“What?” David lifted the pistol again. “Of course, it was you. It was exactly what you threatened to do.”
“I know,” Charnley said, holding up both hands. “I know what I said, but you have my word as a gentleman, Naylor was not imprisoned on my order. Where is he?”
“Session House.”
Charnley grimaced.
“Precisely. I want him out. Now.”
“I’m sure you do, so the sooner you put the pistols away and let me think the sooner we can do something.” Charnley gave him a pointed look. David watched him. His eyes were a greenish grey, very similar to his own, but the similarity ended there. Charnley had curly chestnut hair, very much like their mother’s had been, and the charming, open face of a man raised in luxury.
He lowered the pistol.
“Brandy?”
David nodded. It seemed wrong to be drinking br
