Chapter Twelve
The entire ride home from Winterstone, Drake ran through every possible situation that might successfully oust Rum and Catherty from his life.
He still hadn’t come up with a plausible solution other than dumping his uncle on their doorstep.
He doubted that cruel tactic would work.
They didn’t want Uncle George. They wanted their money plus their exorbitantly compounded interest. Their blackmail demand for their first payment, which they had so generously agreed to accept, was still on his desk.
If he went to the Bow Street Runners about the blackmail, he might very well be brought up on charges of fraud and imprisoned.
But he had only impersonated a peer to save his despicable uncle’s life, and then very nearly ruined himself by attempting to pay off all the old man’s debts—at least, the legal ones—with his own funds.
He was unsure whether that would make a difference to the courts or not.
After all, once Uncle died, Drake was the legal heir to the title.
Would that sway them in his favor? The uncertainty of it all made deciding what to do even more difficult.
The courts might be friendly, but then again, they very well might not.
Many despised the Wakefield name because his uncle had cleaned out their pockets in the gaming hells.
When Uncle George won, he won big. Unfortunately, when Lady Luck’s pendulum swung the other way, he lost even bigger.
“I have no idea what the devil to do,” Drake told his horse as they neared Wakefield Manor.
But he had to decide something. Tomorrow was the last day the scoundrels had given him to pay up.
If he threatened to turn them over to the Bow Street Runners and acted as if he didn’t care if his poorly carried-out plan was revealed, what would they do?
As much as he dreamed about them throwing up their hands and giving up, he doubted very much if it would be that easy.
After all, Uncle George owed them a great deal of money, and they had a reputation for always collecting what was fully due to them.
In their letter of demands, they had mentioned his property, knowing that was all he had left.
Drake shook his head. Social standing meant nothing compared to the land that had been in his family for more lifetimes than he could count. And deep down, he knew they would never be satisfied. No amount of money, no amount of land, would ever pry him free of their clutches.
There was no choice. He would tell Rum and Catherty of his plan to go to the Bow Street Runners, and then he would tell Felicity everything before he went to London to speak to the proper authorities. He would lose her over this. She would never forgive him for hiding such a terrible lie.
Gut-wrenching anguish filled him, making him throw back his head and roar.
His horse startled and took off, nearly throwing him from the saddle.
He got the poor beast under control just as they reached the front gate of the manor.
Halting the mount, he stared at the once-stately home that had deteriorated so quickly over the months of neglect.
He could almost hear his parents’ wails rising from their graves.
“I will fix this,” he told them, his voice breaking.
“I swear I will make this right.” Hang the title.
No one in Society respected him as it was.
He had heard their whispers. Everyone knew his mistakes, all in the name of making things right.
The best he could hope for was ostracism from the ton.
The worst? Imprisonment, and both would cost him the woman he loved.
He snorted. She deserved better than him anyway.
He turned his horse toward town and urged it to a gallop. Better to start the end of his life today rather than wait for tomorrow.
When he reached the inn, he handed off his mount to the lad who hoped to be paid for watching patrons’ horses.
Drake had a coin or two in his pocket for the boy, but decided to wait until his business was finished to pay him.
He held up the money to reassure the lad.
“I’ll not be long. When I return, these are yours. ”
The boy brightened and led the horse to a grassier spot beside the inn.
Drake climbed the steps and went to the counter, nodding at the innkeeper. “Good afternoon, Mr. Thomassan. Are Mr. Rum and Mr. Catherty holding court in the parlor today or in one of their rooms?”
Concern filled the older man’s eyes as he jerked a nod toward the parlor. “In there, my lord. Mind your back, aye? Them two bear watching.”
Drake smiled. He had always liked Mr. Thomassan. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the warning.” He removed his hat and tugged off his gloves as he entered the small, private parlor reserved for a select few who patronized the inn.
The businessmen had seated themselves at the far side of the room with their backs to the wall, facing the doorway. Since no one trusted them, they trusted no one either.
