Damon noted both the seriousness of the earl's expression and that he was accompanied by Horace Linch, one of the Bow Street Runners hired to see to Prince Lazzara's welfare.
“Yes, of course,” Damon replied.
“There has been an interesting development in the case,” Haviland said quietly as he led the way along one stable block. “Mr. Linch believes he has identified a possible suspect in the accidents that befell the prince. I shall let him explain.”
When they halted at the far end of the stables, Damon regarded the Runner with a quizzical look.
Linch kept his voice low as he spoke. “Milord, you asked me to keep an eye out for any suspicious characters. I think per'aps I found one. See that Italian cove over there?” Surreptitiously, Linch pointed around the corner of the building to where an ebony-haired, wiry-looking fellow with an olive complexion was grooming a pair of carriage horses.
Damon's gaze narrowed as a spark of recognition struck him. He was almost certain he'd seen the man before-on a crowded street outside the Pantheon Bazaar. After staring another moment, Damon drew back, out of sight, so he wouldn't be recognized in turn.
“That chap is Paolo Giacomo,” the Runner murmured. “This morning I caught him skulking about the grounds, there is no other word for it. But when I confronted him, he demanded to speak to Signor Vecchi-claimed to be in his employ. The signor was not happy to see him, that much was clear. I couldn't get close enough to overhear since I'd been dismissed, but they looked to be arguing. So naturally I thought it odd when Signor Vecchi arranged for Giacomo to be lodged in the grooms’ quarters here above the stables.”
Giacomo could very well be the pickpocket who'd assaulted Lazzara and pushed him into the street before fleeing from sight, Damon decided.
When he said as much to his colleagues, Haviland eyed him sharply. “It's doubtful Giacomo acted on his own.”
Damon nodded slowly. “Vecchi is likely behind the attacks. Even before this I wondered if he might be the culprit. He was nearest the prince when his highness took a tumble down the stairs of the Opera. And he was present the night the prince's punch was drugged. Vecchi could easily have relied on his minions to execute the other incidents such as sabotaging Lazzara's carriage wheel.”
“You will need to find proof of his guilt,” Haviland said. “It wouldn't be politic to accuse a high-ranking diplomat of nefarious deeds without evidence, let alone of attempting to murder his cousin.”
Damon couldn't dispute the observation. At the moment it was sheer speculation to suspect Vecchi of masterminding the mishaps. Yet all of Damon's instincts told him he wasn't mistaken.
“Any suggestions on how to find proof?” he asked Haviland.
“An obvious one. We should begin by searching the signor's rooms.”
Linch spoke up then. “Begging your pardons, milords, but I wouldn't care to attempt such a search. If I was caught out, it could go very ill for me. I could be taken for a thief and sent to prison or worse.”
“I will be happy to do it,” Haviland volunteered.
Damon considered the earl's offer briefly before declining. “Thank you, but I don't want you to risk discovery either. I won't ask you to become involved in skulduggery.”
Haviland's mouth curved in a half smile. “Actually I am no stranger to skulduggery. And I'm eager for a diversion from drawing room intrigues.”
Damon felt a twinge of sympathetic amusement. After years of directing spy networks and plotting international political intrigues for British intelligence, Haviland must be champing at the bit, being trapped at a house party for so long merely to oblige his elderly grandmother.
“I am reluctant to disappoint you, Haviland, but I would prefer to conduct any search myself. If I am discovered, Lady Beldon will have a harder time booting me off the premises since I am married to her niece.”
Just then Damon remembered where he'd been headed when he was interrupted. “Unfortunately, the investigation will have to wait. I have another matter I must attend to first. I should be gone for less than an hour, however. I can search Vecchi's rooms once I return… during luncheon perhaps.”
“That should suffice,” Haviland conceded. “I will see that Vecchi is occupied while you inspect his possessions.”
“And I,” Linch chimed in, “will make certain Gia-como keeps away also.”
With their plans settled, Damon parted ways with his new partners in crime and ordered his horse saddled so he could meet his former mistress. But he was impatient to return and solve the mystery of Prince Lazzara's assailants, and even more important, to resume courting his wife.
