Page 7 of I Never Forget a Duke (The Night Fire Club #1)

L ark walked through the club and found Fletcher Basildon, Baron Fowler, and Owen Thomas, the Earl of Caernarfon, seated near a fireplace sipping whisky. To Lark—and to Hugh—these two gentlemen were Fletcher and Owen, schoolmates from Eton and thus lifelong friends.

“Cheers, mate,” Owen said when he spotted Lark.

“Where is Swynford?” Fletcher asked. “We haven’t seen him in days.”

“That is actually why I’ve come to find you,” said Lark, sitting in an empty chair. One of the club’s attendants appeared with a snifter of whisky, which Lark took gratefully. “Hugh is missing.”

Fletcher and Owen glanced at each other. “What do you mean he’s missing?” asked Owen in his Welsh accent.

“He left the Rutherford ball three nights ago and hasn’t been seen since.” Lark quickly caught them up on what he knew so far and added, “Yesterday, I called on Hugh’s solicitor, Matthew Hogarth, who was anxious to help, although he had no information about Hugh’s whereabouts.”

“Is Hugh tangled up in something right now?” asked Fletcher.

“Not really. Hugh recently came into possession of a new plot of land after some distant relative died, but I can’t see how that would explain Hugh’s whereabouts. If he’d gone out to see it, he would have told his mother he was leaving town, but she also has no idea where he is.”

Owen frowned, finally catching on. “In other words, some menace may have befallen him. He could be in peril somewhere.”

“Yes, that is what I’m saying,” said Lark. He took a healthy sip of whisky. “I’d like to enlist your help.”

“Of course,” said Fletcher. “So he just… vanished?”

“It seems that way,” said Lark. “Mr. Hogarth is making some discreet inquiries with hospitals for injured men and with Bow Street to see if any, er, unidentified bodies have turned up, but if Hugh were dead, I believe we would know that by now. Surely he’d be recognized.”

“Do you suspect some other sort of foul play?” asked Fletcher. “Kidnapping?”

“I just don’t know,” said Lark. “I’ve been thinking on this problem for days and I honestly have no idea where he could have gone, if he went somewhere of his own volition.”

Fletcher frowned and set his whisky aside. “What do we do?”

“If none of Mr. Hogarth’s inquiries pan out, I was thinking we might let a newspaperman know. That was why I wanted to speak with you, specifically, Fletcher.”

Fletcher nodded. One of his business ventures was a print shop in London, so he had connections to newspapers and could easily find someone to print something about Hugh’s disappearance and let Lark have control over the message.

“Is Hugh courting some young lady he could have eloped with?” asked Owen.

Fletcher burst out laughing. “If that were the case, he was definitely abducted.”

“Where do you think he went?” asked Owen, elbowing Fletcher.

Lark sipped his whisky. “Part of me hoped one of you might know. When I last saw him, he was on his way home. Something happened on his walk from Rutherford’s to his house. That is a short distance, but the dowager duchess says he never came home after leaving for the ball.”

Lark was momentarily distracted when Anthony, the Marquess of Beresford, walked over to greet them.

Lark had made a decision that he would not alert anyone but those he trusted most that anything was amiss with Hugh, and he glanced at both Owen and Fletcher, who both nodded almost imperceptibly.

Lark had a certain… fondness for Beresford, but didn’t trust him entirely.

Beresford was as bold and alluring as he was annoying sometimes and he gave off an air like he didn’t care what anyone thought of him, something Lark found simultaneously attractive and terrifying.

Beresford said, “Your little quartet is missing a member.”

“Swynford is under the weather,” said Lark.

Beresford appeared to find this information of little interest and stood there posing, his hip cocked, as he examined his nails. “Pity. Nothing fatal, I hope.”

“A few sniffles.”

“I wish him the speediest of recoveries.” He looked at Lark directly and made eye contact.

“I wanted to share, Parliament is coming back in session. Prinny has some reason for calling them, likely for Parliament to appropriate more funds to his house decoration budget, but at any rate, my uncle is back in town from his sojourn to Bath.”

Beresford’s uncle was the current Lord Chancellor, a powerful position in the British government.

The Lord Chancellor was of advanced years and had murmured about possibly retiring soon, meaning the position was likely going to be open at some point in the near future.

