Murder in Grosvenor Square by Ashley Gardner Read Free Book Online Page B

that two young men fought over my favors, but it was too bizarre. I could have understood better if they’d had Grenville in their sights—he often did attract such attention—but me ? The injured war horse who preferred a night before a fire with a book to more social activities? I, with unruly dark brown hair, and brown eyes in a weather-beaten face, saw only harsh cragginess when I looked into the mirror, not the smooth features of a man like Grenville.
    Travers and Leland had known me long enough to understand that I preferred the company of ladies. Very much so. But perhaps they’d seen only what they wished.
    I would keep my word and not tell Sir Gideon—if Leland and Gareth wanted to be lovers and be happy, it was hardly my concern. I wished them well. A dangerous pursuit, however—as shown by the poor fellow in the stocks at Charing Cross I’d witnessed with Gareth. The sympathy I’d shown, I supposed, followed by impulsively asking Gareth to second me in the duel, had given him the wrong idea.
    I set aside the remainder of my brandy and took up my walking stick.
    “I give you my word that I will say nothing of this beyond you and Mr. Travers.” I pinned Leland with a severe look. “But tell Mr. Travers I would like to speak to him.” Shake him, more like. “He may meet me at the Gull in Pall Mall tomorrow afternoon at three. Now, I suggest you rest here until you feel better, then go home.”
    Leland swallowed, his eyes wet, but he nodded. “Yes, Captain.”
    My sanctuary here was at an end as well. “Good night then,” I said, and without further speech, left the room.
    The landing was dark, Grenville’s private chamber near the top of the house. Grenville ordered no lights here during his soirees, to encourage the guests to remain below. I paused in the darkness, hanging on to the railing, taking deep breaths.
    I was angry. Travers dragging me into a personal quarrel with Leland, each of them purporting to want to be the first to be with me was ridiculous. Unnerving. Disturbing.
    Suddenly weary, I went back downstairs to the light and noise, but the clamor combined with the wash of perfume made my head ache. I quickly had enough and quit the house, heading home alone.
    *
    I thought I’d dismiss the incident and carry on, but it bothered me as I rose the next day and went on my morning ride. Not because Leland had offended or disgusted me. He and Gareth were by no means the only gentlemen in London who’d formed a passion for each other, and as long as they were discreet, they might be all right.
    But I worried about Leland—he was open and honest, and if he put forth his needs to the wrong person, as he had last night, disaster could befall him. While many people looked the other way at such things, there was a contingent who did not. Sodomy was punishable by death, and I doubted Leland would be able to endure exposure, imprisonment, and trial.
    I knew from Pomeroy that many trials at the Old Bailey for “unnatural behavior” ended in a verdict of not guilty , usually for lack of evidence. The act had to be reliably witnessed, or else anyone could accuse anyone of sodomy and thus rid themselves of an inconvenient person.
    If Leland stood trial, however, no matter what the outcome, he’d be ruined, and his family with him. Travers and his clergyman father would be ruined as well.
    Blast the bloody fools.
    I hoped I’d see Travers as I rode and get the meeting with him over with, but he never appeared. Donata, who’d found nothing odd in me retreating from a soiree early and going home, was still abed when I had an early dinner and left in a hackney for Pall Mall.
    The Gull was sparsely populated at this hour, the better for my errand. It was an older tavern, left over from the days of coffee houses, out of fashion now, where the political decisions had truly been made. I’d chosen it because Leland’s friends and Grenville’s would likely not enter and interrupt us—fashionable men were