The Duke of Hearts (The Highwaymen #2)

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

THE NEXT DAY , Arthford drank so much black tea that he was twitchy. Somehow, he stayed awake, as he and the other three men went walking on the grounds. They had brought dogs and guns, and the story was that they were out to hunt, but they didn’t shoot at anything; they only talked.

Nothshire asked if Arthford would be so kind as to take money back to Champeraigne, since he could—at the very least—give it to the marchioness since he saw her regularly.

“I’m not seeing her anymore,” said Arthford.

“Wait, truly?” said Nothshire, turning to look at him with his gun resting against his shoulder. “Because she’s usually taken you back by now. Was she serious about being done with you.”

“ I am done with her ,” said Arthford.

Dunrose put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m very proud of him. He’s all grown up.”

Arthford shoved him off, giving him a withering look.

Nothshire and Rutchester exchanged a glance, shrugged affably, and accepted it.

“I thought the two of you were scheming some way out of this, anyway,” said Arthford.

“Us two?” said Nothshire. “I thought that was your plan, Arthford.”

“Well, I’ve been distracted,” said Arthford. “Did anyone have any ideas?”

“Kill him,” said Rutchester. “Maybe I could sneak into his bedchamber. First, we’d have to lure him to some country house or other, I think. It’d be difficult in London.”

“Well, if it were that easy, you’d have done it by now,” said Arthford.

“True, he’s usually got guards,” said Rutchester. “He pays a number of men to watch his chambers. And anyway, I suppose I’m not really the discreet one, am I? Nothshire’s good at sneaking about, but I’m a bit obvious.”

“We can’t kill him,” said Arthford. “We need to stop killing people.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” said Dunrose. “I think I’m the only person who doesn’t kill anyone who gets in my way, truly. The rest of you—”

“I’m not a murderer,” said Nothshire.

“You use me to do your dirty work,” said Rutchester.

“Anyway,” said Arthford. “We should get someone else to kill him for us.”

“Hmm,” said Rutchester. “It has possibilities.”

“Honestly, we don’t even need to kill him,” said Nothshire. “Just the threat of it might be enough to get him to leave us be. We need leverage to use against him. He has something on us, but what if we had something on him?”

“Good,” said Arthford. “That’s good.”

“But leverage against his reputation isn’t going to work,” said Dunrose. “He doesn’t care what people think of him.”

“No, that’s why it’s the leverage of a threat,” said Nothshire. “We need to figure out something he’s done that would make someone wish to kill him, and then threaten to tell that person. It can’t be that hard, truly. He’s done all sorts of unconscionable things.”

“Right, right,” said Rutchester. “But most people who have a legitimate grievance against him, like us, he’s already got leverage against. It should be easy, but he’s too damnably smart for us to get around his own schemes.”

“Well, all right, the accusation against him doesn’t even have to be true,” said Arthford. “It only matters that the person who wishes to kill him would believe it was true.”

“All right?” said Dunrose, clearly confused.

“It needs to be something everyone would readily believe that Champeraigne would do,” said Arthford. “Like, erm, I don’t know, sleeping with someone’s young, pretty wife.”

“Would he do that?” said Nothshire.

“Well, we just collected money from the Baron Hellingswith because he entered into a bet with Champeraigne over such a thing and then would not pay up when Champeraigne won the bet.”

“All right, that makes sense,” said Rutchester. “He did it for money.”

“Well, it’s not as if he has the reputation of being scrupulous with women, I’m saying,” said Arthford. “He clearly can be seductive, if it serves his purpose.”

“Oh, he probably just bribed her to say he fucked her,” said Nothshire.

“Whatever the case,” said Arthford, “it’s believable. And if we convinced someone who is both hot-headed and also insecure, and who has no problem going about and dispatching people he thinks are after his wife—”

“Right, that would make Champeraigne believe he was in danger,” said Nothshire. “What about the Viscount of Lilsbin?”

“Oh, perfect,” said Dunrose, laughing. “Didn’t he just maim someone because he was sure that he was debauching his wife?”

“Yes, that’s why I bring him up,” said Nothshire. “He would be easy to convince, and Champeraigne would fear him.”

“We should get this clear, though,” said Rutchester. “Are we trying to get Lilsbin to actually kill Champeraigne? Or are we just threatening Champeraigne with the prospect of Lilsbin in the hopes of getting him to stop blackmailing us?”

“Only threat,” said Nothshire.

“Why?” said Rutchester. “If Lilsbin would do it, let’s get it done. Champeraigne offers nothing good to the world. We’d all be better off without him, as would half of England.”

“I’d rather not have too much blood on our hands,” said Nothshire.

“He deserves it, though, and you must agree to that,” said Rutchester. “He’s the sort of man even you would kill, Nothshire.”

“Perhaps,” said Nothshire.

“You’ve gone soft since your wife has given birth,” said Rutchester.

“Perhaps,” said Nothshire again. “But, look here, Champeraigne is in league with Fateux, and by which, I mean the marquis, not the marchioness. We kill Champeraigne, and then we’re just dealing with the marquis.”

“We don’t know that,” said Arthford. “There’s no evidence the marquis has any interest in blackmail. Now, Seraphine might, of course. She might continue Champeraigne’s schemes.”

“I suppose we can’t kill her,” said Rutchester, raising his eyebrows.

Arthford just glared at him.

Rutchester shrugged. “Well, to be honest, Nothshire, I think you’re simply being too moral here. You’re always trying to do the right thing—”

“If a man doesn’t control himself, he becomes uncontrolled,” said Nothshire.

