Page 9 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Nine

L ondon’s streets were quieter at this time of night, when the dark had already encroached upon the sky and the moon hung in the air. Edmund was nothing but a shadow, moving from street corner to street corner, lurking in the even darker shadows of buildings.

He hated these parts of London. While he cared little for the aristocracy, at least they knew how to flood a place with light and life. Here, there were only shadows upon shadows, darkness to hide darker things, and he had witnessed far enough of that already.

He had used this sort of darkness and these sorts of places—far from London—to enact his plans.

To hunt through places like this again caused dread to pool in his gut even as he composed himself as stoically as possible. He was detached from himself, taking himself away from the mind that wanted to remember every terrible thing he had done in the dark, and put himself in the mindset of the man who was trying to set those times right.

Gritting his teeth, Edmund rounded his last corner and faced the front of a gambling den. Suddenly, his townhouse seemed very, very far away. His chest tightened at the thought of not returning to it, as he hadn’t all those years ago on the day he was kidnapped.

But he shook his head. He was cleverer now. He knew what he was getting himself into, even though Julian’s warning rang clear in his ears.

He took one step towards the gambling den, only to pause, sighing.

“You can come out of hiding now, Benjamin,” he said, turning back to the corner he had just rounded.

The shadows moved, and his cousin emerged from them, his face tight with surprise.

“How… how did you know?” He laughed, both impressed and likely annoyed. “Do you know how long I have been trailing you?”

“Yes,” Edmund muttered. “You are terrible at sneaking and have always been. You thought yourself stealthy enough to follow me ever since you came out of the Knave Tavern. Whatever were you doing there?”

“Many things, Cousin. Many things.” Benjamin flashed him a smile, one that made Edmund not wish to ask further questions.

“Then return to those things and leave me be,” Edmund said. “Better yet, go home.”

But Benjamin was already crossing the street, hurrying to Edmund’s side. “No. I will stay at your side and ensure you are thoroughly protected?—”

“I do not need protecting,” Edmund snapped, not wanting to hear the full sentence that revealed his vulnerability. “And—well, Benjamin, I do not need you following me everywhere to atone for whatever guilt you feel over the night I was taken.” Again, he said, “I do not need protecting.”

Benjamin flinched slightly at his words, but he shook his head, insistent. “No. It is not atoning, but making sure it does not happen again, Cousin. I care deeply for you, but I do not care for your estate or living in it. If you are to disappear, I’ll have to take up my role as interim Duke again.”

He pretended to shudder.

Perhaps so that neither had to face the real reason he had mentioned—that Edmund did not know why he was taken, or if he might be taken again for that same, unknown reason—Edmund humored him.

“Fine, then. But stay close and stay quiet.” The last part of his warning was a growl. He paused, looking his cousin over, and cursed under his breath. “Heavens, you are not prepared for anything like this.”

“What exactly is this?” Benjamin peered up at the gambling den.

“The Eagle’s Claw,” Edmund told him. “And it is not a place for you, so do remember this warning when you find that out for yourself.”

Benjamin swallowed noisily right as a burly man left the gambling den and went in the other direction without noticing them.

He met Edmund’s eyes and nodded firmly. He was still going to join him.

With one last irritated sigh, hoping he wouldn’t regret this, Edmund entered the Eagle’s Claw with his cousin in tow. Immediately, the din assaulted him, and he fought to keep from snarling at the violent contrast to the quiet streets outside.

Coins clinked, and voices hollered over one another—accusations and curses, bellows of names, and thumps of fists and glasses. Inside, a riot of gambling chaos was going on, and Edmund found himself being wound into the knowledge of a place like this.

He knew how it all worked; he knew how to play the part to get what he wanted.

“Shuffle them again!” a man shouted from a nearby table. “I ain’t having no fool like you cheat at my game.”

“Your game?” Another laughed, smacking the first man on the shoulder as if in jest. “You will not win tonight.”

Edmund went on, his eyes scanning the many filled tables. Some games were quieter than others. Lords without the prestige to play in an established, well-to-do gambling hell settled for a place where more common men and sneering nobility challenged one another, each thinking themselves better than the other.

Dice clacked against tables, followed by calls to place bets, and Edmund delved deeper into the room.

