Page 11 of The Untamed Heart

“Hawkney, I broke the bloody cipher for you. I’m not going to France when there is absolutely no need for me to do so and my work is here.”

“For heaven’s sake, Lucius, that was eighteen months ago.”

The head lifted and a pair of piercing pale blue eyes fixed upon him. It looked as if he hadn’t shaved in that time, a thick, bushy beard covering his aquiline face as he glared at Hawkney suspiciously.

“What’s the date?”

“The twenty-first of September.”

“What year?”

Anyone else, and Hawkney would have assumed they were bamming him.

Lucius, not so much.

“Eighteen sixteen.”

“Oh.” Lucius sat up straighter, considering this. “It’s my birthday,” he said in surprise.

“Many happy returns,” Hawkney replied dryly. “We need your help.”

Lucius shook his head, already returning his attention to the book open before him. “No, no. No time. Thank you very much. Goodbye.”

“Not so quick,” Hawkney said, his voice severe.

The fellow looked up again with a scowl. “Are you still here?”

“Yes, and I’ll ensure you don’t get another moment's peace unless you help me.”

Lucius glowered and sat back, folding his arms. “Fine. But it had better be interesting.”

Hawkney nodded and turned. “This is—”

“Sheringham. I know,” Lucius said, making an impatient gesture.

“It’s about Marcus,” Hawkney began, only for Sheringham to interrupt him.

“No, hold on. How did he know that? I’ve never seen the fellow in my life.”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “You’re known for being an indolent man of fashion, handsome and apparently quite intelligent, though I take leave to doubt it. Besides which, you are one of Hawkney’s few bosom beaus and your signet ring bears the Sheringham crest. It’s not the most difficult thing to work out, I assure you. Now what has Marcus to do with anything? The last I heard, the war was over and he survived it.” He hesitated, frowning. “He did survive it?”

Hawkney nodded, ignoring Sheringham’s apparent awe at being so easily described. “He did, rather heroically, though if you value your life, do not say so to his face. However, someone is trying to besmirch his honour. We intend to stop him.”

Hawkney retrieved the threatening letter from his inside pocket and handed it to Lucius.

The man took it, reading it carefully before taking it over to a huge candelabra. He turned the paper over, holding it up to the light, and inspected the seal, picking at it with his nail. Then he took a magnifying glass and studied the letter intently.

“The writer was certainly male. Military, I should say, given the precision of the folds, but that is obvious, as one must assume he served with Marcus, or else how could he know enough to threaten him. He’s of good background. The script is that of an educated man. Eton, most likely. There was a Professor Lamont who had precise notions about a gentleman’s writing, and all his students produce those rather arrogant upward strokes. Bearing in mind when Lamont retired, I suspect this fellow is at least thirty years of age. The paper is good but not excellent quality, so he’s not from the highest ranks of the ton. It smells freshly made, though, and is expensive enough, though I suspect he cannot afford to buy it for himself, not judging by the cheap wafer he used to seal it and the dreadful quality of the ink. Perhaps he got it from his family home. It would be natural for him to try his father for funds, I imagine, but it is not the kind of thing a fellow gets as a gift from a lover, and I find it doubtful he is married. It’s from the paper mills in St Mary Cray. See here, Martha Lay.”

He paused in his lecture to indicate the watermark.

“They are high end stationer’s, selling to only the best places in London, though if the family were local, they might buy direct at cheaper prices. The writer was extremely angry when he wrote this. Note the ink splatters here and the downstrokes are heavily scored and thick. It suggests a tighter than usual grip upon the quill and a man who is under the control of a passionate obsession.”

He handed the letter back to Hawkney.

“The rest is conjecture, but I would wager that you are looking for a gentleman soldier ruined by the peace in 1815 and terrified of his debts and perhaps secrets of a more insidious kind. Perhaps Marcus knows things about him that others do not, and the man resents and despises Marcus for that. I would guess that it is a hatred of longstanding. One that has been allowed to fester. He loathes Marcus because Marcus is brave and true, and he is not. The coming exhibition has lit the fuse of this latest action.”

There was a shocked silence.