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Her shoulders went back as she whirled to face him.
“You may call me Lady Aphrodite,” she snapped before stalking past his friend in a swirl of agitated skirts.
Mal watched her retreat and then turned back to Apollo with a raised brow. “In one of her moods again today, is she?”
Aphrodite always seemed to be in a mood when it came to his friend.
“Come in,” he invited. “My sister is always the soul of cheer unless you are about.”
Mal bit out a laugh. “Now that, I find difficult indeed to believe. She is all thunderclouds and lightning bolts, Lady Aphrodite. Your mother ought to have named her Bronte or Astrape. It would have been far more suiting.”
Apollo decided to ignore that dig, because Aphrodite had been quite rude to Mal and also because he had far weightier matters on his mind.
He rose and moved to the sideboard where he kept his spirits. “Brandy?”
“Mother’s milk to me. Need you ask?” Mal folded his frame into a chair.
Apollo splashed equal amounts of the amber liquid into glasses and offered one to his friend before seating himself as well. “Please tell me you’ve come bearing news about Melville.”
“I have indeed.” Mal grinned. “My visit to Gideon was especially fruitful. In particular, I think you’ll be interested to know that Corbett isn’t the only brother with a gambling problem that is larger than his coffers can withstand.”
Apollo paused, glass midway to his lips. “Melville has gambling debt?”
Mal nodded. “Quite a bit of it. He and Corbett were a pair, always traveling together, I’m told. Until Corbett took ill, of course. But that’s not all. Gideon told me that Melville is a frequent patron at one of his establishments that caters to birching, amongst other things.”
“So, Melville likes to be caned,” he mused. “I cannot think that would be a secret he would like his wife to know about. As for the gambling, it sounds as if he has been wagering beyond his means.”
“Apparently for some time now. But here is where it gets truly interesting. Melville’s debts were paid off after Corbett’s death. Apparently, Melville was in his cups one evening when he revealed to one of the ladies of the evening that as guardian of Corbett’s children, he has access to Corbett’s funds and was using them to pay his own debts.”
Outrage bloomed inside him, instant and corrosive.
“That lying, hypocritical bastard. Phee was so low on funds that she had to play hostess for the Wicked Dukes Society, all whilst Melville was frittering away anything that was left on his own gambling debt and brothels.”
As the guardian of the children, Melville would also have absolute control over the management of Corbett’s estates. Whatever pittance he was allowing Phee wasn’t sufficient. Little wonder. He’d been keeping all the rest for himself.
“What do you intend to do?” Mal asked.
“I’ll see about having him investigated for the mismanagement of funds,” he decided at once. “But that could take some time, and I want to be sure Phee needn’t worry about Melville trying to take the children in the meantime. I think I’ll be paying Lord Timothy a call.”
“Lord Timothy is not at home,” a young footman informed Apollo.
No surprise there, but if Lord Timothy thought Apollo could be deterred by a spotty-faced fifteen-year-old who looked as if he could be snapped like a twig, he was sorely wrong.
“You misunderstand me,” Apollo said smoothly, allowing a casual air of menace to enter his voice. “I am the Duke of Prestwick, and I have pressing business with Lord Timothy. I will see him at once.”
The footman stared at him, clearly uncertain of how to proceed, blinking in silence.
“Do you think to refuse a duke?” he pressed. “This is the household of a mere second son. I am a peer of the realm.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the lad stammered. “Of course, Your Grace.”
“Take me to wherever Lord Timothy is hiding,” he demanded. “At once.”
“Y-yes, Your Grace,” the footman said. “Right this way, if you please.”
The young man led Apollo to a closed door, which he knocked upon.
“What is it, boy?” demanded a churlish voice from within. “I told you I’m not to be disturbed.”
