Chapter 61 Derek
Derek
“Are you ready?”
Derek nodded and took the small tincture from Ryker.
Green and blue eyes glittered back at Derek from the man leaning casually against the brick building on the London docks. “I’ll be here waiting to celebrate once you’re done.”
Derek’s lips twitched, and he pocketed the small vial. “What in the bloody hell did you do to your hair?”
Ryker ran his hands through the long jet-black strands at the top of his head. He’d completely shaved the sides. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s…strange.” It definitely made Ryker’s sharp features more striking. “A bit unnerving.”
“Well, I’d say it’s serving its purpose then.” The man grinned, his oddly sharp side teeth flashing. Those fangs had always been somewhat alarming, especially considering the man’s bloodlust. But with his new haircut? The cove resembled a vampyre more than ever.
Ryker ran his tongue over one sharp tooth. “You’re staring, Dunmore. The ladies and gents love them. Want me to show you why?”
“You know? I really, really don’t.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “Best be off.” He turned toward the shipping warehouse. It was time for his meeting with Wentworth.
“Don’t fuck up!” Ryker called cheerily.
Derek shook his head and made his way to the entrance.
Derek walked side-by-side with Lord Wentworth through the warehouse.
It was a large open space, with towering ceilings and wooden beams. They were by the rear of the building now, which had a ramp that led out to the dock for easy access to shipments.
Multiple wide aisles were formed by stacked crates and barrels, or sacks and bales.
“This rum is surprisingly good,” Derek murmured.
Wentworth chuckled. “Not a rum drinker, eh?”
“Whisky’s my drink of choice, but I’ll never say no to a free drink.” Especially when he’d needed the opportunity to slip the hemlock tincture to Wentworth. Ryker said it’d need twenty to thirty minutes before the effects would start to show.
“This is extremely impressive,” Derek said. Everything was meticulously organized. Wentworth was clearly a shrewd businessman; someone Derek could have seen himself partnering with. Unfortunately, he also kept trying to murder the people Derek loved. So, it was time for him to go.
“Thank you, thank you! I knew you’d be impressed. The offices are just up this way.” A few straggling workers were finishing up in the warehouse as they mounted the stairs to the offices.
“Do you have precautions in place in case of fire?”
Lord Wentworth’s head snapped toward Derek, brows pinched.
“Apologies. I might be a bit jumpy after the event at the sponsorship auction.”
Concern glinted in the man’s eyes, and he nodded solemnly.
“Of course.” Bloody hell, the man was a superb actor.
He was so bloody sincere. And not a shred was true.
“And yes, we do. The building is insured, and the goods are organized so those that are the most likely to strengthen a fire are kept apart from others in a designated area. The offices are behind a thick wall, designed to slow the spread of fire.”
Well, that was fortuitous. “Very smart.”
They approached a metal door. “I’d like to think so.” Wentworth chuckled and unlocked the door. He led them down a short hall of small rooms. “And here is my office.”
“Excellent.” Derek grinned at the man and lowered into the chair in front of Wentworth’s desk. “Now, for the truly enjoyable matter.”
Wentworth lifted his glass, and it shook slightly. “Yes, let’s discuss finances.”
Derek toasted the man and took a sip of his rum. Not at all the enjoyable matter he was thinking of.
Wentworth pulled open a drawer and fumbled a few times with some ledgers before settling them on the desk. He stared blankly at them for a moment before shaking his head and smiling up at Derek. “These here have the figures for the last few months.”
Derek picked one up and fanned through the pages. He didn’t take his eyes off Wentworth, though. The man lifted his rum to his lips, but his fingers twitched, and the glass slipped from his hand.
“Bugger. I’m clum-clum—” He frowned.
“Clumsy?” Derek offered helpfully.
The man laughed, but it was uneasy. “Yes, that.”
Derek tossed the ledger on the desk and stood. “Question for you, Wentworth.” The man looked up at him, blinking rapidly like he had to work to concentrate on Derek. “Did you really think you could get away with it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“They were locked in. The only two people in the building, yet somehow, they were locked in. I know it wasn’t an accident. And I know you meant for Miss Forester and Lady Elliot to perish in that fire.”
Wentworth jerked in his seat as if he meant to stand. His eyes widened. He pushed on the arms of the chair, but his struggle was futile. Derek grinned.
“What is happening?” All traces of meekness disappeared, and the man glared at Derek. His voice turned hard. “What have you done?”
“Attempting to murder a duke? You must have ballocks of iron, Wentworth.”
The man’s eyes widened briefly, but he quickly schooled his features. His nostrils flared, his fingers fidgeting on the arms of his chair. Looked as though the man couldn’t lift his arms any longer. Derek needed to speed this up.
