Free The Love List by Deb Marlowe Page B

lifted a brow.  And he waited.
    “Aye.”  Gorman nodded again as if the brow had been a question spoken out loud.  He swallowed and met his eye.  “Your brother thought someone were followin’ him, sir.  He’s experienced a bit of trouble, in the past weeks.”
    “For God’s sake, man, I’m not going to bite you.  Come over here.  And don’t make me drag this out of you bit by bit.  Spill the rest of it.”
    The servant approached gingerly and stood at the far corner of the desk.  “Ah, it may sound foolish, sir, as I’ve no hard facts, but there’s no denying that my lord has had several run-ins lately as he was about and about, pursuing his . . . tasks.”  He cast a nervous look in Miss Wilmott’s direction.  “And just days ago, right afore he went missing, someone come to his rooms.  A gentleman.  They had a spit-fired argument, too.”
    “About what, man?”
    “T’weren’t my place to listen, sir.”  He ducked his head.  “But they was loud—and I did hear that it pertained to his . . . work.”
    Miss Wilmott spoke up.  “I’m more than uncomfortably aware of the List and the nature of Lord Truitt’s work, sir.  Please don’t mince words to spare my sensibilities.”
    Gorman nodded and edged away without looking at her.  “It were about something my lord didn’t wish to include on that damned List, sir.  Something he said he wouldn’t have a hand in writing.  They fought something fierce over it, too.”
    The girl gaped.  “It must be something truly horrid, for him to hesitate so.”
    Gorman bristled and the girl’s hackles rose right along with his.  “I’ve seen the slanderous lies he was willing to print,” she said defensively, getting to her feet.  “I can only imagine the horror of what he might actually balk at.”
    Now Aldmere was irritated as well.  “Surely this is an irrelevant argument in any case.  The List is already complete and delivered to the printer.”  He gestured toward Joe Watts.  “It’s illogical, then, to assume Tru’s disappearance—if that is what this is—is related to its content.”
    “I don’t know about all that, your Grace.  I don’t know if Lord Truitt left of his own accord or someone else’s.  I do know that he’s gone—and so is the extra copy of the manuscript that he kept hidden.”
    “And, er, yer honor?”  Joe Watts had raised his hand like his was in a schoolroom.  “I honestly can’t tell whether it’s important or not—but that List ain’t finished.”
    Silence reigned as everyone stared at him.
    “Well, it ain’t!” the boy blustered.  “The toff that delivered it said he was in a spankin’ hurry to see it done.  He gave us most of it, so’s we could start with the typesettin’ and all, but there’s still the last bit of the manuscript to come.”
    An irregular pounding started up inside Aldmere’s head.  Was it only an hour ago that he’d begun to feel as if there was nothing new under the sun?  Well it appeared that fate had not done having a laugh at his expense.  He stared at the unlikely trio that had invaded his office; the wary servant, a callow youth and the misleadingly fragile young woman who’d come to confront him head-on a second time, and again refused to ask for his help.
    “Gorman, you said my brother had been experiencing some trouble as he went about his . . . work.”  He pressed hard against his temple once more.  “Do you know any particulars?  What sort of trouble or with whom?”
    “Aye,” the man answered in his graveled voice.  “It’s the talk of the taverns and low places, and beyond too.  I heard about it at the Silver Spoon, where those in service to the fancy gather for a pint.”  He drew a deep breath.  “It were said he had trouble with a particular pimp.  This one’s known for being mean—and smart.  Story’s going around as to how the pimp’s best doxy tried to make up to your brother, but Lord Truitt caught her adding