Alex, naturally, cornered Benedict as soon as they were alone and demanded an explanation for his sudden interest in the Caversteed girls. Ben refused to explain until they were back at the Tricorn—mainly so he wouldn’t be forced to repeat the tale for Seb’s benefit. He waited for the third member of their team to join them in the burgundy damask-lined private salon, poured all three of them a drink, and lowered himself into one of the three large leather armchairs in front of the fire.
“I’m married,” Ben said curtly. “To Georgiana Caversteed.”
Alex almost spat out his brandy. “The shipping heiress?” he spluttered. “The picky one? That Georgiana Caversteed?”
“The very same.”
“Good God. When did that happen?”
“A few weeks ago, in Newgate.”
“Bloody hell, Ben! Only you could land an heiress—and a gorgeous one at that—while locked up in prison.”
“It’s not a permanent arrangement,” Benedict growled.
Alex shook his head, his expression one of wonder and admiration. “You should go and play cards immediately. You have the devil’s own luck.”
Seb raised his glass in an ironic toast. “Well, congratulations. It all sounds wonderfully irregular. Usually it’s the penniless beauty who’s maneuvered into marrying the rich-but-nefarious hero.” His brows arched in good humor. “But here’s our poor, pretty Benedict, forced to sacrifice himself on the altar of matrimony to an attractive hoyden worth more than all three of us put together.” He sent Benedict a mocking look. “You poor child. Fate can be so cruel.”
“Oh, go to the devil,” Benedict said crossly. “It’s only temporary. As soon as she gets here tomorrow, I’ll find out what she’s up to and put an end to this farce.”
Alex raised his brows. A wicked glint appeared in his eyes. “She’s coming here?”
“Your presence will not be required,” Benedict said firmly. The last thing he needed was Alex and Seb’s interference. He knocked back the remainder of his brandy and savored the warm burn down his throat.
“What are you going to do with her?” Alex swirled the amber liquid in his glass.
“Damned if I know. We can’t stay married, that’s for certain. Thankfully, I doubt she’ll want to, now she knows who I really am. The woman wanted someone who was about to be transported or hanged. She should be more than willing to rectify the mistake.”
“It’s not that easy, getting rid of a wife, you know,” Seb said. “They’re like those prickly burs that stick to your clothes. Once they get their hooks into you, they’re the very devil to shake off. Ask anyone.”
Ben scowled at him. “You have plenty of experience with clinging wives, do you?”
“Hardly. I avoid them like the plague. Why bother with another man’s wife when there are so many enthusiastic widows and single women out there?”
“I’m sure there are ways to get rid of a wife,” Alex said. “Annulment. Divorce.”
“Paying a highwayman to dispatch her,” Seb joked. “Tying weights to her feet and dumping her into the Thames. Shipping her off—”
Alex ignored him. “I doubt she’ll want her name dragged through the mud by a divorce, though. The Caversteeds might not be old money, but their standing in society is good.”
“You could always leave the country,” Seb said cheerfully, clearly relishing his role as devil’s advocate. “Go on a nice extended tour of Europe. A few nights with those delightfully inventive ladies in Paris and you’ll forget you even have a wife.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Ben scowled. “We only just got back from Europe, remember? I’ve seen more than enough of France and Spain to last me a lifetime.” He turned to Alex, determined to steer the conversation away from the vexing Miss Caversteed. “How’s your investigation going?”
Alex had been asked by Conant to look into the suspicious death of an Italian diplomat.
“Slowly,” Alex sighed. “It looks like he was killed by his own servant, who then fled the country, but the motive is still unclear.” He glanced over at Seb. “Maybe the servant finally snapped after the count ruined his eighth cravat trying to create the perfect waterfall?”
Ben snorted. Seb’s pride in his sartorial style was a running joke between them. “You know what those volatile Italians are like. Always so passionate, so hot headed.”
Alex shot Seb a taunting smile, and Benedict tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin at the way Seb simply raised his eyebrows and refused to rise to the bait. Seb was half-Italian and Alex delighted in teasing him about the “foreign” half of his nature—mainly because Seb was the complete opposite of a quick-tempered Italian. Despite his Mediterranean good looks, he had the coolest head of anyone Ben had ever met. There was nobody better to have at your side in a crisis. Even if he did spend twenty minutes perfecting his cufflinks.
He sent Alex a sympathetic glance. “You’ll make a breakthrough soon, I’m sure.”
Alex discarded his empty glass and rose. “Think I’ll go and take a last look at the pit.”
He was referring to the main room of the club, where the vast majority of gambling took place. A small balcony, shielded by a wooden fretwork screen, rather like a minstrel’s gallery, was positioned high above one end of the gaming room. Accessed by a small staircase, it allowed the three owners to look out over the floor and watch the games in progress below—and keep an eye on the club’s patrons. As former snipers, all three of them enjoyed the elevated position.
Ben got to his feet too. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
Seb chuckled and drained the last of his brandy. “Sounds like you’re going to need all your wits about you tomorrow, dealing with that wife of yours. Think she’s ever seen the inside of a gaming club before? Maybe you should bring her downstairs and teach her how to play roulette. I’d be more than happy to—”
“She’s not going anywhere near the public side,” Ben said firmly. “And you’re not going to be teaching her anything.”
Seb gave a chuckle. “Spoil sport. In that case, I’ll wish you good night. And good luck.”