To Damon's surprise, he encountered the prince the moment he walked into the Boar's Head Inn. Lazzara was exiting the taproom with one arm draped around a pretty blond barmaid, his wandering hand groping her ample breast as he whispered something in her ear that made her giggle.
Upon seeing Damon, the prince halted and stood swaying on his feet while blinking owlishly. Lazzara, it seemed, was more than a trifle jugbitten. Apparently he had grown tired of the august company at Rosemont and come raking at the local tavern.
The other Bow Street Runner entrusted with guarding Lazzara was not far behind, Damon noted. The Runner rolled his eyes at the ceiling as if asking forgiveness for letting his charge become so sotted, although there was probably nothing he could have done to stop it.
Just then Damon's attention was diverted when a sweet, feminine voice hailed him. Lydia Newling had evidently been watching out for him, for she came hurrying down the inn's front staircase, a smile of relief on her beautiful features.
“My lord, I was not certain you would come. I do so want to thank you-Oh… your highness… I never expected to find you here.”
Lazzara and Lydia had evidently met before, Damon realized, seeing the royal's glance widen. And judging from the smirk Lazzara offered, he knew of Damon's own former relationship with the lovely auburn-haired Cyprian.
“Are you not a sly one, m'lord?” the prince mumbled, slurring his words. “But my lips are sealed.”
Loosing his grip on the barmaid's bosom, he sketched an unsteady bow and then sauntered out the front door, leaving his bodyguard to hastily follow.
Damon bit back an oath, regretting the ill luck that had brought him here at the same time as the prince-although Lazzara was unlikely to bandy the news about and therefore broadcast his own visit here. Still, Damon quickly turned to his former mistress, wanting to conclude this interview as soon as possible so he could get back to Rosemont.
“Lydia, what may I do for you? Your message sounded urgent.”
“It is urgent, Damon. I need your help. Please, may we speak in private? Upstairs would be best,” she added with a glance toward the door of the noisy taproom. “I have bespoken a parlor.”
Despite the imploring note in her voice, Damon hesitated to be alone with Lydia. “How did you know where to find me?”
“It is common knowledge that you came here to Lady Beldon's house party-the news was all over the society pages, along with the announcement of your unexpected marriage to Lady Eleanor. But since Mr. Geary refused to write you and intrude on your nuptials, I felt I had to come and implore you myself. You see, time is running out for my sister.”
Eleanor was highly disappointed when Damon sent word that he would be delayed. Reminding herself, however, that she would have him all to herself tonight, she joined the other house guests and contributed to the lively discussion of which play to choose for the amateur theatrical to be performed next week.
When Prince Lazzara approached her and invited her to stroll in the gardens with him, she accepted with some pleasure but more out of a sense of obligation. She had not spent much time in his company since her hasty marriage, and she felt a bit guilty that she had led him on so purposefully for several weeks, encouraging his advances and angling for a proposal of marriage from him before wedding Damon in such an abrupt about-face.
It was only when they were strolling along the gravel paths of the beautifully cultivated gardens that Eleanor began to wonder if the prince was in his cups, for his careful speech deteriorated to the point of being almost slurred at times.
Then, when they were out of sight of the manor, Prince Lazzara startled her by taking her hand and pressing an ardent kiss on her knuckles.
“Your highness!” Eleanor exclaimed rather breathlessly, jerking her hand back. “You forget yourself. I am a married woman now.”
“I have forgotten nothing, mia signorina,” he replied in a low, passionate voice. “I have bided my time patiently, but now I see there is no reason to wait. I want you for my lover.”
Eleanor pressed her lips together, biting back a sharp reprimand. The prince had evidently mistaken her continued friendliness for something deeper. “I will pretend I did not hear that, your highness.”
His brow furrowed. “Why should you pretend? I am all that is serious.”
“Because I find it offensive that you are proposing an affair.”
Lazzara looked truly puzzled. “But why would you deem my supplication offensive? I should think you would be honored.”
Making a valiant effort to hide her disgust, Eleanor forced a smile. “You are sadly mistaken, I fear. I am not honored in the least. You are suggesting that I commit adultery.”
The prince shrugged. “But I understand it is the custom in England. Here, many noble marriages are ones of convenience where husband and wife are free to take lovers as long as the lady provides heirs and is discreet.”