Who Will Take This Man?

tell me about your interesting evening.”

“I spent the day and evening near the docks, interviewing crew members from the Dream Keeper. Unfortunately, I didn’t discover anything helpful. On my way home I stopped at Gentleman Jackson’s, hoping to relieve some of my frustrations brought on by my unsuccessful inquiries.”

“Knowing firsthand your pugilistic abilities, I find it incredible that your face bears such a colorful array of bruises.”

“Actually, I pounded the piss out of several dandies at the esteemed boxing emporium, suffering nary a scratch myself. It was afterwards that I received these mementos of the evening.”

Philip looked at him over the rim of his coffee cup. “Afterwards?”

“Yes. Moments after I departed Gentleman Jackson’s, I was attacked. Bastard jumped me from behind.” Reaching up, he touched the back of his head and winced. “Didn’t manage to knock me out, but hit me hard enough to get me down. He was introducing his boot to my ribs when several gentlemen happened upon us. The bastard ran off, luckily before he inflicted any serious damage.”

Unease slithered down Philip’s spine. “Did you see him?”

“No. The gentlemen who ran him off helped me back into Gentleman Jackson’s, where my injuries were tended to. Then I hired a hack and returned here.”

“Damn it, Andrew, why didn’t you tell me last night?”

“Bakari wasn’t in the foyer when I returned, so I deduced he had retired. On the chance that you were still, ah, occupied with your guest, I chose not to seek you out. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I don’t like this, Andrew. First Edward was attacked, now you, only hours after you questioned crew members.” The words of the second note echoed through his mind. The suffering begins now. “This is no coincidence. In fact-”

His words were cut off by Bakari’s appearance in the doorway. “Mr. Binsmore,” Bakari said. He withdrew, and Edward entered the room.

“Good morning, Philip, Andrew,” Edward said, heading toward the nearest chair.

Philip instantly noted his friend’s gingerly walk. “Are you all right, Edward?”

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“You’re limping.”

“Am I? Well, I’m afraid I’m still sore from the attack at the warehouse the other evening.”

“Ah. Well, although I’m sorry you’re still hurting, I’m relieved you’ve suffered no further injuries since then.”

“Further injuries?” He lowered himself into the chair next to Andrew and winced. “What do you mean?”

“Andrew was accosted last night.”

Edward’s eyes widened and he turned toward Andrew. “Egad, your face is bruised! Are you all right?”

“Yes. Just sore.”

“Were you robbed?” Edward asked.

Andrew shook his head. “Perhaps that was his intent, but he was frightened off before he had the chance.”

Philip’s hands fisted with anger. “Bakari should have a look at your injuries. Both of you.”

“He’s already seen to mine,” Andrew said. “First thing this morning. Has my ribs trussed up like a goose on its way to the oven.”

“And I’m fine,” Edward added quickly. “Except for some stiffness in my back, the only thing still troubling me is this.” He raised his bandaged hand. “I unwrapped it yesterday and discovered several bits of glass still embedded in the back of my hand. I removed them, then put on a clean dressing. It’s feeling better already.”

Philip nodded. “All right. Tell me, Andrew, did your attacker leave any sort of note with you, as he did with Edward?”

“No.”

Edward’s brows shot upward. “You think the same person is responsible?”

“I’m afraid I do.”

Bakari again appeared in the doorway, his lips set in a grim line that trickled unease down Philip’s spine. “Your study,” Bakari said to Philip. “Come quickly.”

Philip, Andrew, and Edward exchanged a quick look, then all three hurried down the corridor after Bakari. Philip entered the room first. All remnants of last night’s dinner had vanished-the opulent fabrics, the plush pillows, leaving nothing behind save his memories. His gaze swiveled toward his desk, and his blood ran cold.

Striding quickly across the room, he halted alongside his mahogany desk. Sticking up from the center was the silver hilt of a knife whose blade was embedded in the polished wood and thrust through a folded piece of vellum.

“What the devil…?” Edward murmured as he, Andrew, and Bakari joined him.

“When did you find this?” Philip asked Bakari in a sharp voice as his eyes scanned the room for anything else out of place.

“Just now.”

“You didn’t see this when you cleaned the room this morning?”

“Cleaned room last night. Started after you leave with lady.”

“What time did you finish?”

“Three.”

“And then you retired?”

Bakari nodded.

“That means this was left sometime between three a. m. and now.” Curling his fingers around the hilt of the knife, Philip pulled the blade free, then held the glinting blade up to the sunlight filtering in through the window. “It’s identical to the knife found in the warehouse after the robbery.”

“Yes,” agreed Edward. “Which means that there’s nothing remarkable about it. It’s the same sort of knife most men carry.”

Philip picked up the vellum and unfolded it. Those you hold dear are suffering. As will you.

His blood ran cold.

“What does it say?” Andrew asked.

His mind racing, Philip passed him the note. “It is the same handwriting as the other two notes.”

“Do you recognize it?” Andrew asked.

“No.”

“Which means it is someone you don’t know,” said Edward.

“Perhaps,” Philip said. “Or it could be someone I know, who is disguising his handwriting so I do not recognize it.” Those you hold dear are suffering. “First Edward, now Andrew… bloody hell, who does he plan to hurt next?” The instant the question left his lips, Philip froze. “Bloody hell, plan to hurt? Has this bastard already harmed someone else I love? I need to check on my father, Catherine, and Meredith immediately.”

The front door brass knocker sounded. They all exchanged a quick glance, then filed out of the room, Philip in the lead. Striding quickly to the foyer, Philip yanked open the door. Catherine stood on the porch. One look at her pale face tightened his gut with alarm.

The instant she stepped across the threshold, he grasped her by the shoulders. “Are you all right, Catherine?”

“Yes.” But her bottom lip trembled and a sheen filled her eyes, giving the lie to her claim.

“But something has happened,” Philip said, his insides cramping with dread.

“I’m afraid so. Did Father send you a note this morning?”

“No.” He shot a questioning look toward Bakari for confirmation, and his friend shook his head.

“He no doubt thought you’d already have departed for the warehouse. But I stopped here on my way to Father’s house, hoping you’d still be home. Father was attacked on his way home from his club last night.”

Philip’s hands tightened on her shoulders, and he fought to control the dread and rage curling through him. You bastard. “How serious are his injuries?”

“His arm was broken. The doctor reset the bone, but it’s very painful. He also has an egg-sized lump on the