“I’ll take care of everything. Right now I need to notify the authorities. And Max, so he can inform Solomon’s about Mr. Nichols’s death.”
Once back at Max’s home, the marquess had assured Fielding that Solomon’s had taken care of everything, though Fielding knew from his own experience that there were some things Solomon’s wouldn’t dirty their hands with. Namely, a widow and her children surrounded by debt. Then they simply walked away.
When he and Esme had returned from Mr. Nichols’s, a message had been waiting for Fielding. This time it had come directly to Max’s. The Raven had found them.
Five words were scrawled on the parchment: I can find her anywhere.
It had given Fielding only one option. He grabbed the heavy handle of the knocker and slammed it against the cumbersome double doors of his uncle’s stately home.
Officially it was called Black Manor; his uncle had always jested that Grey just wasn’t dark enough for him. It was a far cry from the small home he’d started with, before he’d become the Raven and earned his fortune. Everything about this house was a gross overstatement of wealth; from the sheer enormity to the gilded ceilings and elaborate moldings.
Fielding remembered as a child he’d always wondered why his uncle had lived in a larger home than he and his own family had, considering it was his father who had been the viscount. As a boy, he’d been impressed by the grandeur and envious of the obvious wealth. Now Fielding had his own money, all earned by his own hand.
The large doors opened with a creak, and his uncle’s butler appeared. The short, crooked man looked the same as he had the last day Fielding had been here. The day he’d told his uncle that he would no longer work for him. Fielding had thought that was the last day he’d ever darken this doorstep, but evidently their business was not yet complete.
Dark, beady eyes looked at him from above a sharp beaklike nose. Fielding had the unsavory impression the man was not surprised to see him. As if the butler had always known Fielding would one day be lured back to the Raven’s lair.
After Fielding was directed to his uncle’s office, he had barely stepped into the room, had not even fully crossed the threshold or made a sound, yet somehow his presence was known.
“Fielding,” his uncle said without turning around to greet his nephew. “I can always tell it’s you by the sound of your gait. You walk exactly as your father did. Methodical, and with intention.”
“I did not come here for your parlor tricks,” Fielding said, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
The Raven spun around in his throne-like chair, his face expressionless. His black eyes revealed nothing, and his silver hair was slicked back, accenting his widow’s peak. “You never did enjoy the sleight of hand.” He flicked ashes onto a small silver tray.
“What do you want?” Fielding asked.
“You’ve made an alliance with the enemy,” he said. “I will admit, very little surprises me these days, but that”—he paused—“I wasn’t expecting.”
“Solomon’s? They are a client, nothing more.”
“Of course, merely a client.” He paused for several moments, then continued. “What of your association with Miss Worthington and her aunt. Are you protecting them?” He tsked his tongue. “That’s not like you.” His fingers drummed on the desk.
Esme’s aunt. “Is that how you found us? Through Thea?”
The Raven gave a wolfish grin. “She’s really quite talkative once you get her going. Thea and I have been visiting every week for a while now. She’s a fount of information.”
Fielding forced his breathing to slow. He stood behind a chair and gripped the back with shaking hands.
“Come now, Fielding, you know very well what I want.” He waved a hand flippantly. “There is no need to make me play these silly games. I have no use for the girl, or her aunt. Although I do want that key.” He picked up his cigar and took a long, thoughtful drag. “And of course, the box.”
“Do you honestly believe I’ll simply hand it over to you because you asked nicely?” Fielding replied. He mentally counted to ten. It would do him no good for his uncle to see him lose his temper. “Perhaps you don’t recall our history together, but I no longer work for you.” Fielding did nothing to hide the loathing in his voice.
“I remember everything,” he said slowly. “You would not be where you are today were it not for me.”
“Leave Esme alone. Your fight is with me.”
The Raven stood, leaning over the ornately carved desk. “What is so special about this woman? You’ve never given a damn about anyone but yourself.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with her,” Fielding said.
“That’s not true, though, is it?” The Raven chuckled. “You care about her, don’t you? But let me give you a piece of friendly advice: Don’t be so naive.” He rose to his full height. “Simply because you happened upon Miss Worthington and played Galahad to her Guinevere does not make you a hero. Honestly, Fielding, you don’t wear it well.”
His uncle was, of course, right. He was no hero, and he had proved as much last night. Taking Esme to his bed when he had no intention of marrying her.
Fielding stood his ground and said nothing.
“If you think I don’t know what you’re up to, boy, you’re an even bigger idiot than I imagined.” He jammed a finger onto his desk. “Don’t believe for one moment that I don’t know every decision you’re going to make before you make it.”