point, and Edmund recognized he was near the house of one such man who could help him with his search for information. A man who worked through the night, who knew what shadows lurked, and how to press a client for information in the midst of seduction.

His old acquaintance, Julian Gray.

“Cousin—”

“I can handle myself, Benjamin. Return home, and I will correspond with you at another time.” His voice was hard, clear that he wished to be left alone.

Benjamin looked ready to protest but instead only sighed, backing away. Still, at the end of the alley, he glanced back almost reluctantly, as if he truly didn’t believe nothing bad would happen to Edmund. Yet his trust in Edmund won out, and he did leave.

Finally alone again, and not followed this time, Edmund headed to his next lead—Julian Gray’s house.

* * *

The carriage hadn’t moved in quite some time. Then, the driver opened the door and peered at her.

“My Lady, are you all right? It has been fifteen minutes since we arrived, and you have not moved. I can drive you back to Lady Wetherby’s if you need.”

The offer snapped Penelope back into action as her eyes roved over the tall building outside the carriage.

In the dark, it looked more foreboding, not at all welcoming, or settling for her nerves, and she felt the anxiety in her stomach coil tighter and tighter like a knot.

Her breath came hard as she finally looked back at the driver. “No, that will not be necessary.”

She was already there—she may as well see it through. Perhaps Julian Gray would merely invite her for a drink and a talk. Then he would sense her nerves and know she was feeling quite overwhelmed.

Perhaps she could pretend.

But her friends… they were right. She needed something out of her stepbrother’s control, even if for a brief moment.

Focusing on that, she steeled herself long enough to step out of the carriage.

“Thank you,” she told the driver, smiling, but she knew it was tense. “Do wait for me down the road. I do not think I will be long.”

“Of course, My Lady.” He went to hop back into the driver’s seat but then paused. “Ah, I almost forgot. My instructions were to see Lady Penelope Clarkin returned immediately to Langwaite Manor once the evening had ended. Is that where you want to go?”

Penelope’s anxiety heightened as she nodded, thinking of how he clearly recited Cecilia’s order. “Yes.”

The driver gave her a sharp nod before he pulled the carriage away, and Penelope knew she was truly on her own from that moment onwards.

Her hands shook, and she clenched them in the folds of her cloak as she crossed the street to approach the back door of Mr. Gray’s house.

She lifted her hand to knock on the door, allowing herself one more moment of hesitation.

“This is no place for someone like you, My Lady.”