A Gentleman’s Position(49)

“Thank you,” he said aloud. “Your patience is exemplary.”

“I need it, believe me. What I wonder—” Dominic broke off and looked around at the sound of a quiet, respectful knock.

A footman opened the door. “My apologies, my lord, but Lord Gabriel Ashleigh and Mr. Francis Webster have called on very urgent business and beg your lordship’s time.”

Richard waved permission, and Francis and Ash hurried in. Francis’s narrow face was tense with worry. At his heels, Ash looked frankly unwell.

“Your pardon for the interruption, but we have trouble,” Francis said. “Serious trouble.”

Richard glanced at Dominic, who opened his hands in bafflement. “What on earth is wrong?”

“It’s all my fault.” Ash sounded utterly miserable. “I’m so sorry.”

Francis glowered. “It’s your accursed brother’s fault. Are Harry and Julius not here?”

“Harry has taken lodgings in Great Ryder Street,” Dominic reminded him.

“Yes, I know. We told them to meet us here.”

“Feel free to use my house as your own,” Richard said. “What is going on?”

The door opened again, without ceremony, revealing Harry and Julius looking as tense as the others. “Richard, thank God you’re back,” Harry said. “Uh, that is, good afternoon.”

Dominic shot Richard a look. “Are you worried yet?”

“Yes. Will someone please enlighten us?”

Julius came over with the quick, firm tread that suggested he was too on edge to be languid, and sat on the desk since there were not enough chairs. “Welcome home, Richard. Did you woo Cyprian successfully?”

“I beg your pardon?” Richard said with stifled incredulity.

“He’s not returned? Curse it. We could use an intelligent man now. Have you told them, Ash?”

Dominic made an exasperated noise. “If someone doesn’t explain very shortly…”

All the others looked at Ash. Francis hooked a footstool with his ankle, dragged it over, and pushed his lover down onto it. “Speak.”

“What it is, you see— I wrote to Francis.” Ash was staring at the floor. “At Christmas. I was at Warminster Hall for a week, with my family. Including Maltravers. God, it was dismal, and I was bored, and…I wrote a letter.”

“Which I did not receive,” Francis said. “A fact of which neither of us was aware—I didn’t know; Gabriel didn’t think. He mentioned it to me some few days back, and we were, of course, highly concerned that it had gone astray. But you had just divested yourself of Cyprian, and after so long, we hoped that the damned thing had been lost in the post. We are not so fortunate.”

“What was in the letter?” Richard asked.

“I, uh. It was pretty ripe stuff.” Ash was scarlet. “I, uh…”

“It would serve very well as evidence in a prosecution for sodomy,” Francis said, voice flat. “Gabriel wrote about a night we spent before he left for Warminster, with detailed reference to our first evening together. A memoir of buggery running to some four pages of his unique handwriting.” He brushed a finger across Ash’s scalp. “I rather wish I’d read it.”

“I wish you had it,” Dominic said. “Hell and the devil himself. Ash.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“You so rarely do,” Julius said. “Now tell Richard who has the letter.”

“I put it out to be posted,” Ash mumbled. “At the Hall. I, uh…Mal took it off the table.”

Richard stared. “You cannot be serious. He did what?”

“Lord Maltravers saw a sealed private letter, plucked it off the table, and made himself at home with its contents,” Francis said. “The toad.”

Richard was almost speechless. “That is a damned disgrace. That is appalling.”

“It is a weapon,” Julius said. “This gets a great deal worse, Richard. Maltravers loathes Francis, but even he would probably rather not see his brother in the dock accused of playing at all fours. And if Maltravers did bring a prosecution and both Ash and Francis denied it all, claimed it was some fantasy of Ash’s, Maltravers would ruin his brother, at great cost to his family name, but Francis might escape relatively unscathed.”

“Is that not good? What are you getting at?”

“Maltravers wants to use it,” Harry said. “Against Silas and me.”

Dominic went rigid. Richard could see the white creases down the sides of his nose that betrayed his anger, but his voice was level as he repeated, “Silas.”