Chapter Twenty-four
NOTHSHIRE RIPPED THE mask off of his face. They were playing Lords of the Crossroads again, just for a few months now, just to raise enough money to get Champeraigne off their backs. It wouldn’t last forever, of course, because they were already seeing a dearth of carriages coming through the crossroads. The nobility would not travel this way for much longer. They would need to devise a new scheme.
“What was that, Arthford?” he demanded.
Arthford was so drunk he was barely standing. “Sorry,” he said, falling down into a chair. They were at Bess’s, in their little room there.
“I told you not to come along,” said Nothshire. Arthford had been staggering around, slurring, barely able to aim his pistol, which thankfully hadn’t been loaded, because Nothshire thought the man might have shot his own bollocks off or perhaps someone’s finger. “I told you to simply stay here, but you insisted.”
“I can’t simply sit here alone,” said Arthford, glowering into the fire. It was winter, chilly outside. The fire was blazing. “I can’t bear it.”
The marchioness had broken things off with Arthford.
This wasn’t actually the first time it had happened, but it seemed to be much more permanent this time, and Arthford was seemingly broken.
“Don’t be so hard on him,” said Dunrose, settling down in a chair next to Arthford. “How about a bit of this, mmm, Arthford?” He took a bottle from the floor and uncapped it.
Rutchester stopped him. “Do not get Arthford hooked on the laudanum, if you don’t mind, Dunrose.”
Arthford shook his head. “It’s fine. Really. I think I’m just going to follow in Nothshire’s footsteps and marry some randy widow and get her with child.”
“My wife was never a randy widow,” said Nothshire, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, well, she did spread her legs for you rather easily, didn’t she?” said Rutchester.
Nothshire hit him. Probably harder than he should have, but not in the face, which he wanted to do, just a solid punch to the shoulder.
“Christ!” said Rutchester, baring his teeth at him. “Between the lot of you, you all think with your pricks these days.”
“Mine rarely works anymore,” said Dunrose, tipping the bottle into his mouth.
“I know what I’m going to do,” said Arthford, pointing at Dunrose. “I’m going to take Dunrose back to Bluebelle Grange and get him off this poison.”
Dunrose touched his chest. “I’m the Duke of Dunrose. Who would I even be without laudanum?”
“Yes, I might have said the same thing,” said Arthford. “Who would I be without the marchioness? I know now. I’m no one. You and I can be nonentities together. Come on, for me. It would give me something to do.”
Dunrose snorted.
“What we need to do,” said Nothshire, gazing into the fire, “is seriously consider getting out of this thing we are in with Champeraigne.”
“Well, that would be more easily done if Dunrose wasn’t an opium eater,” said Arthford.
“I mean it,” said Nothshire. “This isn’t just about us anymore. I have a child on the way, an innocent child, and I am bringing this little babe into a world where we’re controlled by some mad Frenchman who thinks all men are brutal animals. This can’t continue.”
“I’m serious, too,” said Arthford.
“I don’t see why Rutchester doesn’t just kill him,” said Dunrose.
They all turned to look at Rutchester, who was still rubbing his shoulder.
Rutchester glared at them. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s very careful around me. I’ve never been able to be alone with him. Don’t think I haven’t tried.”
“Well, we need some sort of plan,” said Nothshire. “We can’t keep playing at being highwaymen for the rest of our damnable lives.”
“I don’t know,” said Dunrose. “I think I look rather dashing in a domino mask and a long, flowing black cape. All of the whores here at Bess’s agree. They’re all quite disappointed that my prick doesn’t stand up anymore.”
“Don’t you wish to be able to fuck women again?” said Arthford. “Don’t you wish to be free of the scourge of the laudanum if that is what it is doing to you?”
“Well,” said Dunrose, with a little shrug, “it makes things nice, you know. Sort of warm and fuzzy. And without it, the world is…”
Nothshire let out a noisy breath. He knew exactly what the world was like, didn’t he?
“We need to make a better world,” said Arthford. “For all of us, not just for Nothshire’s progeny, but for all of us. Four or one?”
“One,” said Nothshire easily.
“If I say one, am I agreeing to being forced off the laudanum?” said Dunrose in a lazy voice.
“One,” said Rutchester.
Dunrose sighed. “One.”
Arthford nodded into the fire. “One, then. We all deserve to have a happy ending, one way or the other.”
* * *