Love and Let Spy (Lord and Lady Spy) (38 page)

The bulbous-nosed lord opened his mouth to issue a retort, but one of his friends pulled him aside and muttered something in his ear. Flynn imagined it was something to the effect that they would all be ejected if this continued. Flynn glanced at Ravenscroft, who motioned to the green-walled room, where rows of tables, each with its own lamp or two, housed games of cards or dice.

Ravenscroft led him to a rectangular table against a wall and seated himself on a red velvet couch. Flynn reached for the cards, but Ravenscroft moved them out of reach. “I would do better to hand you my blunt rather than try to best you. I have not slept in three days. Apparently, the phrase
slept like a babe
means one did not sleep at all, or rather, was woken at half hour intervals by screaming and wailing.” The duke lifted a decanter of brandy and poured three fingers into the snifter on the table. He surprised Flynn by pushing the drink toward him. “You look like you need it.”

“I do.” Flynn downed it and pushed the snifter back for more.

“Do you search out scandal or does it find you?”

“I am a lodestone for it,” Flynn said, taking the snifter when Ravenscroft had filled it again. Flynn leaned back in his chair. “Why did you help me just now?”

“Clearly someone has to, old boy.”

“If you are my last hope, I have fallen far indeed.”

Ravenscroft laughed. “You always did amuse me, Flynn.”

“That’s because you were generally foxed and easy to amuse.” Flynn drank the snifter down, feeling a pleasant sense of warm numbness settle in his bones. When he was numb, he didn’t have to think, to remember.

“I had another purpose for coming to your aid just now.”

Flynn fingered the snifter and waited. No one, not even old friends, did anything for free.

“Someone is looking for you. I told him I’d keep you here until he could return.”

“Does this have to do with—?”

“That
revealing
incident at the ball in Grosvenor Square earlier this evening?”

Flynn winced. “Touché.”

The duke smiled. “I do not think the two are related. Do you know Sir Brook Derring?”

“Derring? Is that the family name for the earls of Dane?”

“Flynn, you
do
pay attention.”

“Are you trying to goad me into punching you?”

“This is the earl’s younger brother. He works for Bow Street.”

Flynn rose. “What the hell are you about? An
investigator
? And you claim to be my savior?”

A hand clamped down on Flynn’s shoulder from behind. “You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

“Derring.” Ravenscroft acknowledged the newcomer.

Flynn shrugged the hand off and turned to face the man. “Touch me again, and you’re dead.”

“And with that,” Ravenscroft said, rising, “I will take my leave. Flynn, let’s not meet again.” He nodded to Derring and walked away.

Derring indicated the table. “Sit.”

Flynn glanced about, noting the men who had threatened him earlier still loitered nearby, standing in plain sight under the chandelier. Perhaps now was not the best time to walk out. His gaze slid back to Derring. The man looked as though he’d been up all night. His dark blond hair was in disarray, as though he’d repeatedly run his hands through it. He had not shaved in a day or so, and his eyes were bleary. He had taken the time to dress, however. One did not enter Brooks in anything less than proper attire.

Derring leaned forward. “As you might have gathered, I am an investigator. I was hired to find a missing person. I have not found that individual—yet—but I have found your brother.”

Flynn felt his world tilt and spin. He gripped the edge of the table to keep from falling out of his chair, and he closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness. Derring was still talking, saying something about shocks, but all Flynn could hear was the howl of the wind. That was strange, was it not? He was inside.

His hand snaked across the table toward the decanter of brandy Ravenscroft had left behind. The hand looked as though it belonged to someone else, though he recognized the stain on the thumb of the glove as well as the sleeve of the coat. The hand trembled, and Derring finally took pity, lifted the decanter, and filled the snifter to the rim.

Flynn gulped it as a dying man gulps the elixir of immortality and pushed the snifter back. Derring shook his head. “I need you sober.”

“No, you don’t.” Flynn looked Derring in the eye. “You do not want to see me when I’m sober.”

“I will have to take that chance because you are to come with me to Bath. Now. Tonight.”

Flynn shook his head. “I’m not going to Bath.” Good God, his mother was in Bath, taking the waters or some such nonsense. He did not want to be obliged to call on her. She’d only shake her head at him and look disappointed. He hated it when she looked disappointed.

“Your brother needs you,” Derring said. He reached across the table and caught Flynn’s hand before he could rise.

“My brother is dead. He died years ago. I killed him.” The words echoed in Flynn’s mind, taunting him as he’d been taunted his entire life since that day so long ago.

Acknowledgments

Heartfelt appreciation and gratitude go to

My editor, Deb Werksman;

My agents, Danielle Egan-Miller and Joanna MacKenzie, and Abby Saul too;

My assistant Gayle, who takes care of all the administrative stuff so I can write;

My web mavens, Maddee and Jen at xuni.com;

Danielle Dresser, my publicist, whom I adore;

My fellow writers at the Brainstorm Troopers, the PBK Moms, the Jaunty Quills, and the West Houston RWA chapter;

My friends and supporters, Tina, Sharie, Tera, Laura, Jo Anne, Emily, and Amy;

The Shananigans;

My family, especially my husband and daughter;

And last, but not least, my readers.

About the Author

Shana Galen is the national bestselling author of fast-paced, adventurous Regency historicals, including the RT Reviewers’ Choice
The
Making
of
a
Gentleman
. She taught English at the middle and high school levels for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston’s inner city. Now she writes full time. She’s happily married to a man she calls Ultimate Sportsfan and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making. The family is owned by two cats Baby Galen named Mickey and Maisy. Shana loves to hear from readers: Visit her website at www.shanagalen.com, download her free author app for exclusive content and first looks, or see what she’s up to daily on Facebook and Twitter.

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