The Duke of Hearts (The Highwaymen #2)

Chapter Twenty

“I SUPPOSE CONGRATULATIONS are in order,” Champeraigne said, his voice an ironic lilt, from the depths of the room. It was dimly lit, only a few lamps barely burning, most of the light coming from the fireplace.

Arthford stepped closer, into the sitting room in Champeraigne’s London house. “You sent for me? Was it really only to congratulate me on my marriage?”

“What sort of marriage is it going to be? I hear she wears trousers.”

“She does,” said Arthford, but his voice changed in such a way that he supposed his approval of that fact must have been evident to Champeraigne.

“So, I suppose she doesn’t intend to host many dinner parties?”

“I don’t think she’ll be coming to town very often,” he said. “We don’t like being separated much, so I shan’t either, only when required, really. We like the country. We’ll spend most of our time there, I think, and we’ll do as we please.”

“Except when I need you to do something for me,” said Champeraigne. “After all, I still have the deed she signed over.”

“Signed over to a dead man.”

“A dead man with an heir,” said Champeraigne. “An heir who might want the deed. Just a little added insurance, Arthford. You love your wife. Your wife loves that house. If you don’t wish me to give it over elsewhere, you’ll do what I wish you to do.”

“Of course,” said Arthford. “How could I have expected any differently from you?”

“I must take advantage while I can,” said Champeraigne. “You boys, you’re so very grown up. You nearly had me this time. Whatever happened with Lilsbin, it likely shouldn’t have gone the way it did. I overplayed my hand. I was far too clever, and it nearly didn’t go my way. I see that now.”

“It was chance,” said Arthford. “He died, but I didn’t mean him to die.”

“Yes,” said Champeraigne. “Yes, quite. So, you see, it’s a matter of time until you try again. And you’ll have learned from your mistakes this time. I may not get off nearly as easily in the future.”

“Depend upon it, you will not,” said Arthford.

Champeraigne only chuckled. “I am proud, I must say. Yes. Quite proud.”

“Why not let it go?” said Arthford. “Give me the deed, stop trying to control us, let us all be in peace?”

Champeraigne shrugged. “That will never happen, Simon.”

Arthford sighed heavily. “So, that’s it, then. You called me here for this?”

“Maybe I was lonely,” said Champeraigne, shrugging. “Maybe I just wanted a visit from one of my boys.”

“We are not yours,” said Arthford.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Champeraigne. “You most assuredly are. And even if you do get free of me, you’ll always be mine. I’ve taught you so much, haven’t I? Made you over in my image.” He sighed, smiling indulgently. “My boys.”

“Fuck you,” said Arthford. He turned to go.

“My best to the new Duchess of Arthford,” called Champeraigne after him. “I wish you both joy.”

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