Page 30 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)
Chapter Twenty-Four
“ A s an teine don ghriasaich.” Out of the fire, into the embers.
I need answers. A lead. Anything, Richard thought to himself.
He was miles away from Wilthorne in the smoky, dimly lit confines of a notorious London gaming hell. The air was thick with the cloying scent of stale wine, cheap perfume, and the nervous sweat of men wasting money in high-stakes gambling.
Richard blended in well enough as he drowned his sorrows in drink, giving in to his darker side. The clatter of dice against wood, the rustle of cards, and the hushed whispers of clandestine deals formed a discordant symphony of vice.
He moved through the crowd, his eyes scanning the faces illuminated by flickering candlelight. Tonight, he was desperately searching for another man who might have ties to the shadowy network of the Bow Street Runners.
“Well, now, ain’t ya a handsome devil?” A heavily rouged lady of the night called to him from behind a colorful feathered fan. Her eyes glittered with a practiced allure as she approached him. “Lookin’ a bit lost, luv. Perhaps I could offer you some private entertainment upstairs?”
She had fiery red hair piled on top of her head, and while she was plump, her best assets were on full display. Another woman was with her, a cascade of blonde curls running down her back. She had a more svelte figure, with a high-cut chemise.
The other woman leaned close to him now, her voice a husky purr. “For you, we can do a two-for-one special. Whaddaya say, sire? Time to give in to your darker desires, I’d wager. You look like you could use a good row in the sheets, eh?”
“A bit of company might take your mind off your troubles, wouldn’t you agree, darling?” The other echoed.
Richard barely registered their presence, not appreciating the outnumbered approach. He kept his hands in his pockets, wary of petty theft in such a situation.
In fact, all he could think of was Catriona when considering their garish appearance. Their painted smiles and suggestions felt repulsive in comparison to Catriona in all her natural beauty.
The memory of their stolen kiss, now poisoned with regret and a sharp pang of loss, was a stark contrast to the tawdry allure of these women. Or perhaps their intended allure. Richard found them repulsive.
“I have no need of your services,” he said, dismissing them with a single wave. “Leave me be.”
Ashworth , he said to himself, almost as meditation. Focus .
His prayers were answered when he found his quarry a few moments later in the corner gaming area. He was holding court at a large, round table, surrounded by a gaggle of nervous players.
Without a word, Richard pulled out a chair and sat down.
His presence immediately unsettled the atmosphere, much to Ashworth’s chagrin.
The other players exchanged uneasy glances.
Whether they recognized the Duke of Wilthorne or were just intimidated by his appearance, he could not be sure. Either way, it was working.
“Good evening, Ashworth,” Richard’s voice was low and dangerous as he greeted him, cutting through the polite murmur of the players sizing him up.
Ashworth’s face flushed with annoyance at his interloping.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a game?”
“You would do well to call me Your Grace. Your game is over.”
His tone left no room for argument. There were no questions.
One by one, the players mumbled excuses and quickly vacated the table. Ashworth was left alone with Richard and would have no choice but to hear what he had to say.
“You have some nerve, Duke,” Ashworth sputtered. What started as annoyance turned into anger, fueled by the liquor he had imbibed that evening. “Interrupting a private game like this, these men paid good money!”
Richard leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze locking onto Ashworth’s.
“My brother was brutally murdered, Ashworth. I believe he might have stumbled upon something… something involving the Bow Street Runners. I’m looking for anyone who might have information.”
Ashworth’s eyes flickered nervously. “I… I don’t know anything about that. It was likely some common thief. Happens all the time.”
“You see, that’s just the thing. John wasn’t robbed because valuables were not taken. It was an ambush. Someone wanted him dead. And I intend to find out why.”
He reached across the table, his hand closing like a vise around Ashworth’s silk-clad collar. The politician gasped, his eyes widening in fear. “Look, I told you. I don’t know anything about this case! I can hardly read every file that comes through London, man. Let go of me!”
“Make it worth my while.”
“Lords and ladies can get killed too,” Ashworth choked out desperately, his face turning an unpleasant shade of purple. “In situations like that, sometimes it’s just bad luck. Wrong place, wrong time. Maybe after things went south, they were afraid to take anything and ran off in a hurry.”
The casual dismissal of his brother’s life, the implication that John was just collateral damage in some game, sent a white-hot rage through Richard. He felt the pumping of his blood hum in his ears.
The guilt over John’s death, the crushing weight of his failure to protect Lydia, the raw ache of his fractured connection with Catriona, all coalesced into a blinding fury. He saw red.
Richard released Ashworth’s collar and, in a surge of uncontrolled rage, overturned the table. He reached Ashworth and shoved the politician violently backwards, sending him sprawling against the overturned table. Cards and coins scattered across the floor as all in the hall turned to stare.
“Is that the Duke of Wilthorne?” one man called out as he gave a yell in approval. “Look at him going at that man!”
“Why, I think it is him!” More men walked in their direction to watch the spectacle.
“Guards!” Ashworth bellowed, clutching his throat. “Get him out of here!”
Two burly men lumbered towards Richard then. Unfortunately for them, he was beyond reason, beyond caring about the consequences of his actions. He was a man with nothing to lose.
Instead, he met their advance with a primal growl and quickly grabbed one guard by the arm and hurled him into the other. They went crashing into a nearby wall, knocking over a shelf of glass that shattered.
Richard looked down on them for a moment, then turned and stormed out of the gaming hell. The sounds of shouting and confusion faded behind him as he made his way onto the dark, lonely London streets.
He strode out into the night, the cool air doing little to quell the inferno of guilt and anger that raged within him. He had sought answers, but all he found was more fuel for his torment, more trouble.
As if on cue, he looked up at the sky and saw a bolt of lightning illuminate the dark night.
He was failing on every front, a storm of his own making threatening to consume everything he held dear.