“I thought you might drop by this evening,” Lionel said, as though Phin rushed through the dark of night to visit his brother all the time. Lionel stepped back and made a sweeping, overly-formal gesture for him to enter.
“How did you even know I was back in London?” Phin asked, striding into the flat and removing his hat and coat. As Lionel shut and locked the door, Phin answered his own question with, “Hazel telegraphed you, didn’t she?”
“She did.” Lionel nodded. “And reading between her decidedly cryptic lines and the gossip that has been flying through London like The Great Fire, I’m assuming this has to do with your friend, Mrs. Swan.”
Phin clenched his jaw and turned to face Lionel. The frustration that he’d worked to keep in check for a full twenty-four hours now exploded from him like cannon-fire. “How could she lie to me this way?” he demanded, shoving a hand through his hair so fast that it knocked his glasses askew. He didn’t even bother to straighten them fully before rushing on to, “She gave every indication of deepest friendship with me and more. Hell, we fucked like happy heathens on more than one occasion, and still she withheld the truth from me.”
Though, if he were honest with himself, she might have tried to say something before that second time, at the end of their picnic. It was little consolation, though.
Lionel’s only reaction was to raise one eyebrow and walk toward the small stove in the corner of his flat’s main room. “Tea?” he asked, going ahead and pouring a cup before Phin could reply.
“You and Hazel,” Phin huffed, smoothing his hair and straightening his glasses. “It’s always tea with the two of you.”
“It was how Mama calmed Father down when he was in one of his tempers,” Lionel said over his shoulder as he added cream and sugar to the cup, then walked it over to Phin. “It always worked. Tea is a universal balm to the soul and the oil that loosens up even the most reticent jaw. It makes people talk. It also causes them to let their guard down by allowing for a polite interruption to their train of thought.”
Phin sent his brother a sardonic look before sipping his tea. His brow lifted slightly as he did. Lionel had an uncanny knack for making the perfect cup of tea. He took another long sip, then lowered the cup and said, “She could have told me.”
“And why would she do that?” Lionel asked, moving to perch on the arm of the faded sofa in the center of his main room. Without anyone but the two of them to witness or comment, he shifted into an almost feminine posture of listening. In fact, he bore a distinct resemblance to Hazel and her look of soft compassion when she listened to someone’s problems. Hazel and Lionel could have been twins, if not for the fire.
Phin took another sip of tea, sighed, and moved to flop onto the sofa, careful not to spill the contents of his cup. “She is terrified of Swan, for one,” he said, attempting to honestly answer Lionel’s question. For Lenore’s sake as much as his own. Love didn’t simply evaporate because anger swooped in to dance with it.
“Swan is a terrifying man,” Lionel agreed, shifting to face Phin and crossing his legs. “I sought him out after you left, followed him around town for a bit. He has all the grace and mannerliness of a rabid stoat.”
Phin huffed a laugh in spite of himself and finished his tea.
“He also happens to be as suspicious as the devil,” Lionel went on, raising one eyebrow in such a way that it transformed his porcelain-pale face from fey to deadly. “I have woefully few contacts in America, but I do know some people. You would spit that tea out if you knew how costly it is to send a trans-Atlantic telegraph, but fortunately for you and Miss Garrett, I have friends in high places.”
“Yes,” Phin said with a wry twist of his mouth. “I’m certain you’re on exceedingly friendly terms with the telegraph boys.”
Lionel met his jab with a coy grin. “Moving along,” he said, standing and pacing in front of Phin. “My friends in New York knew enough about conflicts in Wyoming to corroborate Miss Garrett’s story.”
“Lenore had newspaper clippings with her in Yorkshire that confirm her story as well,” Phin mumbled contemplating asking for another cup of tea. He knew with increasing certainty that he was in the wrong, but pride was hard to let go of.
“There you have it,” Lionel went on. “My American contacts said they’d investigate further, but even with the modern marvel of trans-Atlantic telegraph cables, the best I was able to discover was what we more or less already know. I have a wealth of uneasy feelings about Mr. Bartholomew Swan, though. He strikes me as—”
Lionel’s speech was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
“Were you expecting company?” Phin asked with a teasing arch of one eyebrow.
“You know full well I’ve embarked on a vow of celibacy,” Lionel answered, heading for the door with an intrigued and hopeful look all the same.
A second knock came just as Lionel opened it to reveal Det. Gleason. Phin’s heart dropped like a rock into his gut, and he stood. In his worry and hurt over Lenore, he’d forgotten about Lady Hamilton and her quest for vengeance yet again. But that didn’t explain why her bulldog was standing in Lionel’s doorway, eyeing him and Lionel with slightly narrowed eyes.
“Mr. Mercer,” Det. Gleason said, though it wasn’t clear which Mr. Mercer he was addressing. “If you don’t mind, I have some questions for you.” As soon as he stepped into the flat, his sharp gaze fixed on Phin, proving Phin was the one he’d come to see.
“How quaint,” Lionel said, shutting the door behind Det. Gleason and raking the rather short man with a grin. “I do