“Fuck you,” said Rutchester, glaring at him.

“That wasn’t meant to be pointed or personal,” said Nothshire.

“The fuck it wasn’t,” said Rutchester.

“How about we threaten, and if it doesn’t work, we pull the trigger,” said Arthford. “If Champeraigne will not back down, we end him, one way or the other. That gives him the chance, Nothshire, and it gives us the opportunity to keep blood off our hands.”

Nothshire considered and then nodded.

“Now,” said Dunrose, “how do we do this? I think we need to separate Lilsbin from his wife, and we need to put Champeraigne at the same spot as his wife is, and how are we going to do that?”

“YOU WANT ME to host what?” Patience was saying. “After I’ve just given birth? It’s not even done.”

“Well, that’s true,” said Dunrose.

They were all back inside the house now, gathered round the fire. It was afternoon, and the baby was napping and they were putting the pieces of their plan together.

“Is it?” said Nothshire.

“Yes,” said Dunrose. “You don’t host social gatherings right after giving birth. It’s gauche and strange and we can’t rely on her to do it.”

“Well, how else are we to invite a marchioness anywhere? We need a woman of high enough rank to be socially equivalent. We don’t know anyone else, do we?” Nothshire looked at the others, eyebrows raised.

“We do know a lot of high-ranked women,” said Arthford carefully. “But I suppose you’re right, we don’t want to bring any of them into this scheme.”

Everyone was quiet.

“Look, does anyone know where Lilsbin and his wife even are currently?” said Dunrose. “It’s autumn. Most people have gallivanted off to extended stays in the country of various sorts, and they may already be staying somewhere. If this is the case, the easiest thing would simply to be to get Champeraigne there.”

“Oh, that’s easy?” said Arthford.

“I think they’re staying at the country house of the Earl of Rivvens, in Shropshire,” said Patience. “I think I’m correct, anyway. Let me check my letters, to make sure.” She got up and went across the sitting room to open up a writing desk there. She took out a stack of letters and began sorting through them.

“How would we convince Champeraigne to do anything without making him suspicious?” said Nothshire. “Why aren’t you still fucking the Marchioness de Fateux, Simon?”

“As if she could convince him,” said Arthford.

“Oh, I think she could,” said Dunrose.

“Yes,” said Patience, “definitely in Shropshire. I have a letter here from my friend Agnes, who is the countess, and she tells me the entire guest list. I could convince her to invite the Marchioness de Fateux, as a favor to me, if I was clever about it. If I did, would she bring Champeraigne along?”

Everyone looked at Arthford.

“I don’t know if I can convince her,” said Arthford. “I don’t know if she can convince him.”

“Well, you’re going to try, are you not?” said Nothshire.

Arthford sighed heavily.

“WHAT A STRANGE surprise,” said Seraphine, sitting down opposite Arthford in a chair in the house in town where she was staying. “I had not thought you’d call upon me like this. Indeed, this is something you never used to do, never anything so formal. I rather like it, I must say.”

“I need your help,” Arthford said, looking at her with as much earnestness as he could muster. “You claim to care about me, and there is some evidence that it may be true. If you care about me, you can’t wish for me to be continuously under the ruinous control of Champeraigne.”

She let out a bright laugh. “Oh, dear, Simon, that’s far beyond my influence. I certainly can’t convince him to—”

“No, I know that, and I wouldn’t ask that of you, anyway.” Arthford had thought long and hard about how he would put this, and he thought this way would land best for her. “That would be cheating.”

She tilted her head to one side, letting out another laugh. “Well, yes, in fact, I think it would be.”

“Champeraigne is playing us, and we have a scheme to try to best him, to wrest back our power. As long as all goes according to plan, no one gets hurts. If Champeraigne loses, it’s because it is his wits against our wits. I know he’d bet that he’s much smarter than us. So, really, if he knew I was coming to you, he’d tell you to do it. He’d like the challenge, don’t you think?”

She laughed again. “You’re good, Simon.” She shrugged. “And I suppose you’re right. He likely would enjoy the challenge. But I find all of this confusing. I thought you’d be back there with Miss Adams. And yet, instead, I hear that Champeraigne has been to see her, and that he is providing protection for her whilst she pays him money for it. Why aren’t you protecting her, Simon? Why haven’t you married that girl?”

He went cold. What was she saying? Champeraigne had gone to see Marjorie?

He had a bit of an idea what this “protection” scheme of Champeraigne’s might have entailed, and he knew that it was all a sham. Why would Champeraigne have done that when he knew that Miss Adams had a connection to Arthford, that she was as good as under his own protection?

Champeraigne must have known that Arthford wouldn’t protect her. Or at least gambled on the possibility.

But one thing was for sure, he couldn’t allow Marjorie to continue to pay Champeraigne money for a service that was entirely trumped up. Essentially, she was simply paying him not to attack her.

“The devil take that man,” he muttered, getting to his feet.

“Why didn’t you go to her?” she said.

“I have done enough to the poor woman, haven’t I?” he said.

“You’ll go to her now, though,” said Seraphine.

He sighed. Yes, he would. “I shall.”

“What’s your scheme, Simon?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “You’re going to get an invitation from the Countess of Rivvens to come to her house in Shropshire. We want you to go there and to convince Champeraigne to go as well.”

She considered. “That may not be easy, but I think I can manage it. It might be a fun challenge for me, as well. You promise no one’s going to get hurt, Simon?”

“Yes,” he said. “Physically, anyway. Financially?” He shrugged.

She let out a delighted laugh. “Well, let us see who is the better schemer in the end, then, shall we?”