Page 42 of An Extraordinary Lord

“If?” Clayton repeated. “It will happen eventually, you know.”

Merritt handed over one of the glasses. “Isn’t it considered treason to discuss the death of the monarch?”

“Technically, we’re discussing fashion.” Clayton raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to dressing you like a peacock!”

“Thanks,” he grumbled. “Nothing like friends to make a man feel better.”

Clayton grinned with brotherly affection.

Merritt took a healthy swallow of port and let the rich liquid cascade smoothly down his throat.Thathe could easily take comfort in.

He sank back onto his desk chair and muttered into his glass, “Parliamentary robes, coronation robes, coronet, ermine… Good God.” He gestured at the mannequin. “That’s why my father bought those. He knows I have to buy the other robes and was most likely afraid I couldn’t buy these, too, on my income.”

“That youwouldn’tbuy them, you mean,” Clayton corrected, “and so try to avoid becoming KC.”

“Would that work with being a baron, too, do you think?” he asked with mock sincerity. “Because if I don’t have a robe, I can’t assemble with the other lords, and I could just go on with my life as if none of this stuff and nonsense ever happened.”

“Except for one small thing.” Clayton leveled his gaze on Merritt. “The judge.”

His father.He blew out a hard breath.

“Your father’s proud of you,” Clayton said quietly. “If for no other reason than that, let him have these moments. He deserves them.”

“I know.” He lifted his glass. “To the Honorable Mr. Justice Rivers.”

“Hear, hear.” Clayton followed in the toast by taking a long swallow. Then he gestured at Merritt across the desk with his glass. “Seriously—why aren’t you out celebrating?”

“I came here to work.” When Clayton’s brow arched up at that, Merritt glowered at him in annoyance. “I do have a real job, you know, and bills to pay.” He counted them off one finger at a time. “Town house lease, stabling fees, ticks at various chophouses and stores—”

“Gold coronets and ermine robes,” Clayton interjected, fighting back a laugh at Merritt’s expense. “All the usual household expenses.”

Merritt shot Clayton an irritated scowl. Then his gaze fell to his desk and the papers and files stacked there, and he admitted seriously, “I’ve neglected my work over the past few days and came here to catch up.”

“Hmm. And speaking of Miss Chase—”

“We weren’t.”

Clayton crooked a knowing grin and took a sip of port. “I expected you to have her on a short leash. Where is she?”

“Le Château Noir.”

Clayton choked on the port. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he forced out, “Where?”

“You heard me.” He kicked his feet onto the desk. “Our investigation into the riots has taken an interesting turn.”

He took a moment to fill Clayton in on the meeting with Danker, Smathers’s speech at the Ship’s Bell, the Earl of Malmesbury’s carriage, and his plan to use the regent’s ball to discover who might have been inside the carriage. He conveniently left out everything else.

Clayton swirled the last of the port in his glass. “I’ll post a man to the Ship’s Bell. It’s unlikely Smathers will return there, but perhaps someone else will take up recruiting in his stead.”

“It takes a lot of men to populate a riot,” Merritt mumbled into his glass. “Smathers can’t be doing this alone. We should consider other taverns where former soldiers might gather.”

“I might be able to reassign half a dozen men or so, put them into the streets, see what they turn up.”

“Let’s talk to the men in the Armory, too, especially Nate Reed. He’s still in the horse guards and might have heard rumblings among the soldiers about other rabble-rousers.”

Clayton thoughtfully swirled the port in his glass. “You think Malmesbury’s behind the riots?”

“I don’t know.” But he was damned well going to find out.