“I want to go back to the vineyard,” he insisted.
“Not at this hour, in this weather,” the duke replied.
“That farm is on the only road in and out of town. Someone knows something.”
“If they do, they’ve been incentivized to keep it quiet.”
And Ian had no funds to coax the return of their memories.
“Bribery can be ineffective for soliciting reliable information,” Sunderland added. “People will invent anything to make a bob.”
“Then perhaps we can consider other tactics.”
The duke gave an audible exhale. “I’m not known for my kindness, Holt. So I have no qualms in telling you that you’re an absolute disaster. Your hair and that scowl are wild enough—not sure we can do anything about that in the short term. But for God’s sake, those whiskers need a trim.”
A knock sounded at the door, before a maid brought in cans of hot water and towels.
Ian crossed his arms and stared accusingly at Sunderland.
The duke remained unruffled. “You might be able to survive on consuming nothing but whisky, coffee, and the fear of innocent townspeople. But I’m a man who requires proper feeding, which I shall partake of downstairs. If you want to regain the strength to find your lady love and terrify more pastoral Italians, I suggest you join me. But do not dream of sitting at a table with me until you attend to”—Sunderland flapped a hand from Ian’s head to his shoes—“this catastrophe.”
He punctuated his statement with a slam of the door.
Ian eyed the cans of hot water suspiciously.
The minute he bathed and shaved, he’d feel marginally better than his current state. He couldn’t bear the idea of any sort of comfort while Diana was missing. The possibility that she’d suffered hurt or pain in captivity kept his anger on a constant simmer.
But the thing that stole his appetite was the unrelenting anxiety that he’d never find her again. That Widow and the Stags would convince her to stay hidden from him.
A strangled laugh escaped his throat at the possibility that any of them believed they could keep her from him.
And since he was a man who brokered compromises, he agreed to one himself by waiting for the water to cool before he bathed. He couldn’t summon the strength to shave, but he trimmed back his beard to a less bedraggled state.
It preserved some of his piratical air and he enjoyed how much it piqued Sunderland when he strolled into the dining room.
He barely tasted the wine, or theantipastiof dressed bitter greens and pickled vegetables, but he forced himself to partake of everything.
“We need to clear out tonight,” Sunderland said. “There’s no trail left to pick up here, so we’re down to deductive reasoning. The Stags operate better in citysettings; they can hide more easily under the cover of local gangs, and they have better escape routes by the river and ports.”
“Which they know we know,” Ian argued. “Birdie was adept at moving us by rail. The question is, what direction?”
“There’s another complication we haven’t addressed. Diana could have escaped.”
Ian allowed himself the indulgence of contemplating it. “If so, she’d try for the coast, where she can get on a ship.”
“There’s something that’s been bothering me about all of this,” the duke said between bites ofporchettadressed in mushrooms, fennel, and potatoes.
“Only one thing?”
“Diana’s extraction fromIl Giocoand the gunpowder theft that was easily reported. It’s too messy for the Stags.”
“Widow wants the emeralds,” Ian said. “She’s fixated on them in a way that’s—”
“Obsessive?”
“Unhinged.”
“She took an enormous risk that didn’t pay off. Now everything she built is unraveling. Maybe she’s looking for something to cling to,” Sunderland mused. “Once we find Diana, we will have to resumeIl Gioco. I convinced the players to agree to a brief respite given the scrutiny of the authorities, but they will want to settle the game.”