“Well, this is a far cry from the quiet game of cards I usually play with Lord Telford on Thursday afternoons,” Benjamin said, clearly trying to make light of the situation.

Edmund cut him a glare. “I thought I told you to be quiet,” he warned.

“You did, but I can hardly be heard over these herds of elephants, can I?”

Edmund didn’t answer him, only kept walking.

He was not looking for someone specific but for some people . He would know when he saw them—and he finally did, right where his instincts said they would be.

The shadier men strayed to the far, darkened corners of an establishment so they could remain out of direct sight while getting the advantage to survey the room. The far tables also provided cover to escape down quieter hallways or through back entrances should trouble occur.

So, that was where Edmund started, spotting a group of rougher-looking men.

A crooked nose, a cut eyebrow, and a bruised lip—each man bore telltale signs of a scuffle, but the one with the crooked nose was the man he was looking for in particular. A tip-off that had been fruitless at first, but upon closer inspection, Edmund realized had some merit.

They might know something about James Logan—at least far more than Lord Bailey near the main door, who should not have been seen within a mile of the place if he wished to remain an eligible bachelor at the ton’s gatherings.

Edmund strode over, noting Benjamin’s hard, nervous swallow at the sight of them.

He did not balk. He approached their table, waiting until all three pairs of eyes were on him, and then he spoke before any of them could.

“I am looking for information regarding James Logan. I believe you knew him.”

His gaze rested heavily on the man he had been tipped off about. Mr. Laurel Kerry, an Irishman who had sought business in London and had simply decided not to leave, having found himself a small empire for his dark dealings and a good partnership with Mr. Haddon.

Mr. Kerry looked back at him—not in a challenge or offense, but mere discomfort. He did not speak. For a man who said so much to those he dealt with and made promises of better substances, connections and pay, he was very, very silent.

Edmund’s assessing eyes flicked to the others. They remained silent as well.

“Very well,” he said, with faux politeness.

He dug into the pocket of his coat and dropped a bag of coins on the table. He was aware of Benjamin hovering behind him, and he only hoped his cousin had the sense to stay quiet.

“Whoever gives me information first—and I am aware that you have it—gets the money.”

Pointedly, he looked between the bulging bag of coins and the small pile that was already on the table. The money would be enough.

Moments later, he was proven right when Mr. Kerry shifted, ready to speak. A dealer was always ensnared by fortune.

“Logan was a regular here,” he said, his voice throaty. “He had some dealings with dangerous people and the like.”

Edmund raised an eyebrow at dangerous people , as if Kerry himself was not of that ilk. “Did you ever deal to him?”

“I don’t deal?—”

“Do not lie to me,” he ground out. “Your partner, Mr. Haddon, sold you out quicker than I could offer him a penny.”

Haddon hadn’t, but Edmund didn’t want anybody clamming up on him now.

Fury ignited in the dealer’s eyes, his fist clenching on the tabletop. He eyed the bag of coins.

Through gritted teeth, he spoke, “Yes, I did. Once or twice. He had one loyal dealer, and everybody else only got business a handful of times before he never came back. Always on the move. But he always met every dealer in the same place. The Amber Lantern. It’s down the street from here, not far.”

His eyes flitted back to Benjamin, but Edmund was too busy trying to work out if the man had more information to give.

“What other dealers?” he pressed, needing more connections to the man who had destroyed his life.

“I don’t know,” Kerry said quickly. “We never got involved with each other. It was all anonymous, but—well, I mean, everyone knew Logan.”

Clearly not enough people , Edmund thought to himself, irritated by the dead ends.

“That’s all I got,” Kerry said. “And these two are just men I play some cards with. They’re not in the business.”

At the sight of the men recoiling, despite their tough exteriors, Edmund believed him. He still gave each man another silent glare before nodding.

“If you tell anybody I was here, I will make the beating done to your face so far look like a mere brush of a feather,” he growled at Kerry and then the other two, issuing the warning to them, too.

Quickly, all three of the men nodded, turning back to their game and pawing at the coin bag.

Edmund moved back from the table, stalking back down the main room to the exit.

“The same goes for you too,” he snarled at Benjamin once they were outside.

“What?” His cousin laughed incredulously. “Threats of violence to ensure my silence?”

