Lyon’s Prey

a carriage outside.”
“That is not necessary, my lord. I only live a few blocks from here . . .”
“My carriage is already waiting at the front door. If you will not allow me to accompany you, please allow my driver to take you home.”
She drew in a breath. “That might be better. As you pointed out, I did not bring my maid. It is but a few blocks, but the weather does threaten a chilling rain.” She caught his gaze. “Thank you.”
Ten minutes later, Evan stood on the veranda and watched his carriage pull away with a most perplexing guest.
What just happened? Lady Charlotte adjusted herself, pushing back into the squabs of the seat of Lord Clarendon’s carriage. She tried to calm herself and account for the last hour. For a man reported to drink all the time, Lord Clarendon had his wits about him. Today, at least. I suppose there is a chance that I have it wrong.
She gave a wry laugh. Charlotte would have much to answer for if her mother saw her arrive in this carriage. Walking would have been better, except it was so cold outside. She took her gloved hand and rubbed the frost from the window, noticing for the first time that a layer of ice still covered many trees. When she had walked to the earl’s townhouse earlier that morning, she was still angry over what had almost happened to her younger brother.
Lord Clarendon had seemed genuinely remorseful for his behavior, which had surprised her. Charlotte had been aware of the death of his wife in childbirth, but until today, she had not paid enough attention to the rumors about his son. She noticed the boy leaving with the nanny and Lord Clarendon’s sister and her husband. The young lord was adorable. She grinned. He reminded her of her own little brother, Jason—the one the earl’s carriage had almost run over yesterday. “Somehow, he turned the tables on me,” Charlotte muttered. Jason was all she and Mama had now, and she would do anything to protect her baby brother. She should be frustrated but felt unusually charmed and hopeful.
Any chance of finding Matthew had seemed to have died with Papa. But now Lord Clarendon planned to help find her older brother, something that could not only heal her heart, but rid her family of her uncle’s helping hand.
The carriage slowed to turn onto her street, and Charlotte smelled fresh pastries and other delightful smells coming from the corner bakery. Her family house was near. Inhaling deeply, she tried to still the racing of her heart. If she could just make it past the parlor where her mother normally sat watching the window . . .

Chapter Three
Evan could not remember when a dressing down had last been so alluring, allowing for the fact that he had been made aware of his poor behavior twice that day. That had to change. He knew that and still found himself craving a drink. Hearing a horse pounding up the drive, he looked past the carriage. Good God! Surely not another onslaught. He squinted. It was his best friend, Lord Christopher Anglesey, Earl of Banbury. His timing was impeccable. Thank goodness! Evan craved a drink, and he would need Banbury if they were to have a chance at finding Matt. He pulled on the cord, and a footman appeared.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Ah yes. Stanton. Would you have Cook supply a tray of sandwiches, meats, and cheeses to my study? It seems I have another guest. And two clean glasses, please. One more thing,” he added as the footman turned to leave. “Please have Bernard show my guest to the study. And have some hot tea brought in—with peppermint. My stomach feels a bit displaced.”
“Right away, my lord.” The tall blond footman left quickly.
Maybe Banbury can help make sense of my morning. Lady Charlotte mentioned someone helped her yesterday. His faith that the day could be salvaged suddenly renewed, he hurried toward his study. Voices in the anteroom behind him caused Evan to turn, and he saw his friend had arrived.
“Banbury, you are a sight for tired eyes this morning!” Evan walked toward his friend, extending his hand.
“Good to see you as well,” Banbury smiled and clapped Evan on the back.
“Come in.” Evan held open the door to his study. “I have already ordered luncheon.”
“Wonderful. I am famished. By the way, who was that leaving in your coach?” Banbury turned around for emphasis and pointed toward the door. “I saw it and thought to have missed you. I was prepared to leave a message with Bernard.”
“That is part of what I need to speak with you about. Ah, Stanton has arrived with our food. Come, let us take some refreshment.”
The footman replaced the earlier tea tray with a fresh tray plated with meats, cheeses, and small finger sandwiches. “Can I be of any further service, my lord?”
“No, thank you, Stanton.” Evan handed Banbury a plate, nodding at the food. “If you do not mind, there is something I would like to discuss.”
“You have tea on that tray. Is there something you would like to tell me?” Banbury rose and gave a mock feel of his friend’s head. “No fever.”
Evan pushed his hand away. “All right, already! I have realized that I have allowed my depressed mood to debase my entire being and I am trying . . . to get hold, regain who I need to be.” He grew quiet for a moment before pouring Banbury a cup of tea. “I hope you do not mind the peppermint. I have a bit of dyspepsia from yesterday’s activities.”
“I enjoy peppermint tea as well, but not for the same reason, I fear.” Banbury snorted a laugh. “You outdid yourself yesterday, my good friend. We have much to discuss.”
A frisson of cold traveled down his back. He had almost killed a young lad, wanted to fire his valet because the good man had done his job—more than his job—and he had neglected a son that