There wasn’t a way of knowing exactly how much hemlock to dose a person with. Derek had left that up to Ryker, but Ryker had made it clear there was a good chance it’d kill Wentworth given enough time. That wasn’t how this man was going to go. That was too easy.
“I have no idea what you’re spa-spa-speaking of.”
Derek walked over to the sideboard and slowly wiped his glass clean before placing it with the others. Then he picked up the decanter of liquor.
“So, you didn’t start a fire in the storage room, then lock Miss Forester and Lady Elliot inside?” He lifted the decanter. “Refill? Excellent.” He filled Wentworth’s glass to the brim and then kept pouring, rum pooling on the desk and dripping onto Wentworth’s lap.
“Oh dear. How terribly clumsy of me.”
Wentworth lashed out, but his movements were jerky, uncoordinated. He overturned the glass, rum soaking the papers and ledgers on his desk.
Wentworth’s chest heaved, ire flashing back at Derek.
“Are you saying you didn’t hire someone to tamper with the Duke of Ironcrest’s curricle?” Derek paused. Frowned. “Why did you go after the Duke?” That hadn’t made any sense to Derek.
Wentworth glowered at Derek but didn’t speak. The man’s forehead glistened with perspiration.
“I immediately thought it was you the night of the auction. You had the most motive. Eliminating the woman who threatened to take your daughter’s position as my wife and stripping us of our funding…”
Wentworth’s labored breathing filled the office.
And then it hit him. He slammed his hands on the desk.
“No!” He leaned forward, disgust curling his gut.
“You fucking bastard,” he hissed. His fingers balled into fists.
“It was you from the beginning, wasn’t it?
The Ironcrest fires. And then the night of the curricle accident, when Rafe returned, you’d been there when Rafe had been discussing the damage.
That it wasn’t as bad as they’d feared. He could still provide funds for the foundling home.
” Derek’s head spun. “So, you tried to have him killed, knowing whoever inherited wouldn’t give a bloody fuck about the foundling home.
” Dear fucking God. This man was a lunatic.
Wentworth only stared silently back at Derek. But it was all there in the sick gleam in the man’s eyes. Admission. And it made Derek wonder how much of the man’s fortune might have been made by similar means.
“It’s your turn, Wentworth.” Derek walked toward the side of the desk. He slowly pushed the oil lamp toward the edge. “You really should watch how much you drink. I’d hate for an accident to happen. Say…tipping over an oil-lamp in a drunken stupor.”
The lamp fell from the desk and shattered.
The carpet immediately went up in flames.
Wentworth’s eyes widened, sweat trickling down his forehead.
“Well, I should be off. Don’t want to burn to death. Wouldn’t that just be an awful way to go?”
The man opened his mouth, but no words surfaced.
Derek chuckled and strode to the door.
He turned and looked back over his shoulder. The flames had caught Wentworth’s desk now. The man struggled in his chair, jerking as much as his paralyzed body would allow. It wouldn’t be long until it reached the rum. His wild eyes met Derek’s, pleading.
“Regretting our choices, are we?” Derek’s lips twisted. “You should have thought about that before you tried to kill the people I love.”
With that, he left the man to go up in flames.
Flames licked up the side of the industrial building, bright reds, oranges, and yellows clawing at the midnight sky. A crowd had gathered, the fire brigade’s engine drawn up to the Thames as they tirelessly worked to put out the blaze.
Derek leaned with Ryker against the brick building, watching from the shadows.
He’d slipped out the side entrance set aside for the offices and stolen back to join Ryker.
The man had kept an eye out while Derek had been with Wentworth, ready to alert Derek if someone of consequence might stumble upon him.
“You had quite the run at the card tables tonight,” Ryker murmured.
Derek caught the man’s gaze, nothing but glinting colorless eyes in the night. They shared a grin. If anyone asked, plenty had seen him at The Devil’s Eye this evening. It was unlikely tonight’s events would be traced to Derek, but Ryker believed in being safe rather than sorry.
Ryker flicked away the butt of his cigar and crushed it beneath his boot. “So how does it feel? Easier this time?”
Derek let his head fall back and stared up into the starless sky.
Was it? Pennington hadn’t hit Derek until days later.
Even though the knave had deserved every bit of it, Derek hadn’t been prepared for how it would gnaw at his mind.
But this time it already felt different.
There was nothing but…calm acceptance. Fate delivered. Business complete.
“Easier.”
Ryker gave a low hum. “That’s the way of it. Easier and easier with each one.”
Derek’s gaze slid to him, studying the man’s profile. “And then one day it’s what you do for sport?”
“We all have our proclivities, Dunmore. I take a certain satisfaction in seeing reprobates get what’s coming to them.” Ryker pushed off the wall. “Shall we get out of here?”
Yes. Derek had a certain clever girl he was dying to see.