“Because it’s the truth,” he bit out. “Trust me, Wolf. I know what I know, and I promise you I wouldn’t be doing any of this if it weren’t for what I learned about Haldringham. The earl can give us answers, I’m sure of it. If not Loge’s return, then…”
His words trailed off, because he refused to contemplate the alternative, although he knew that at this point, the odds were strong that the earl had either paid to have something terrible done to Loge or had done it himself. Hart wanted his brother back, damn it. They needed Loge here at The Sinner’s Palace, especially with the changes happening in the family. He missed his brother. Missed Loge’s good-natured way, his easy laugh, his friendship. He missed everything about Loge, and he would do anything to have him alive and well and here with them.
“Then we’ll know what became of ’im,” Wolf finished for him, his tone grim. “And we’ll also know who we need to gut like a fish.”
A chill swept over him at the thought that their brother was truly was gone. That he would never return.
“If that’s the truth, and if he ain’t coming back, then we’ll know what we have to do,” he agreed.
“I’ll give you a bit more time,” Wolf conceded, “before I tell Jasper.”
He would take whatever his brother offered. Lily’s silence was assured, since she was not privy to his reasons for bringing Lady Emma to The Sinner’s Palace.
He nodded. “Thank you. You’ll not regret it.”
“See that I don’t. Until then, you’d best go and see to the new shipment of wine coming today,” Wolf told him, brow raised as he raked Hart’s form with a scornful look. “You’ll not be going on the floor looking like that.”
First Jasper, now Wolf.
“Brothers,” he grumbled. “Fine. I’ll see to the swill.”
As he made his way to the rear entrance where merchants plied their wares, he had to admit both his brothers were right. He could not be seen dressed as he was on the floor. Besides, he wasn’t fit company for anyone after what had happened between himself and Lady Emma. His lack of control where she was concerned remained a smite upon his conscience.
The next time he saw her, he would not be so easily led astray from his course.
Far too much relied upon his ability to keep her at a distance and use her as he had intended.
* * *
Emma madeher way through the maze of inner hallways at The Sinner’s Palace, dressed in a borrowed gown and slippers from Hart’s sister Lily. Like the brothel yesterday, this was the first gaming hell she had ever been within. In the span of one day, her ruination had been thorough, if not complete, as she had found herself in all the dens of vice where a gentleman might reasonably dwell but a true lady most certainly could not.
If anyone she passed thought it odd for a masked lady to be wandering about, wearing Lily’s gown, no one remarked upon it. Everything, from the scandalous pictures of scantily clad ladies adorning the walls, to the scents and sounds drifting to her from the public rooms, was a different world compared to the one she had formerly known.
If she had not again been left alone for hours after Hart had retreated in such haste earlier, she might have been intrigued by this new landscape she so unexpectedly inhabited. However, following the pleasure he had given her and then so abruptly ended, he had disappeared. Abandoned her.
A serving girl had arrived with sustenance, the sole sign he had not entirely forgotten her existence. After doing her best to perform some cursory ablutions with the heated water the girl had also provided, Emma had discovered that her stomach was actually ravenously hungry. She had eaten precious little the day before, on account of her upset at all that was about to unfold.
As a result, she had eaten every bite on the plate, and quite without a care for manners. Thus fortified, she had hastily donned the borrowed gown and slippers, deciding she was not going to simply wait for Hart to return.
The guard in place in the hall beyond the room had been a simple enough matter. Emma knew from experience that gentlemen were easily charmed by a lady who asked them about their favorite subject—themselves. A few minutes of friendly chatter with the man charged with watching her door—Hugh, he had confided his name was—and she knew all about his three younger sisters, his ailing mother, his love of boxing, and his dog named Lucy.
When she had mentioned a need to stretch her legs and take the air, he had hurriedly and helpfully suggested she go for a brief walk in the private halls. For just a few minutes, no more, he had said, and she had agreed, with just a small twinge of guilt at the lie. For she had no intention of returning to the four walls of Hart Sutton’s chamber until she found the man himself.
With all the halls and rooms and staircases—three in total—she could well understand how someone could get lost within this sinner’s lair. Which was why, as she rounded a corner and collided with a wall of male chest, it was hardly surprising.
Nor were the hands instantly clamping on her waist to hold her steady, keeping her from flying backward to her rump. Familiar, those hands.
“Emma.”
As familiar as the voice, deep and mellifluous, but this time with an edge of irritation instead of passion, as she would have preferred.
He was still displeased with her, then.
She met his gaze, her hands on his upper arms as she steadied herself. He was still dressed informally, in nothing but his shirt and trousers. It was scandalous.
“Hart,” she said evenly.
“What the bleeding ’ell are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice curt.
The h in hell was notably absent, his accent growing rougher in his irritation.
Perhaps she should take it as a sign not to provoke him, but she was rather exasperated herself. “I am looking for you. That is what the bleeding hell I am doing here. You left me hours ago. Am I meant to be trapped in your room for the entirety of the day?”
His countenance turned thunderous. “You are meant to stay where I tell you to stay, where you are safe from harm.”
“And who is going to harm me?” Perhaps it was foolish of her, but despite the fact that The Sinner’s Palace was a gaming hell, she felt quite protected here. She had never once felt as if she were in danger. “I see no cutpurses or footpads running about.”
“Where the devil is Hugh?” he asked next instead of answering her query.
Not that she had supposed he would.
“You must not be angry with Mr. Hugh,” she said, the guilt at her deception returning. “I promised him I was only going for a short walk.”
“You promised him, did you?” Hart’s eyes narrowed as the hands on her waist tensed.