The Edge of Desire by Stephanie Laurens

of inquiring at the obvious places—White’s, Boodle’s, Crockfords, and the smattering of other clubs a nobleman of Justin’s age and ilk might frequent—Christian turned to more serious scouting.
    Later that evening, using the Bastion Club as a base, along with the support Gasthorpe provided by means of his small army of messengers and footmen, Christian sent out inquiries along the main highways out of London, especially those leading to the ports in the south and southeast, searching for some sighting of Justin’s curricle.
    Since returning to London, he’d glimpsed Justin numerous times in the clubs, but hadn’t spoken to him. Letitia’s brother hadn’t made any effort to speak with him either, but courtesy of those vignettes gained across crowded rooms, Christian knew Justin had grown into his family’s legacy; few seeing him, even in a greatcoat, would forget him, and with his striking good looks, his height, and that hair, most could be counted on to remember if asked.
    Unfortunately, as he discovered the next morning when he returned to breakfast at the club, no one recalled sighting Justin over the last days along any of the stretches of highway he’d targeted.
    He was finishing his breakfast and mulling over his options when Tristan, Lord Trentham, another club member, strolled into the dining room. His eyes lit at the sight of the maps Christian had spread over the table. “Gasthorpe mentioned you were involved in something. Anything I can help with?”
    Christian grinned and waved to a chair. “I didn’t expect anyone else would be in town yet.”
    Sitting, Tristan sighed. “Lenore apparently needs new gowns, and of course she needs to check on her uncle and brother.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the house next door. “She’s over there at the moment, but then she’s heading to Bond Street.” He brightened. “So I’m at loose ends, and therefore yours to command.”
    Smiling understandingly—all of them missed the action of their former lives—Christian gave him a brief outline of the issues surrounding Randall’s murder, omitting all mention of his previous association with Letitia.
    Tristan saw through his ploy. “And you’ve been drawn into this because…?”
    Christian held his gaze steadily. “I know the family of old. Our estates are in the same region.”
    Tristan studied his face, then smiled. “I see.”
    But to Christian’s relief, he said nothing more.
    Transferring his attention to the maps, Tristan asked, “Where have you searched so far?”
    Christian told him.
    After some discussion, pooling their contacts they organized a network of more detailed inquiries, effectively drawing a tight circle around London. After dispatching Gasthorpe’s messengers, Christian surveyed the map and their lists with grim satisfaction. “That, at least, should tell us whether he’s left town, or has gone to ground somewhere within our circle.”
    Tristan met his gaze. “You think he’s hiding?”
    Christian nodded. “Yes, I do. What I don’t know is why.”
     
    That evening, Letitia attended a select soiree at the home of Lady Lachlan, one of her multitude of connections. A family gathering, more or less. Garbed all in black with a filmy veil shading her features, she relentlessly projected the stance she wished to establish—that while she would pay all due observance to the ton’s sensibilities regarding mourning dress, that while she would not dance, nor indulge in any other form of entertainment, she had absolutely no intention of hiding herself away.
    Aside from all else, hiding herself away wouldn’t help Justin.
    Events such as this provided her only real opportunity to gauge what the gentlemen of the ton thought. Unfortunately, as she quickly discovered, they, one and all, had followed the ladies’ lead.
    “Dreadful business,” Sir Henry Winthrop, a distant cousin, opined. “Can’t think what got into Justin’s head.”
    “ Justin’s head?” Letitia