Page 4 of Broken

He let them look their fill.

Satisfied with the awed silence his presence evoked, Bartholomew peered through the swirling pipe smoke and attempted to find a pleasing location suitable for a man of his station to sit. The inn was grimy and poorly arrayed, so he raised an eyebrow at the nearest mud-splattered farmer, choosing a window spot out of all the occupied chairs.

At the innkeeper’s prompting, the slow-witted farmer vacated the space. “A right busy afternoon we’re havin’, sir. Can I get you sommat to drink?”

Placated by the man’s attention, Bartholomew graced him with a look and gingerly lowered himself to the chair. “Ale, and be quick about it.”

The greasy innkeeper hurried to do his bidding, pausing to offer a stubby-toothed smile to a cow-faced piece of fancy before disappearing from sight. Bartholomew clenched his teeth, patience wearing thin at the innkeeper’s easy distraction.

The man could flirt when he’d done his duty and served a paying customer. How much he’d get would depend on how quick about it he chose to be. Given the state of Bartholomew’s temper, the man would be lucky to see a farthing.

Conversation resumed around him at a low rumble.

The blacksmith had claimed no black carriage had passed through the village today or yesterday. He’d heard the same news from every stop thus far as he retraced his steps. The old man couldn’t vanish from the world, no matter how hard he tried. Winter always relied on friends to provide him houseroom, for him and that greedy brat he carted about.

The barkeep scurried through the tables and pushed a tankard across the battered wood. Bartholomew didn’t thank him. He tossed a coin to the table with careless grace. The man took it and his rank stench away.

How to find them quickly?

The old man had never evaded him before. It was unusually slippery of him to depart in the dark of night without saying where he was headed. The nurse he’d bribed to report to him hadn’t managed to send him word about the last minute trip either.

He would have to backtrack, find where his uncle’s carriage had parted ways with his expected heading, and then use all possible speed to catch up with them before Lilly was buried.

He needed to see her body.

Given he was Lord Winter’s only male heir, he had a devilishly tricky need to avoid accusation of any involvement in Lilly’s murder. He couldn’t risk losing his inheritance.

Bartholomew swallowed a mouthful of ale then grimaced at the taste. The coaching house served pigswill instead of ale. He’d never been served a fouler drop. He pushed the tankard away in disgust.

The innkeeper hurried over. “Can I get you sommat else, sir?”

Bartholomew didn’t bother to reply. His mind burned with anger as yet another simple wish failed to eventuate. He curled his fingers into a fist, but a movement at the door diverted him from the innkeeper. “Carriage is ready, Mr. Barrette.”

At last.

As he strode out the door, he made a vow not to let the old man and that pathetic bitch forget him. A man with Winter blood pulsing through his veins could not tolerate a snub from his own flesh and blood. He would not.

The stable hands held his horses and carriage at the ready. He flung himself into the dim recesses, thumping the wall in anger to signal his wish to be off with haste.

The hard lurch fed his rage, and he cursed the limits of his purse. When he had Dumas, and rescued Lilly’s dowry from limbo, things would change. He would have the respect he deserved, and the money to pay for the best of everything.

As the village fell behind and the thought of ruling over Dumas turned his mind from anger, he smiled. The title would gain him his rightful position, the death of his cousin would ensure his coffers were never depleted to dangerous levels, he could afford to marry whomever he chose, and he would have the current Lady Winter at his mercy.

He’d had enough of the haughty bitch too.

CHAPTER TWO

Lord Winter didn’t present himself for breakfast the next morning. Most likely, the baron’s aching head would be painful but tiny in comparison to his embarrassment over the outpouring of emotion the night before. With any luck, the older man would spend all afternoon with his daughter and change his mind about leaving her at Cottingstone.

“Lord Winter has requested a breakfast tray in his chamber, milord.”

Giles glanced at his butler. “Did he give any indication of when he might put in an appearance, Dithers?”

“No, sir. His valet was particularly close-mouthed about his employer’s habits,” Dithers remarked sounding very pleased. “A lot of loyalty there.”

As the butler fussed with the breakfast dishes, Giles studied his servant. Tall, lean, impeccable in his dark tailored suit, Giles had no idea why he was lucky enough to retain Dithers’ services. Despite his experience as a superior butler, the man had accepted the country position without complaint, allowing another to rule over the London townhouse upon Giles’ accession to the title. But even after five years buried in the country, Dithers still looked out of place.

“Hmm. Well, nothing to be done until the baron is free. Then I’ll work on changing his mind.”