Dangerous Liaison (Lords of Whitehall Book 2)

her way into his life. The moment he could lock the door on Whitney’s prison cell, he’d send Gillian off to the country. He knew what was best for both of them.
With his resolve strengthened, Moreham led his wife into dinner. They chatted during each remove until the dessert course was placed in front of them. She spoke more than he did. The footmen had refilled their wine glasses, he motioned for Timmie and the footmen to leave them.
Gillian raised her glass in his direction. “May I offer a toast to a wonderful dinner. Tomorrow, before we leave, I’ll visit the kitchen and tell the chef myself. The flounder was cooked to perfection. I adored the lemon sauce on the asparagus—”
“My dear, there are no witnesses so you can cease pretending to be the happy bride.” Even as the words flowed from his mouth, he wanted to call them back. Never had he been such an arse.
Her glass clunked on the table. Gillian folded her napkin and placed it by her plate with exaggerated precision before rising to her feet. He stood then moved her chair back. He knew he should offer his apology for his harsh words but doing so would bring that sweet gleam back into her eyes when she looked at him. It was better this way.
Both of them jumped at a tap on the doors. “Enter.”
Timmie entered the room with a concerned look on his face.
“Timmie, what’s the matter? Mother is not here, is she?”
“No, my lord, the Earl of Crossley and Viscount Sturmbridge are asking to see you in the library.”
His friends’ arrival could only mean trouble. He threw down his serviette and left without another word to Gillian.
He entered the library and found his friends pacing the floor. “What are the two of you doing here?”
Cross ignored Moreham’s inquiry. Moreham didn’t need to turn around to know his bride was at his back. He wasn’t used to having her around. He had assumed wrongly she would retire above stairs and leave him to deal with his business.
He turned to Gillian. He attempted to intimidate her to no avail. She returned his glare with her own in kind. He took her hand and brought her to his side. “I thought it was understood you were retiring for the evening.”
“You have told me I am to help you with this investigation, so I followed. No reason for the gentlemen to recount their tale twice.”
Gillian smiled up at him then turned away to close the library doors. She made her way around him and greeted his friends. “Cross and Sturm, so good to see you. Have you had dinner? I can ask Timmie to have a tray prepared for you both.”
“Thank you for the gracious offer, but we will only be interrupting your evening for a few minutes to pass on the events of the day to Moreham, and you it seems.”
Moreham motioned for everyone to have a seat. Gillian perched on the arm of his chair. Moreham surrendered and sat down while his friends took their seats across from his desk. He bit back a smile at the looks on his friends’ faces— their mouths hung open, no doubt from disbelief.
Moreham gave his friends his attention. “I assume if you both are here you have something to report.”
Cross shared a look with Sturm. “Yes, we were outside Baldock when a gang of ruffians attacked us. Took our horses and the package.”
“Would you gentlemen stop referring to a prisoner as a package. I’m no ninny who only cares about what particular shade of blue ribbon will bring out the green in my eyes. I thought you both understood my role in this business.” Gillian’s quiet voice resonated with impatience.
Cross shot him a speaking look. No doubt his friend would prefer if Gillian left the room. Cross being the more traditional of the two did take offense when a lady was included in their discussions. A fact Gillian no doubt understood. The small woman was a force of nature when someone she loved was in jeopardy.
Sturm took up the explanation since Cross was obviously flummoxed by Gillian’s presence. “One of the outriders was shot. Still living, at least, he was when we left the group.”
“What about Thomas Jones?” Moreham demanded.
“Who is Thomas Jones?” Gillian asked.
Impatient to hear more from Cross and Sturm, Moreham rapidly fired off his answer. “Mr. Jones is one of Arnold’s compatriots. Weatherington and Lady Serena captured him. He’s been held in custody since the day after your aunt’s ball. With his interrogation completed, I wanted him out of London. He was on his way to that hunting lodge we have discussed.” He nodded to his friend to continue.
“The gang grabbed him shackles and all. The dastard rode away on Georgie.” Sturm turned his attention to Gillian. “Georgie is my gelding. Raised him from a foal. Named him for the king, I did. Wanted to give chase, but Cross insisted we return to London.”
“There was nothing we could do. No need to comb the countryside when Jones and his rescuers headed towards Town. I’m a better hunter here than I am in the countryside. Here I can ask questions and for the right amount of coin gain the information I want.”
Moreham cleared his throat. “Enough. Do you have anything else to report?”
Cross took control of the explanation. “We walked to the next village, paid for horses and rode the old nags back to Town. We did stop by the mews at Whitehall. Our scheduled coachman sent word by his cousin he was ill, but his cousin could drive as well as any man. The stable master hired the cousin. Worst case, our intended coachman is dead or sleeping off a drunk somewhere.”
“Who knew of your plans? Did you tell anyone?”
The two men exchanged a concerned look. “We did stop by Whitehall after we left your wedding to nose around Arnold’s desk. Found his personal ledger. Never seen a gentleman who kept a ledger on his