A rancid scent came to him then—piss and sweat. He grinned and watched his cousin’s brows dip into a confused frown. “You’re afraid,” Callum said, matter-of-fact, then turned on his heel and left.
“Did you learn anything?” Callum asked as the door to his cousin’s home shut behind Beckford.
They descended the stairs and then climbed into the curricle. Beckford grinned as Callum took up the reins. “Your cousin’s servants despise him.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Callum replied over the sound of the curricle rambling down the street toward the Orcus Society. “Ross intends to kill me.”
Beckford snorted. “You needed a visit with him to tell you that? You should have just asked me. I could have enlightened you that he’d be planning to kill you. He didn’t go to all that trouble to just sit idly back upon your return and let you take what he has gained. You want me to set men to watch your house?”
Callum thought about it briefly. He wasn’t worried that Ross would strike at Constantine because Ross wanted her, but his cousin might inadvertently hurt her trying to get at Callum. If Callum believed telling her that would persuade her to go to the country, he would, but he knew her. Telling her that his cousin intended to kill him would only make her more determined to stay by his side and protect him. “I’d appreciate that. Could you also have someone follow my wife? I want to make sure she stays out of trouble.”
“Of course,” Beckford said.
“Tell them to be discreet,” Callum added. “Knowing Constantine as I do, if she realized men are guarding her and following her, that will only make her determined to rid herself of them.”
Beckford laughed. “I’ll tell them to make sure they are not seen.”
“Excellent. What else did you discover?”
“He uses one of the kitchen maids to slake his lust, and she doesn’t care for it, nor him. I offered her a position in my household, with the assurance that I don’t wish her to do anything but cook, and the woman was happy to tell me what she had learned through eavesdropping and a bit of snooping when she was supposed to be cleaning.”
“If you’d rather I employ her,” Callum started to offer, not wanting to entangle Beckford too much.
Beckford waved a hand. “No. I wanted to do it. She told me your cousin’s solicitor is a man named Fitzgibbon. And as luck would have it, Fitzgibbon is alsomysolicitor.”
“You don’t say,” Callum said with a grin. Finally, he’d gotten a stroke of good fortune.
“Shall we go see him now?” Beckford asked. “Or do you need to get home?”
An image of Constantine came to him and made him instantly hard and yearning. “No. The later I return home, the better.” He had made it clear to her that they’d not be intimate again, but he didn’t expect his wife to be put off that easily. And he would rather avoid a confrontation where he might say more to hurt her. It’d be far better if she was asleep when he arrived home. “Let’s go see him. But what makes you think he’ll tell us anything?”
Beckford smiled. “Being my solicitor has been very profitable for him. I’ll simply threaten to take that away.”
Not half an hour later, Callum sat beside Beckford in the office of Mr. Fitzgibbon, who was a bald man with sharp brown eyes and a long, hooked nose. He adjusted his glasses as he regarded Beckford and Callum. “What brings you here today, Mr. Beckford?”
“I’d like some information on your client Mr. Fergussoune.”
Mr. Fitzgibbon frowned. “You know I make it a point to never—”
“I know you’re discreet, Fitzgibbon,” Beckford interrupted. “It’s why I hired you. It’s why I’ve kept you on all these years, making you so wealthy—your discretion. But your client Fergussoune is a very bad man”
Mr. Fitzgibbon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he steepled his fingers. “I’m surprised to hear that, but he is still my client.”
Beckford leaned forward and set his hands on the desk separating him and Callum from the solicitor.
“Then remedy that,” Callum interrupted, feeling impatient. The more he took away from his cousin immediately, such as his solicitor, the more rash he suspected Ross would become. Impulsive men made mistakes.
Beckford nodded. “Yes, you can either get rid of him as a client, or you will lose me as a client.” Callum needed to remember never to oppose Beckford in any negotiation. The man was swift and ruthless.
“Consider it done,” Mr. Fitzgibbon said. He rustled around on his desk, jotted off a quick note, sealed it, and rang a bell. The door opened, and a woman with brown hair, who remarkably looked like Fitzgibbon in the face, came in. “Anna,” Fitzgibbon said, “I need you to have this missive delivered to Mr. Fergussoune.”
“Now?” the woman asked in surprise. “It’s after-hours. I was going to return home.”
“Yes, sister,” Mr. Fitzgibbon replied in a patient tone. “Now.” She made a derisive sound but came in, took the note, and left without another word. “Now, what would you like to know?” Mr. Fitzgibbon asked, looking between Beckford and Callum.
“How does Fergussoune make his money, and where is it currently invested?” Callum asked.
Mr. Fitzgibbon’s dark gaze settled firmly on Callum. “Mr. Fergussoune made his money, until recently, from his cousin’s estate in Scotland for the most part. He turned that estate around with some sound investments in the last year.”