“Lord Wakefield. Well done. Our clients are rarely a day early in making their payments.” The tallest of the pair, the pale Mr. Rum, dressed all in black and resembling an undertaker with the beak of a buzzard, didn’t bother to rise from his chair.
He merely puffed harder on his cigar, then waved it toward the empty settee beside them.
“Come, my lord. Have a seat. Would you care for some refreshment?”
“I would not.”
“Now, now,” said Mr. Catherty, the slovenly other half of the moneylenders’ partnership, “that came out rather curt. Are we fractious today, Lord Wakefield?” He snorted and made a wheezing sound that Drake took to be a laugh.
“Or should we say Mr. Pemberton? That would be more accurate, would it not?”
Drake squared his shoulders and resettled his stance. “Indeed, it would. Just as I intend to tell the Bow Street Runners when I report your blackmail scheme as soon as I reach London.”
Both men went deadly quiet, their eyes narrowing.
“You would risk prison?” Catherty asked.
“Banishment from Society?” Rum added. Each of them snuffed out their cigars and leaned forward as if about to launch themselves at him.
“I am already imprisoned by the two of you, and Society shuns me because of my destitution.” Drake shrugged, assuming an air of bitter nonchalance. “What would be the difference?”
Pursing his lips, Rum rubbed his hands together. “Difference is, you would lose that young Broadmere hen.”
“Yes,” Catherty said, chiming in with another wheezing snicker. “Fine, plump bit of skirt, that one, and we heard tell you like her for more than just her dowry.”
Their hired jackals had to have gotten that information from Uncle George. Drake would deal with the careless old man once he returned home. He jutted his chin higher. “Lady Felicity deserves better than me, anyway. Honor demands I step away from her until my problems are resolved.”
Rum hooted and slapped his knee. “Till your problems are resolved?”
Catherty chuckled and relit his cigar. “What makes you think your problems will ever be resolved?”
“As I said, I intend to go to the authorities. While moneylending is quite legal, extortion is not.”
Both men relaxed back in their chairs and exchanged disturbing glances. Rum stretched out his long, spindly legs and crossed them at the ankles, while Catherty adjusted the cushions around his wide girth.
It was Catherty who spoke first, pointing the chewed tip of his cigar at Drake. “You care about that fine, plump hen. Don’t think we don’t know that.”
Rum grinned, revealing large, yellowed teeth that made him resemble a laughing mule. “We got it on good authority that you are quite smitten with that one.”
“Lady Felicity will know the truth of everything before I ride to London to speak with the authorities.”
Catherty shrugged. “Do you think we care if she knows the truth or not? That’s between you and her.”
Rum slowly tamped out his cigar again, then shoved it into the plate so hard that it split. “But we know you would care should anything happen to her.” He snorted again. “So would that family of hers, and those Broadmeres are rich as Croesus.”
Drake lunged forward, only to be caught by powerful hands and dragged back a few steps.
A pair of men who rivaled the size of bears, dressed all in black like their employers, stood on either side of him, clutching him by the arms. He fought them to no avail.
“If you attempt to harm Felicity, I will hunt you down and make you rue the day you were born.”
Rum and Catherty widened their eyes in feigned shock, each of them gasping before they broke down into laughter. “Did we say any harm was to come to her? From us?” Rum clutched his chest as if he couldn’t imagine such a thing.
Catherty shook his head. “We merely said we knew you would be most upset should anything ever happen to her.” He huffed yet another wheezy snort. “That weren’t no lie or insinuation.”
“You will stay away from her.” Drake stomped the instep of the man to his left, ripped his arm free, and gut-punched the man to his right.
Before he could do them further damage, they recovered and dragged him even farther back from Rum and Catherty.
“You will stay away from her,” Drake repeated through clenched teeth.
“Your payment is due, Lord Wakefield,” Rum said with icy calmness.
“Should you default on your payment,” Catherty said, “any and all repercussions will be no one’s fault but your own.
” He smacked his sausage-like lips, then set his cigar between his yellowed teeth.
“Think hard on that, old chum.” He nodded at the door.
“Gentlemen, do be good enough to show Lord Wakefield out.”