Read Online What A Gentleman Wants by Caroline Linden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caroline Linden
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glad to eliminate her as a suspect as he was to lose her as a lover. He hadn’t meant to have an affair with her, although once she proposed it, he had seen the advantages. Marcus didn’t waste a moment on guilt over his ulterior motive; she had one as well, to judge from her visit this morning.
But if she weren’t producing the banknotes—and Marcus was quite sure of that—where had she gotten them? His eyes moved over the paper, where more than two dozen names were arranged in clusters. Some of them had exculpatory comments, some incriminating, but only one name on the paper concerned Marcus: David Reece, written squarely in the middle of the page. Every other name on the paper could be linked to David, many entirely too closely. No one had any direct evidence David himself had been passing false notes, but a large number of his friends and associates had been doing so, and Marcus disliked a coincidence that glaring.
But the penalty for counterfeiting was death, or, for the upper classes, transportation. Regardless of David’s personal failings, Marcus couldn’t stand by while his brother faced that. Timms, acting on intuition and the complaints of his wife’s brother, who had gambled with David only to find himself left with a handful of fraudulent banknotes, had come to Marcus and offered him a deal. If Marcus would use his influence and position to find the counterfeiter and put an end to his business, Timms would see David bore no public consequences for any role in the scheme. Marcus agreed, preferring to deal with David on his own. As he always had.
He went over the list of other suspects. Everyone on the list moved in the upper ranks of society; the forged notes had been passed at some of the finest establishments in London. Everyone had some connection to David: friends, school mates, former lovers. otherwise there were no common factors, at least none Marcus had seen so far. All of them had been linked to the counterfeit money, aldiough Marcus was sure many had had no idea. Whoever was printing the false notes was terribly good at it.
But if David were behind the scheme, how? Marcus had searched David’s town house from top to bottom, taking advantage of his brother’s absence and underpaid servants, and found nothing. Of course a man would be an idiot to print money in his own sitting room, but Marcus hadn’t found so much as a smudge of ink. The servants had told him nothing useful, except that David continued to spend as much as ever, but not more. The wine cellar was still full, the deliveries from the butcher still came weekly. Marcus had watched David’s every move for over three months, looking into everything from the contretemps over Lady Barlow to David’s change of tailor. There was nothing even remotely noteworthy.
And yet, Marcus just sensed David had a part in this. His brother had grown more reckless of late, more careless than ever of his reputation. Lady Barlow had been only the most conspicuous indiscretion. Marcus replaced the pen and sighed. He had hoped David’s absence from town would help matters. He had hoped the stream of forged money would continue unchecked. That would be a mark in David’s favor. But as far as Marcus could tell, the supply had diminished to damning levels.
At least now he knew where David had been, and what he had been up to. Was the Preston woman an attempt to divert his quiet investigations, or simply revenge for Marcus’s banishing him from London? The latter meant nothing to Marcus—she would be gone in the morning anyway—but the former possibility worried him. David wasn’t stupid, and could have become suspicious. It was possible the woman was meant to distract him. It was hard enough to shadow David without his knowledge. It would probably be impossible if he were aware of it.
He never considered just asking David. His brother reacted with violent affront to any suggestion of judgment, and since Marcus devoudy hoped David would be
But if she weren’t producing the banknotes—and Marcus was quite sure of that—where had she gotten them? His eyes moved over the paper, where more than two dozen names were arranged in clusters. Some of them had exculpatory comments, some incriminating, but only one name on the paper concerned Marcus: David Reece, written squarely in the middle of the page. Every other name on the paper could be linked to David, many entirely too closely. No one had any direct evidence David himself had been passing false notes, but a large number of his friends and associates had been doing so, and Marcus disliked a coincidence that glaring.
But the penalty for counterfeiting was death, or, for the upper classes, transportation. Regardless of David’s personal failings, Marcus couldn’t stand by while his brother faced that. Timms, acting on intuition and the complaints of his wife’s brother, who had gambled with David only to find himself left with a handful of fraudulent banknotes, had come to Marcus and offered him a deal. If Marcus would use his influence and position to find the counterfeiter and put an end to his business, Timms would see David bore no public consequences for any role in the scheme. Marcus agreed, preferring to deal with David on his own. As he always had.
He went over the list of other suspects. Everyone on the list moved in the upper ranks of society; the forged notes had been passed at some of the finest establishments in London. Everyone had some connection to David: friends, school mates, former lovers. otherwise there were no common factors, at least none Marcus had seen so far. All of them had been linked to the counterfeit money, aldiough Marcus was sure many had had no idea. Whoever was printing the false notes was terribly good at it.
But if David were behind the scheme, how? Marcus had searched David’s town house from top to bottom, taking advantage of his brother’s absence and underpaid servants, and found nothing. Of course a man would be an idiot to print money in his own sitting room, but Marcus hadn’t found so much as a smudge of ink. The servants had told him nothing useful, except that David continued to spend as much as ever, but not more. The wine cellar was still full, the deliveries from the butcher still came weekly. Marcus had watched David’s every move for over three months, looking into everything from the contretemps over Lady Barlow to David’s change of tailor. There was nothing even remotely noteworthy.
And yet, Marcus just sensed David had a part in this. His brother had grown more reckless of late, more careless than ever of his reputation. Lady Barlow had been only the most conspicuous indiscretion. Marcus replaced the pen and sighed. He had hoped David’s absence from town would help matters. He had hoped the stream of forged money would continue unchecked. That would be a mark in David’s favor. But as far as Marcus could tell, the supply had diminished to damning levels.
At least now he knew where David had been, and what he had been up to. Was the Preston woman an attempt to divert his quiet investigations, or simply revenge for Marcus’s banishing him from London? The latter meant nothing to Marcus—she would be gone in the morning anyway—but the former possibility worried him. David wasn’t stupid, and could have become suspicious. It was possible the woman was meant to distract him. It was hard enough to shadow David without his knowledge. It would probably be impossible if he were aware of it.
He never considered just asking David. His brother reacted with violent affront to any suggestion of judgment, and since Marcus devoudy hoped David would be
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