Page 8 of Lyon on the Lam (The Lyon’s Den)

Leaving Tavie alone this morning, on the verge of tears, had taken every bit of his willpower. But he’d still found enough to avoid hunting down Lord Burridge and kicking him into confessing. To anything.

He should have done it five years ago. If he had, Tavie wouldn’t be bruised, in borrowed clothes, and hiding in a run-down boardinghouse on the wrong side of London.

And he’d have the ability to kiss her whenever he wanted. Especially when she tried not to cry.

It was best not to think of that, and to not think about it, he needed to be away from her. He needed to get to the bottom of a mess that she had likely imagined.

But if that were the case, then she’d end up back in her husband’s house. Two miserable people with a cartload of suspicion and a history of violence between them. So Matthew found himself once again hoping that something would befall Baron Burridge.

“What do you know of Albert Wilton?” he asked.

Will blinked. “Baron Burridge? What does he have to do with Mrs. Miller in Suffolk?”

Not a damn thing . “Er… He…” Matthew struggled for an explanation that didn’t involve his past with Tavie.

He’d met Will in a pub after her marriage and hired him not long after that.

It had been a relief to have one person in his life who didn’t treat him like a wounded bird.

“Lady Burridge’s father is a competitor. Rupert Fowler.”

Will shuddered. “Fowler’s a dreadful bore. Makes me almost sorry for Burridge.”

“Almost?” Matthew asked.

“Burridge’s a smart one, and he’s careful with how people see him. He drinks, but not too much. He gambles, but he’s not wasteful. He’s not in debt, that I’ve heard.”

That didn’t sound like a spy. As a matter of fact, it sounded a lot like Matthew himself. However, it also removed every excuse the man might have for being ungentle with his wife.

Matthew watched Will carefully and thought, just maybe, there was something in his friend’s eyes. “But…?”

“He reminds me of someone at a masquerade ball. There’s a face that everyone sees, and then the other that’s hidden.”

“Doesn’t everyone in Society do that?”

Will leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I have a few friends who’ve done business with him. They describe it as…unpleasant. He’s harsh, exacting, and he keeps track of every slight. And profit isn’t enough.”

Matthew stepped aside so an attendant could pass with a tray of sweets.

He was on his way to a box, no doubt—perhaps even Matthew’s.

Mother pursued her pleasures as intensely as Father had pursued success.

The men in his family had always had a goal and the ambition to achieve it. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“When it turns to greed, yes,” Will said. “And I’ve heard gossip that the Burridges have done just about anything in the name of wealth.” He sighed. “Make a guy a baron, and all his descendants walk around with chips on their shoulders because they want to be earls.”

And the longer the line of descendants, the larger the chip grew. “I’ve heard he travels to France often.”

“He’s linked to the Comte de Abbeville frequently.” Will’s eyes widened. “Is this about something other than Fowler?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Matthew was careful not to shift his position.

Will was always hoping for something more interesting than ledgers, but he was married.

Married men had no business skulking through London in the middle of the night looking for people who were out of place. “What’s the gossip about France?”

“Burridge likes French wine.”

“Which he can’t get here.”

Will nodded. “And he has storehouses overflowing with premium grain.”

“Which France needs for its army.” That might explain the large deposits Tavie held as her evidence of espionage. Prinny would consider feeding the French army as treason.

A chill began in Matthew’s chest. Surely, Burridge would not be so reckless as to risk everything just to line his pockets.

The crowd thinned and the room quieted. Will finished his drink. “Will the ladies miss us if we’re gone too long?”

Charlotte would likely miss her husband, but Mother had grown used to Matthew disappearing. “Go on ahead. I’ll settle our bill and rejoin the party.”

Eventually. Right now, he needed the quiet to think about what he had learned and how it might affect the outcome of his latest mission.

You also need to admit that the outcome may not be what you hope.

Hope was a dangerous thing.

Matthew placed his payment on the bar and nodded his thanks to the steward. The night was clear and warm enough for a brief walk to clear his head and focus his thoughts.

“Matthew!”

If the crowd was larger, or noisier, it would have been easy to ignore Dorinda Fowler’s shrill bark. But it wasn’t, and Matthew was left with the choice to behave rudely or to face Tavie’s shrewish mother.

She was flanked by her husband, but she was on the arm of her daughter’s husband, Baron Burridge.

Albert Wilton was the epitome of a Society gentleman.

Tall, with dark hair and light-blue eyes, he was dressed in the latest fashion.

His white waistcoat and cravat cut a trough through his black evening suit, which remained unwrinkled even though they were halfway through the performance.

Either he had been standing for the past two hours or he had just arrived.

Apprehension trickled down Matthew’s spine, leaving a chill in its shivery wake. “Mrs. Fowler, Mr. Fowler.” He bowed slightly. “Lord Burridge.” He looked behind them. “Is the baroness well?”

“Octavia is—”

“Allow me, Mother Fowler.” Burridge disengaged from Tavie’s mother and walked away, leaving it to Matthew to follow like a devoted pet.

Matthew gritted his teeth and did so, thinking of Tavie with each step.

Once they were separated, Albert stopped and faced him. “I am growing concerned about my wife.”

Matthew decided it was best to stay quiet and let the man talk.

“She has become more withdrawn of late, and she has a tendency to grow confused. According to my staff, she spends more time in her rooms or simply drifting about.” He glanced to ensure they didn’t have an audience.

“And now she’s left the house. According to my staff, she left early one morning a little over a week ago. ”

“I see,” Matthew said. “Why approach me?”

“Mr. Fowler says that you have a reputation for discreetly finding people who do not wish to be found. I fear that Octavia has fallen into the wrong hands. I would like you to find and return my wife before a scandal arises.”

Matthew was struck by how much Albert resembled an overly large crow. In his experience, the birds were smarter than they might first appear. “You are aware that Baroness Burridge and I were childhood friends?”

That was honest, and much safer than I was once in love with your wife.

“Her mother has told me.” Albert’s eyes narrowed. “We thought it might give you a better perspective.”

Matthew did have a perspective, and it was too alarming to consider until he was alone. “Shall we meet at Brooks’s tomorrow afternoon to discuss our terms?”

“Morning would be preferable. It will be a long day at Lords, and I would like you to begin work as quickly as possible.” Albert cleared his throat. “I am quite concerned that some evil has befallen Octavia.”

Matthew shook his head. Regardless of whether he intended to work for Burridge, he would set his own rules. “I have a business to manage. We can meet in the morning, but I work when I want.”

They stared at one another across an imaginary battle line. Years at a negotiation table had taught Matthew not to flinch first.

“Shall we say nine?” Albert finally offered.

The first bars of a new aria reached out and curled around them. Matthew dipped a quick nod in agreement. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to rejoin my mother and our guests.”