Which meant that Hardy had told Bolt exactly what he’d thought. Lorcan wasn’t certain he cared. He trusted Bolt to draw his own conclusions.
“The Blue Rock Gang,” Hardy said offhandedly.
“The Blue Rock Gang were nasty thugs,” Lorcan said with idle contempt. “That kind of violence is for amateurs. And for men who flirt with other men’s wives.”
St. John choked on the lungful of smoke he was inhaling and coughed.
“Yes. They were thugs,” Hardy agreed politely.“The rest of everything else they did was still, of course, a hanging offense.”
“Smuggled cigars, is what they did,” Delacorte, who had been present for all the drama, explained. He added more quietly, with a degree of wistfulness, “The most remarkable cigars.”
Captain Hardy looked at him askance.
“Thank goodness that military took you in hand, Hardy, to teach you right from wrong,” Lorcan said pleasantly. “Otherwise, how would a bastard child from St. Giles ever know?”
“Laws are laws,” Hardy said evenly. “Smuggling during wartime, with or without violence, is treason.”
Lorcan gave a soft laugh. “Ah, of course. Treason. One of the few things the very poor and the very rich have in common. Because they don’t care about it. The poor don’t care about treason because they’re desperate, and the rich don’t care because they don’t need to care. Just ask an earl whose mistress is pouting because she can’t find French silk. The duke will always be able to get French silk, war or no war.”
The very smoke in the air suddenly seemed to stop circulating, held fast by tension.
“The Earl of Brundage was recently arrested on suspicion of high treason. And he might just hang for it,” Hardy remarked.
“Mmm. I’m going to guess it’s not because he purchased some contraband tea,” Lorcan said, pleasantly.
Both had stopped blinking and were regarding each other, expressions entirely inscrutable.
Lorcan was too aware of his own less than noble motivations for taunting Hardy. And that every other man in the room was on guard now, too.
He surreptitiously drew a breath to steady his temper.
Even when Hardy and Lorcan had met again for the first time in over a decade in a pub in Cornwall years ago and had reestablished how much they liked each other, and even when it became clear that Hardy suspected, but could not prove, that Lorcan was indeed the head of a smuggling ring he’d been tracking, Lorcan had admired him. Hardy wouldn’t relish arresting him if given the chance, but damned if he wouldn’t have done it anyway. Both in order to prove something to himself, and because he’d made a commitment to his men and to the crown. He was not a man who ever went back on his word or veered from duty. He would genuinely suffer if he failed.
Lorcan respected the devil out of all of that. He would never have gotten a chance to arrest Lorcan, of course. But he still, perversely, could not and would not have faulted Hardy for trying.
Still, it didn’t prevent him from savoring what felt like a victory over the man who thought he had a moral high ground.
“England is safer because of you and your men, Hardy,” Lorcan said shortly.
This was only true. The Blue Rock Gang and their ilk were menaces. Entire towns were grateful to Captain Hardy and his men for ending their reign.
Just as so many others had been grateful toLorcan and his crew for keeping them alive. And for helping them prosper.
“It’s amusing to debate moral shades of gray forever, but laws exist for a reason.” Hardy casually exhaled smoke.
“Thank you. I’m quite aware of the point of laws,” Lorcan said, with a certain scathing tenderness. “And I expect you feel the same beholden loyalty to the military as young Lord Vaughn feels about his parents.”
This was perhaps an unwise little jab. But Lorcan could feel his temper begin to simmer.
Hardy fixed him with a cold stare.
“A man ought to be able to adhere to a principle,” he said flatly. “Otherwise why should any other man trust him for any reason?”
Lorcan recalled Daphne’s faintly hunted expression when, a few minutes ago, she’d thought she might have to outright lie. How had she put it this morning? She’d said her code was “something that sort of defines your truest self.” He’d been surprised by his instinct to throw himself in front of anything that might cause her to violate it.
He’d glibly told her that “take what he could get when he could get it” was his, and it had indeed proved a serviceable code. But he was beginning to understand that this didn’t define him.
Lorcan tossed back the rest of his brandy. “Can’t agree more, Hardy. Mine is, ‘I take care of my own.’”