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regarded him intently over the rim of his glass, his bloated face drawn into a mask of barely veiled disdain. “One never can be sure of the accuracy of information these days,” he added, absently twirling the gold crest ring on his left hand.
    His inference that Jack was lying was unmistakable. Aware that everyone was waiting for his reaction, Jack forced an amused smile to his lips. “You’re absolutely right, Spalding,” he agreed amiably. “That’s why I have always preferred to rely on facts and figures. They bring a remarkable clarity to matters of business—as no doubt you have also found. One day I’ll take you through my plans for the expansion of North Star Shipping over the next five years. I’m sure you’ll find it most intriguing.”
    His expression dubious, Lord Spalding took a swallow of his drink. “Indeed.”
    â€œActually, I came to England to visit my family, who were attending the Duke of Whitcliffe’s wedding yesterday,” Jack continued, casually steering the conversation toward the subject of Miss Belford and, by association, Viscount Philmore. “I’m only here to check on my London office before heading back to Scotland.”
    â€œNow there’s a catastrophe if ever I heard of one.” Lord Beardsley rested his drink on the mound of his enormous belly, which rose like the hump of a whale over the arms of his chair. “Poor Whitcliffe must be stumbling about in a daze, wondering how the hell he could have come so close to that fortune, only to have it snatched away before the papers were signed.”
    â€œIt’s his own damn fault for not keeping the girl on a tight leash.” Lord Dunlop thumped his cane for effect. “I’ve met Miss Belford, and she is just as outspoken and uncouth as the rest of these wealthy American girls are. If Whitcliffe couldn’t take measures to control her, he bloody well deserves to have her run off on her wedding day.” He banged his cane against the floor to underscore the point.
    â€œI heard Whitcliffe boasting that Miss Belford’s dowry and allowance amounted to well over half a million pounds,” said Lord Farnham. “For that amount of money, a man could learn to endure her impertinence—and that perfectly hideous accent!”
    Jack took a swallow of brandy. But for his need to find out more about Viscount Philmore, he would have cheerfully wrapped his hands around Farnham’s throat.
    â€œThe newspapers say Miss Belford was abducted,” said Lord Beardsley. “There is a ten-thousand-pound reward for any information leading to her being found and reunited with her family.”
    â€œI don’t believe the girl was abducted for a minute,” Lord Sullivan scoffed. “How could someone abduct a bride on her own wedding day, with hundreds of guests milling about? Wouldn’t she have screamed? Wouldn’t someone have heard her?”
    â€œMaybe not.” Lord Chesley’s dark little eyes narrowed with intrigue. “Perhaps whoever took her gagged her—or drugged her.”
    â€œThen where is the ransom note?” Lord Dunlop demanded, pounding his cane furiously.
    â€œIt’s possible the family had not yet received it at the time that the newspapers were printed,” suggested Lord Beardsley.
    â€œThey haven’t received it because there is no ransom note.” Lord Sullivan took a long draw upon his cigar, wreathing his white head in smoke. “The silly girl has run away, and the family is too bloody embarrassed to admit it.”
    â€œThat’s the trouble with these ridiculous American girls,” Lord Farnham fumed. “They flounce about over here, giving themselves airs and trying to buy titles to which they have no earthly right, and then they do nothing but whine the minute they’re married and realize that a husband is part of the bargain. Lord Kemble’s American wife