Edmund glared at him. “I told you this was not a place for the likes of you.”

“And yet here I am,” Benjamin insisted. “I know you think I am soft and that I have hands that are uncalloused by life, simply because I was not—” He cut himself off.

Edmund stepped forward. “Finish,” he dared.

Benjamin’s eyes widened, and he glanced down the street, into the dark, before settling his gaze back on Edmund.

“Cousin, you have done and seen things during these last seven years that I cannot even hope to imagine. But just because I have not been through the same ordeal, does not mean I will tell on you or run at the slightest hint of danger. I am not weak. I am here because I can be. I know you can do this alone, but you do not have to. Not anymore.”

Not anymore.

That was what caught him off-guard.

Edmund stepped back. Impatience and aggravation swirled through him with a note of genuine surprise at his cousin’s backbone.

Perhaps he had been pressing to be told that all night, perhaps not. Perhaps he just needed to make sure that his cousin would defend himself.

“You will not go home?” Edmund asked one last time.

“No,” Benjamin answered.

Again, Edmund sighed, exasperated. He turned on his heel, and footsteps quickly hurried after him, scurrying like a mouse.

“You are not soft, but you truly need to work on your sneaking skills.”

Benjamin only scoffed and continued to follow him to the Amber Lantern, but it was even quieter than the other parts of the area. The lights inside were not off, but they seemed too dim for a full patronage to be inside, especially given the time of night.

Alarmed and cautious, Edmund started for the tavern’s door before he glanced back at his cousin. “Wait here.”

“But I can?—”

“ Wait here,” he growled, his patience almost snapping.

The night had truly been too much to endure, and he had only a scrap of patience left. He could only hope that whatever awaited him inside the tavern did not cut that fraying thread.

Heading inside, Edmund found himself in a tavern that was very gray and lifeless. Faded booths were pressed into the walls, and old, dark wooden tables were splattered with ale spills. The windows were dusty, and it was clear that, despite the tavern not being as empty as he had initially thought, the place was not frequently used.

There was no barmaid at the counter, but he could hear someone clattering through a doorway into another part of the tavern behind the bar itself. He took in the far corners of the space, walking slowly around the wraparound counter, and came to a part of the tavern where a group of men were hunched over a table. Full pints of ale sat on the table between them.

From their hushed voices, Edmund knew he had found the right group of men.

Walking up to them, he announced his arrival. “James Logan. You will give me all the information you have on him.”

Assessing the group, he found them all equally as rough as one another, clearly from the less admirable parts of London. Ill-fitting clothing with rips adorned them, and smears of ash and bruises peppered their faces. Their hair was either overgrown or unkempt, and nothing about any of them spoke of adequacy or composure.

“Ah, will we now?” one man sneered, looking Edmund up and down. “And who are you to make demands? Fancy clothes ain’t getting you far in this place.”

“I am the Duke of Blackstone,” Edmund told them, his voice as cold as the coin they all would scamper over if he pressed one piece to the table. “And I will have my information.”

“Oh, a duke ?” Another sniggered. “Do they not teach you manners in your fancy schools, Duke? More money than respect, I wager.”

“True.” The last man cackled. “I heard there ain’t a lot going on upstairs in the heads of these nobles if you know what I’m saying. Not a lot of nous.”

The men all laughed together, their voices roughened by years of smoking cigars, no doubt. Edmund merely hummed, amused that they thought mere mockery would dissuade him. He stepped forward, only for the first man to scoff at him.

“You and your noble people ain’t welcome ‘ere. Scurry back to your fancy townhouses where you look down your noses at us. A title doesn’t scare us. You don’t scare us.”

“Is that so?” Edmund unfastened his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

The men took in the muscles that corded his forearms, clearly not expecting a noble to be so well built. And Edmund was—he possessed a body that would easily take on three men.

“Big mistake.”

One of the men shot up, his fists pressed to the table. His chair toppled back with the force of his movement. “Don’t be comin’ in ‘ere, threatening us, makin’ demands. Don’t make us teach you a lesson.”

“By all means,” Edmund said coolly, moving back to give the men space. “Try to do so, but I assure you that I will not be the one taught a lesson.”

