However, when he raised his gaze, he realized the looks on the faces of Barrister Stephen Forsythe and Bow Street runner Archer Colwyn looked anything but understanding and consoling.
Sythe was the first to speak. "I don't know what you expected from us, Derek, but you have to admit your situation leans more toward the preposterous than the tragic."
Anger surged inside him. His face flushed with heat, and he stopped for breathing for a moment.
Col spoke softly, a twinge of sympathy lurking in his voice. "You have to admit the idea of an earl accumulating five mistresses and then installing them in side-by-side townhouses on Grosvenor Street beggars belief, even for a wealthy peer such as yourself." He leaned to the side, closer to Derek, who sat in the chair next to him in front of Sythe's aged walnut desk. "Frankly, with all of the gaming tricksters in this city, I'm surprised yourodd living arrangement hasn't attracted a blackmailer before now."
Sythe stayed silent, but steepled his hands in front of him and nodded in agreement with Col's words.
"What about the women themselves? I wouldn't be surprised if one of them isn't behind the threats." Col looked toward Sythe, who nodded in agreement again.
Derek lurched forward in his chair and pounded on Sythe's desk. "They are some of the finest women I've ever known. Why would any one of them have reason to blackmail me? I've given them everything they could possibly want."
Col and Sythe exchanged another look.
"What?" Derek's face flushed even hotter than before.
"Jealousy," both barrister and runner said in unison.
"But they don't know about each other." Derek pounded the desk again.
Both of his old school friends ignored his outburst, but exchanged knowing looks.
Sythe was the first to speak. "I've been married a very short while, but I can tell you a woman's jealousy and resulting ire can rip your very world apart. The man who said 'hell hath no fury,' and so on, was on to something."
Col added, "I'm not yet married, but the calm, reasoning chess mistress I now share my life with can turn into a raving termagant if an especially, um, alluring client seeks my counsel in our rooms near Covent Garden."
Derek spread his arms wide. "But they don'tknowabout each other."
Sythe smiled indulgently. "Do you see every one of your mistresses every night?"
"Of course not."
"Are there nights when you don't see any of them?"
"Of course...a man has to rest occasionally."
Col suddenly gave in to uncontrollable laughter. "Only you could utter such a preposterous statement." He leaned close again. "Do you trust me?"
"You know I do. Otherwise, why would I be here?"
"Then you must trust my words when I assure you wholeheartedly that those women not only know of their mutual existence, but they're comparing notes on the nights you're not there."
Derek sat back, feeling the blood rush from his head to other, erm, less important, yet more insistent parts of his body. His mistresses were talking about him. At first the thought puffed him with pride, which turned to fear, and finally shame. What the hell were those five women saying about him behind his back?
He finally broke down, exasperation overwhelming him. "Please, Sythe, how am I supposed to find out which one of them is a murderess?"
Sythe gave him a withering look and leaned forward onto his desk. "Why don't you simply ask them?"
"Can't you just ask them for me?"
Sythe and Col exchanged exasperated looks.
Col spoke first while Sythe leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "We'd like to help you, of course, as an old friend, but what you're asking is entirely out of our areas of expertise."
"You need someone who's attuned to the highest levels of society." Sythe sat forward again with a thud.
"You mean a gossip?" The earl shook his head sadly. "Where can I find this sort of expert I need?"
