Page 58 of Courting Claudia

“Don’t be foolish, boy. No one respects you. Don’t think for a moment that you can walk away from our arrangement. I own you.”

Richard stood abruptly. “I sold the story. I told all the dirty little details of what you did.” He swallowed visibly. “Now I own you.”

Kennington laughed. “Foolish boy. Do you think I’m an idiot? You have no proof to sell that story. No one would believe you.”

“Oh, but I do have proof.”

He rose to his feet. “What are you talking about?”

“The letters.”

“What letters?” Kennington tried to keep his voice from rising too loud; he wanted to remain in control.

“The blackmail letters you wrote to Edwards. I have them.”

“Liar.”

Richard reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope.

Kennington recognized his own penmanship instantly. “Where did you get those?”

“I never gave them to Edwards. A verbal threat was all he needed to comply. I figured these might be useful someday.” Richard snickered. “I was correct.”

Those letters would ruin him. Not only politically, but they could feasibly send him to prison or to the hangman’s noose.

“I paid you to deliver those letters to Edwards.” He edged his way toward Richard. “You had no right to keep them.”

Richard shrugged. “I am first and foremost loyal to myself and my needs. Keeping these letters served my needs, so loyalty to you fell by the wayside. You really should be more particular when you hire people.”

Smug bastard. He held out his hand. “Give me the letters, or I’ll kill you.”

“That’s the third time I’ve had my life threatened this week, and they’ve come to no avail.”

“Don’t test me. Hand them over.”

“Go to hell.”

Kennington would not allow this idiot to ruin all his plans. He swung his cane and heard the metal knob crack against Richard’s skull. Shock etched in Richard’s features, and blood ran down his face into his eyes. He wavered a bit, then fell to the floor. Pulling back his cane once more, Kennington brought it down with all the force he could. Blood spattered against his pants leg.

He rolled Richard over and reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the stack of letters. Seven of them. They would have destroyed him.

He looked down into Richard’s lifeless face, eyes still open, blood pooling about his head and soaking into the Persian carpet. There would be no marriage between Richard and Claudia now, but with Richard dead, keeping him close was no longer necessary.

“Stupid bastard.”

He wiped the blood from his hands and the cane on his shirt—he would burn it when he got home. Then he busied himself with making it look as if there had been a burglary. He took what little money Richard had on him and the few bank notes from his desk. He kicked the papers on the floor about and opened all the desk drawers. Then he took his cane and slammed it into the window for the final touch.

With that, he turned on his heel and left through the back door.

Claudia had never seen her friend in such a state. Poppy’s pretty eyes were puffy and red. Alistair had proposed, just as Poppy suspected he would, but his proposition had not been one of marriage. Rather, Alistair had proposed that Poppy become his mistress.

He’d been fully prepared to give her every material thing her heart desired. He’d even offered to give her an allowance that would benefit her entire family, but he’d not offered marriage. He’d offered everything but his love and his name. And now Poppy’s heart was broken.

Claudia had tried everything to convince Poppy that things would be right again, but there was no convincing her. She supposed she might feel the same way were she in Poppy’s shoes, but she was in an entirely different pair of shoes altogether.

Claudia eyed her best friend sitting quietly beside the window. Her shoulders no longer shook, and tears no longer fell down her streaked cheeks, but she looked defeated and worn.

“Is there anything I can get you?” Claudia asked.

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