That had anger snarling through the man’s face as he grabbed for Edmund’s waistcoat. Edmund easily dodged the swipe, laughing.

It was his turn to mock them.

The largest man who’d stood up barreled his way out of the table’s constraints and launched himself at Edmund. Again, Edmund easily sidestepped, only to back into one of the other men.

Without wasting a beat, he rammed his elbow into the man’s stomach, using him as leverage to kick out at the third man who came swinging.

He knew the games of nobles who made careful, passive-aggressive remarks, but he was well-practiced in these games, too. Ones of fists and bloody knuckles. Ones where rules did not apply, and fighting dirty was the only way to walk away victorious.

The man behind him tried to grab him, but Edmund was faster and lighter, despite his broad size. He was already ready, his fists raised. A punch came for his face, and he ducked, jamming up his own fist. The man staggered backward, and Edmund fisted a hand in his collar, slamming him back down on the table as he regarded the other two men.

“Any other smart remarks?” he asked.

The other two moved back into their seats, shaking their heads quickly as they ceased their mocking.

Edmund released the larger man squirming beneath his grasp and collected himself. His opponent returned to his seat, scowling.

“Now,” Edmund continued, “I asked for information on James Logan. I believe you will be more amenable to answer me now, no?”

The man who had first spoken upon his arrival was the first scrabbling to talk. “Logan used to come in here, sure. He met a few dealers here and there.”

That was information Edmund already knew, and his temper flared with more annoyance and disappointment.

“But…” The man glanced at his friends. “Er, well, there was a powerful man. Nobody learned his name—he was anonymous. Logan used to meet with him frequently.”

Another powerful man. Weren’t they all?

Edmund snarled and retreated from the table, not wasting another moment there.

He stalked out of the tavern, his hunt for information fruitless once more. But as he burst out of the Amber Lantern, he heard a cry for help.

His stomach dropped as he found his cousin surrounded by a group of thugs, all grabbing for him. His fists were raised all wrong, and his pale face belied his ability to defend himself.

“Edmund, come?—”

Edmund barely heard his cousin’s plea for help before he was upon the thugs, knocking one of them out as he whirled to face Edmund.

The man fell like a wheat stalk cut free. Another replaced him, growling angrily at Edmund, and he crouched to avoid the swipe, only to surge up and whirl on the man who came back for him.

He drove his fist into the man’s stomach, bracing him as he doubled over. Then, he shoved the man back, sending him careening into another.

The two fell to the ground while Edmund whirled on another thug, angrily punching him.

He was frustrated—at the lack of information, at how secretive Logan was, at Logan himself for everything he had done to him, at his cousin for not just staying out of trouble, and at himself for slacking up so much on his investigation.

He should have worked harder, faster, caught everything he needed before it slipped away.

Channeling all of that frustration into his punches, he fought his way through the gang of thugs, and by the time he stepped back, six men were on the ground, groaning.

Edmund spat blood, his hair falling in his face. His knuckles were split and smeared with blood, and he couldn’t quite remember the whole fight, having lost himself to that violent calm that overtook him ever since he had become a fighter to survive.

“Edmund, are you all?—”

Edmund rounded on his cousin, angrily jabbing a finger into his chest. “I told you to stay home,” he snapped, furious.

He wrenched himself away from Benjamin, from the men slowly picking themselves up from the ground and fleeing, and from the dead ends that London was full of.

“I tried to help!” Benjamin protested, but Edmund ignored him. Fury swirled through him, and if he gave his cousin a moment of consideration, he’d snap at him too. “Edmund!”

At Edmund’s icy silence, Benjamin finally relented, sighing.

“Fine!” he shouted. “Go alone, do it all by yourself, but when you do need me—” He cut himself off.

Edmund couldn’t help but wonder if his cousin wanted to say that he wouldn’t be there. He slowed his gait, his jaw still clenched in anger, his mind whirring.

Benjamin sighed behind him. “When you do need me, all you need to do is ask.”

I will not .

But Edmund didn’t voice that thought. He only waved a dismissive hand, a final warning for his cousin to go home, as he did.

Disappointment chased him through the streets, sang through his stinging knuckles and aching jaw.

When he finally reached his townhouse, he collapsed onto a settee in the parlor, drained and numb, his anger having long left him cold and empty.