A Gentleman’s Position(57)

Richard almost laughed. “How could you? Maltravers is a duke’s heir with a fortune. He is all fangs.”

David raised one shoulder, a half shrug. “I don’t know about that. Have you ever wondered why he is so badly dressed?”

“What?”

“Nothing. For now.” He pressed his lips together, thinking. “If I do this, your lordship, I will need free rein to use any means necessary.”

“You have it. My purse is at your disposal without limit.”

“I don’t mean money. Or not just money. This will not be conducted in a gentlemanly way. I will need to lie and cheat and steal, as I have done before, and I am not going to hide that any longer. I want you to know what I do for you.”

Richard had only an inkling of what David did. It had always seemed better not to ask. “Like pigs,” he said.

David blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Pigs. When a pig must be killed, you cut its throat, sear the hair from its hide, gut it, clean off the filth, chop it apart. Have you ever seen a pig killed? It’s messy. It stinks. And then, at last, with the blood and shit and squealing left behind, a carefully cured and cooked ham sits on a gentleman’s table, and he will take a few mouthfuls and praise the delicate taste.”

“I see. Yes, very like pigs.”

“My father made us spend time on the land, understand where our wealth comes from. He was, at least, honest. I cannot say I like the sound of lying or stealing, but I never liked the sound of a pig’s death squeal either, and it has not stopped me eating bacon. Or appreciating the butcher’s skill,” he added.

“But you would not do the slaughtering.”

“I lied at your direction just a few months ago,” Richard countered. “I did it for Dominic then, and I will do it now, or anything else you require, rather than see innocent men hang.”

“I wasn’t aware they were innocent.”

“No,” Richard was forced to admit. “No, they are not innocent at all; that is quite true, but I don’t think either Ash or Mason deserves hanging. And in any case, if I am forced to choose between what is right in law and the people I care for, I think I must choose the people. I listened to rightness when I should have listened to you, and I wish to God I had not.”

They stared at each other. “You asked me for my terms, my lord,” David said at last.

“Go on.”

“There are none. I don’t work for you. I am not in your service. If I help you, it is my choice.” He lifted his chin a fraction. “A kindness from a friend and not to be repaid.”

Other men might have made Richard pay through the nose. David was graciously conferring a benefit on him for which Richard would be indebted forever, a grateful dependent.

He had known the price would be high one way or another, but he had not imagined this.

He had to force the words out over his bone-deep reluctance. “If you will do me that kindness, then I will count myself lucky in your friendship. I am very much obliged to you,” he made himself add.

“It stings, doesn’t it? Very well. The election is under way, and Mr. Norreys tells me the Cato Street trial is due to start in less than a fortnight. Lord Maltravers will want Silas readied for the dock as soon as possible. There is not much time in hand.”

“I know. I dare say I have asked the impossible.”

“It may be to our advantage. Lord Maltravers will be impatient, and impatient men make mistakes.”

“Have you any ideas?” Richard asked. “Do you think this is possible?”

“Most things are possible, if you look at them the right way.” David caught his lower lip in his sharp teeth, a little unconscious movement Richard had seen so many times. It said, I’m thinking, and he felt an absurd relief at the sight. A sense of comfort and certainty, as if he were a man on a precipice who had finally stepped to solid ground.

“Well, I’m in your hands, and I cannot tell you how glad I am for that. You will tell me what you need? And—do you have somewhere to stay?”

“Here. Quex and Shakespeare are my friends. I can come and go easily, and so can you. I should not be seen in your company, I think.”

“No. Is this where you came when I drove you away?”

David stilled, watching his face. “Yes.”

“I wish I had known; I should have come after you. And I wish I had not made you go. Perhaps you had to go, but I wish it had not been because of my obtuseness.”

David swallowed, the movement making the pale column of his throat work. “My lord—”

“You said a kindness from a friend. My friends call me Richard.”