Ian Culpepper, Lord Braxton, was an easygoing man. He regularly looked the other way when his sisters ran around Bath like the hoydens that they were. He always ignored the fact that his butler borrowed from the house’s supply of whiskey without thought of returning a single drop. He even occasionally slipped his younger cousins sweets when his aunt wasn’t looking. But he had not been able to stand by and allow his grandmother to be swindled by some charlatan passing through town.
He’d seen the trouble the moment he came upon the man with his grandmother. That false twinkle in the swindler’s eye had drawn Ian’s attention like a piece of broken bottle left behind in the grass and catching the light. He’d watched the man spin a tale with concerning ease. It was his grandmother’s girlish laugh, however, that had urged Ian into action.
He’d done what any gentleman would do: He’d tossed the charlatan from his home in the middle of tea. Perhaps most gentlemen of good breeding would have waited for their tea to be finished, but Ian wasn’t one to sit about and wait—ever. He hadn’t even stopped at removing the man from his home. He’d chased him halfway to London before losing the trail, and then he had gone in search of more information.
Now, he ran a hand over his weary eyes. Somehow he would find a way to keep his long-ago vow to his father. Ian would care for this family, and that included his rather fanciful grandmother and—in this instance—her investments.
“False name. False estate. False business. Is there anything true about this man?” Ian pressed his fist into the desktop as he stared down at the map that sat atop a pile of clippings from the local posts of surrounding towns.
Rockwale, his perpetually inebriated butler, moved to straighten the pieces of paper strewn across Ian’s desk, stacking the scraps of newsprint until the charlatan’s face looked up at Ian from a small likeness sketched in black ink on top of the pile. “The truth is in the pudding, as my mother always said.”
“Rockwale…I believe that’s the proof,” Ian corrected as he straightened from his desk, muttering to himself. “The proof is in the pudding.”
The man stepped away with a nod of agreement. “She wasn’t much with words, my lord, but she did enjoy a good pudding.”
“Perhaps your mother was correct,” Ian mused as he turned to look out the window onto the street below. It was a quiet afternoon, but then, most were in Bath.
“I fail to see how a pudding will solve the situation, but I’ll ring for the cook.”
“No.” Ian spun on his heel and began pacing the floor in front of the windows as he often did when he was on the edge of a decision about his family. Over the two years since he’d inherited responsibility for his family’s welfare, he’d worn the finish on the hardwood floor dull in the space behind his desk. “We require truth and proof.” He turned and set off in the opposite direction. “I don’t simply want to have Grandmother’s funds returned—I want to see that this man doesn’t harm another man’s grandmother. Portable steam.” Ian shook his head at his grandmother’s naiveté. “He must be held accountable for his actions. I will see to it that he’s punished for his thievery.”
Rockwale cleared his throat, shifting to the side to gain Ian’s attention. “Pardon my opinions on the matter, my lord, but don’t you have enough to deal with here in Bath? Your sisters—”
“Will be fine for a bit under my grandmother’s supervision,” Ian cut in, already making preparations for a trip in his mind. Rockwale could argue all he liked, but Ian’s mind was settled on the subject. He would return to the point where he’d lost the swindler’s trail and track him from there. From Berkshire it would be north to Oxford, south to Hampshire…or straight ahead to London. If he’d continued straight… Ian turned and paced the other direction. The damage the man could do to the good members of society in London was staggering. Ian had to leave. He had to try.
“Your grandmother can’t keep pace with your sisters. You can barely manage them, and you have youth on your side.”
“You flatter me, Rockwale.” He flashed a smile at his butler as he moved across the room toward the door. “I’ve failed in every effort to manage my sisters.”
“You’ll need assistance,” his butler persuaded. “At least gather a few other local gentlemen. Your family wasn’t the only one who encountered that man. Surely others were taken in by his schemes.”
Ian stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “You’re correct. His foolishness was the talk of the town during his stay. I’ll have to move quickly to gather assistance before he gets too far away.”
“I’ve never known you to sit idle, my lord. Indeed, it was surprising you didn’t catch the rascal on the road out of town last week.”
“He shan’t be so lucky this time,” Ian said, opening the door. “Have my horse readied.”
Ian Culpepper, Lord Braxton, was guilty of plenty of lesser crimes in this world, but he would not be guilty of standing by while his grandmother was swindled. He would travel as far as he must to find the man responsible for stealing from his family. And at the end of his journey, he would ensnare the scoundrel in his own web of lies.