Keeping his distance was for the best. He was not all that good to begin with, starting as many fires as he put out. And after all he’d done to harm her, what woman would attach herself to such a man? But that didn’t stop him missing their interactions.
Or perhaps just missing her.
His gaze found the man in a shadowed corner. While he’d been watching Selena, he’d also glimpsed a familiar figure enter.
Warrick narrowed his eyes and strode to the man seated in a darkened corner at the back. “You were here that day as well, weren’t you?”
The Duke of Mortimer lifted his head to meet his gaze. “Keen observation, Warrick.”
“You followed Lady Selena today?” A wild guess.
“Not quite.”
“Not quite?” He paused in thought. “You believe she has the betting book.”
He inclined his head. “I believe it’s in her hands at the moment, yes.”
“It’s not.”
The duke arched a brow. “You know this for a fact?”
Warrick plopped down and signaled for a beer. “Is that the same barman from the other day?”
“No,” the duke said. “He hasn’t shown up since then.”
Was that so? “Suspicious business.”
Mortimer inclined his head. “Very.”
“I know she did have the book at one time,” Warrick offered after a moment. “I also know she hates reading.”
“So she passed the book along already.”
Warrick narrowed her eyes on the man. “Whatareyou doing here, Mortimer? You don’t strike me as the sort of man to visit taverns such as these just to keep track of a lady who may or may not have a book you were asked to retrieve.”
“Should I have sat in a carriage or stood next to a lamppost for three hours then? I’d rather spend my time more comfortably.”
“When you say it like that, you make it sound as though I belong in Bedlam.” Warrick’s tone couldn’t hide a sour note. Mortimer still hadn’t given him any response that would even remotely answer his question. This must be part of the real reason he was hunting the book.
“What about you?” Mortimer asked. “I thought you’d laid the matter of Lady Selena to rest.”
He had. He did. “Curiosity.”
The arch of a single brow was filled with a question:Are you sure?
“Believe what you like,” Warrick muttered.
“It’s a pity she hates reading,” Mortimer remarked. “You wrote quite the love note.”
“I made a list. Hardly a love note.”
“Do you have any regrets? You must have heard that Mandeville’s tumbler exploded in his hand when he read your assessment.”
“Proving my claim, no? That must have infuriated him even more.” Warrick thanked the server when she brought his ale. “As expected, neither the list nor the wagers has left the walls of White’s.”
“We are not as sensational as the heiresses.” Mortimer gave him an unreadable look. “Forgive me for pointing this out, but you look like hell.”
“Well, thank you.” He knew just how hellish he looked.
