Page 69 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
* * *
Chester and Stoneacreshowed every inclination to linger over their coffee, but Whiddon felt the need to move. He made his farewells and headed out.
Traffic ran briskly in the Strand, as it always did. He set out on foot for home. He would need to consult William’s list and set Chapman to searching out information on the next refugee. God’s teeth, but it felt wrong leaving the Comte de Perette unresolved, but he—
A step sounded too close behind him. Turning, he ducked a little, reaching for the knife in his boot, but something flared bright . . . and the world went dark.
He came back to himself gradually. He was bent over, his face pressed into stiff brocade. He was moving, his head rocking and aching anew with each jolt of the . . . carriage? He fought to get his eyes open. He’d been reaching for his belt knife. He tried again, but found his hands were tied behind his back.
“Ye got a fine, thick skull, yer lordship.”
He was hauled upright. Blinking, he tried to clear his vision. A carriage, yes. Finely appointed. The opposite bench was filled with the bulk of the two big men he’d noted leaving the printshop with Perry.
One of them leaned over and poked his temple with the butt of a knife. “Time to get Perry’s message through that rock atop yer shoulders, my lord. He’s already dealt with yer lacky, and in good faith, too.”
“Lackey?” The word came out as a croak as he tried desperately not to vomit.
The man across from him sighed. “’Tis time for ye to listen, not to talk. Perry’s already paid once for what was already his. Ye were lucky he decided to go along. He respects yer head fer business, but he’s had enough.”
Whiddon struggled to listen past the painful pounding in his head, to make sense of the words the man spoke. “But we haven’t spoken yet, or even met. I don’t have a lackey. There’s been no business.”
“Now, now. We are all men here, with an understanding of the world. Ye made yer play. Now the business is finished. Perry’s not wanting more. He don’t want to see or hear from you again.”
“But—” He stopped at the cold press of steel against his throat.
“Enough, now. Take the message, yer lordship. Leave Perry alone.”
The other man thumped on the ceiling. His assailant withdrew the knife from his neck.
The carriage slowed. The door opened. The big man leaned close again. “Next time, I’ll just cut yer throat.”
He pushed and Whiddon tumbled out of the carriage, hitting the pavement hard.
* * *
Charlotte stalkedto the front door and stood a moment, watching the impudent girl stalk away. She was fuming. Consumed with a raging fury. No wonder Whiddon wished to be left to his own devices. He was carrying on with some sort of secret life. One that involved jewels and women and lackeys and garottes.
She spun around, but the hall had emptied out. Everyone had scattered. Drawing a deep breath, she slammed the door. That had been an actual threat of death. Why? What was going on? There were too many damned secrets in this house.
On that thought, she went looking for Eli.
It took her a while to find him. At last, she spotted him in the long corridor below stairs. It was often busy here, as the passage held the laundry and boot rooms and the butler’s cupboard. It also held the steward’s office—and Eli stood outside Hurley’s open door, in an otherwise empty passage. He stood straight as a pin, his chin high and his hands straight down at his sides. Charlotte’s eyes narrowed when she saw his fingers tap a rhythm against his thigh.
“The brewer said he left a message about changing our appointment today. A message he left with a boy in the kitchens.” Even from down the corridor, she could hear the note of anger in Hurley’s voice. “Did you take it?”
“I did, sir.”
“Why did you not deliver it?”
“I must have forgotten. Sorry, sir.”
Charlotte heard the man’s exasperated exhalation. “You are walking a thin line, boy. There is also the matter of your . . . donation. You are lucky I’m not charging you interest, as you’ve yet to turn over even a penny.”
“I won’t be making a donation.”
Charlotte couldn’t see Hurley’s face, but she could hear the hardening of his tone. “You agreed to the arrangement when you hired on, boy, just as everyone else did.”
“Things changed, though, didn’t they?” The boy’s eyes blazed. “There’s a new mistress now. What do you think she’d say if I told her yer takin’ a skim off the top of our wages?”