This interested Lark only insofar as he was curious to see which lord made the bigger fool of himself jockeying for the job.

Lark’s overtaxed brain tried to see if he could make some connection between Hugh vanishing and Parliament being in session. He could come up with no way to connect these two things. He rubbed his forehead and then realized that Beresford was busy gossiping about various MPs.

Trying to recover from having bowed out of the conversation so as not to alert Beresford to the fact that something was wrong, Lark said, “This should keep the scandal sheets busy for a bit.”

Beresford laughed. “Indeed.”

“Is the rumor about Canbury true?” Owen asked.

“About his wearing women’s clothing in public? No,” said Beresford, “at least not as far as I know. However I heard he was seen leaving the molly house on Guildford Street. Some men are just not capable of discretion, I suppose.”

Lark tried not to react. Beresford was hardly discreet himself—Lark would not have been surprised if he’d been the one to spot Canbury at a molly house—but perhaps being a marquess insulated him from scandal to a certain extent.

The men of his generation of the ton generally knew about Beresford’s inclinations but did not discuss them in polite society.

Lark kept his interest in his own sex private, although now he was thinking about his recent tumbles with Beresford, partly because Beresford was now eyeing him in a meaningful way.

Lark sighed. “Did you see Canbury at the molly house?”

Beresford scoffed. “No. Nor would I go to one myself. Nor do I have any interest in donning women’s clothing if that is your next question.”

“You’d rather follow Brummell’s instructions to the letter,” said Fletcher. He tipped his glass toward Beresford. “I read that he’s decided the dandy set were all to wear that exact shade of yellow this Season.”

Beresford grinned and fingered the edge of his waistcoat, which was indeed a rather bold shade of yellow. “Do not shame me for following the latest fashions. I’m told this makes me quite attractive to a certain set of men who are in the know.”

Lark rolled his eyes. “And dressing like a goldfinch is the very height of discretion.”

Beresford shrugged. “Anyway, I also came to pay call to your little quadrangle because I wanted a word with you, Waring. May I discuss something with you without the presence of all of your friends?”

“We were having a somewhat serious conversation before you interrupted,” said Lark. His mind was still on Hugh, and he wanted to spend more time brainstorming how they might find him. Beresford was… a distraction.

“Just a minute or two of your time.”

“All right.”

He followed Beresford to a dim hallway out of sight and earshot from the rest of the members of the club. Beresford kissed him, fast and hard, then stroked the side of his face. “What I actually wanted to discuss was how I might find you without the presence of all of your clothes.”

“An urgent business matter requiring my attention has suddenly made itself known this week, and I’m afraid I don’t—”

“Surely your business obligations do not require your attentions at night.”

“Anthony, I—”

“I want you however I can get you. Tonight, tomorrow, anytime. I think you want me, too. I know you don’t want to get caught, and I will do everything in my power to see that we aren’t.

” Beresford nipped at Lark’s lips. “You may not think I am capable of discretion, but let me assure you, I can keep a secret if needed.”

“Kissing me in the hallway of a gentlemen’s club certainly seems like a good way to get caught.”

Beresford smiled and stepped away. “Fair point. Come to the house on Charles Street tonight.”

Beresford owned three houses in London. He had enough money to make scandals disappear as well, which Lark assumed was why he was not currently in jail or an asylum.

At any rate, the house on Charles Street was the least glamorous.

He kept minimal staff there, the house itself was nondescript and looked identical to three others on the block, and only a handful of people even knew Beresford owned it.

Which, of course, meant Lark was hardly the first man Beresford had brought to that house, since it was ideal for secret trysts.

He grunted. “Fine. I need some time, but I will come by tonight.”

“Only if you want to.”

“I want to, all right? But you must be more careful in public.”

“Naturally.”

When Lark returned to his friends, Fletcher gave him an odd look. “What did Beresford want?”

“Nothing of consequence. You know how he is.”

“Indeed. Now, what are we going to do about Hugh?”

*

Adele was surprised when Smith moved his knight and put her king in danger.

“I thought you didn’t know how to play chess,” she said.

“I must have in my previous life. That knowledge seems to be rattling around in my head.”