Page 71

“No, thank you, Humphrey.” Layton shook his head. The four cups he had already drunk sloshed about in his belly. “I would appreciate something to break my fast, though.”

“Of course.” Humphrey gave a nod as he collected the coffee cup. He slid Layton a side-eyed glance. “Do you have any requests?”

“No.” Shaking his head, Layton swallowed a yawn. “Something simple. Whatever the cook can toss together.”

“Very good, Captain.” Humphrey took his leave on silent feet.

All of Fletcher’s employees moved about the social club with deft stealthiness, appearing and disappearing almost like specters.

Yawning, Layton closed his eyes.

He was bloody exhausted.

And yet he had endured another sleepless night, rising at just after four to walk off his restlessness among London’s dank and cold lanes.

It had not worked.

As always, thoughts of Lilly inundated him.

Sweet Lilly, with her ready smile and keen wit. Her kindness and compassion. Her resilience and fortitude.

God above, how Layton missed her.

Missed the sound of her dulcet voice, her joyful laughter, her clean, refreshing scent. Every minute away from her caused the ache within him to grow.

Once more, he let his mind wander back to that afternoon when he had regained his memory.

At first, he had thought nothing of the drunken troublemakers at the Crown and Stone. Inebriated men said and did imbecilic things, and he had witnessed hundreds of sots before, making absolute fools of themselves while pished to the proverbial gills.

But it had soon appeared that the rough pair had not randomly selected the Crown and Stone to drown their sorrows. While downing tankard after tankard, through bloodshot eyes, they observed him and Merrivale far too closely for their presence to be happenstance.

Initially, because Layton did not yet know of the Earl of Highbury’s arrest, that realization had disturbed him. However, the sods showed nothing more than cursory interest in him, and he had hoped that meant Highbury had given up the chase.

However, as the evening progressed, it became apparent that the thugs were targeting Merrivale, which meant they either had decided he was a rich ponce to rob, or they were henchmen sent to teach him a lesson.

If it had not been for Layton, the scoundrels would likely have succeeded in their mission.

After regaining consciousness on the way to London, and though immensely grateful for Layton’s help, Merrivale remained mulishly silent about the matter and would neither deny nor confirm the louts’ intent.

No amount of prodding or cajoling had loosened his lordship’s lips. The viscount had clamped his mouth shut tighter than a virgin nun’s legs.

Regardless, one thing was inarguable.

Merrivale was utterly terrified.

Which probably meant he was involved in something way over his aristocratic head, or he was in trouble up to his starched neckcloth. That also explained his desperation to get his hands on Matilda Davenport’s legacy. He had wrongly assumed he could bully Lilly into acquiescence, then probably bribe a magistrate to rule in his favor.

He had not calculated on Layton’s presence or interference.

With Fletcher’s and Torrian’s help, Layton meant to find out exactly what Merrivale was mixed up in, hence his delay in leaving London. He had not even seen his parents yet, though he had sent word to the duke and duchess that he was all right and would come to visit as soon as possible.

Immeasurable relief filled Layton when he learned Cassius and Beatrice were safe. Their betrothal came as no surprise. They might not have known it themselves, but Layton had concluded while helping them escape to London that the two were head-over-heels in love.

According to Fletcher, the Westbrook family had spent the last several weeks searching for Layton, but someone had thought they spied him near Hexham, and that was where they had focused their search.

“Unable to sleep again, Layton?” Fletcher asked, the merest hint of brotherly concern tempering the question.

Of Layton’s six brothers, Fletcher was his only blood kin.