Richard sighed internally. He had not imagined his plea would be heard, but he’d had to try. “Yes, we must all do that, you included. Very well. Follow your path if you must, but it is deluded and wrong. Ash is perhaps the most charming and gentlemanly fellow of my acquaintance.” He gave Maltravers a look up and down. “It is remarkable how families differ. And I must say, it is…coincidental that you make these allegations against a brother you loathe and a man you have hated for years. It smacks of malice, my lord, and you should consider that Webster can well afford to bring suit for slander.”
“These are not allegations. I have proof.”
“Nonsense. What possible proof could you have?”
“A letter,” Lord Maltravers said smugly. “In Gabriel’s own hand, to Webster. A full admission of unspeakable acts.”
Richard sat up, frowning. “A letter? May I see?”
“I don’t have it to hand.”
He leaned back again, allowing his dislike to show. “Of course you don’t.”
Maltravers clenched his fists. “What does that mean?”
“It means, my lord, that since you are unable to produce this supposed letter, I must decline to place faith in its existence.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“I am certainly not prepared to take your word,” Richard said. “If you can show me this letter, then I will make my apology for doubting you. Until then, my lord, I shall form my own opinion as to whether you or Ash is the more likely to be honest.”
Maltravers looked like a swollen bullfrog. “How dare you!”
“Very easily.” Richard stood. “One may dare anything against a man too cowardly to defend his name.”
Rage leapt in Maltravers’s eyes, and for a moment, Richard thought he might take the bait. He took a step closer. Maltravers did not rise from his chair. “I said, cowardly,” Richard told him, looking down. “Perhaps you did not hear me.”
Maltravers’s eyes bulged. “My father is the Duke of Warminster, sir. I do not lower myself to brawling.”
“Not with men who can hit back, at least. And my father was the Marquess of Cirencester, so do not cower behind your title with me.”
“You are insolent,” Maltravers snarled. “And you are wrong. I shall show you the letter, and you will make a public apology for your insults.”
“I will do so for calling you a liar if you can prove you are not one. The proof that you are not a coward is up to you,” Richard said, and stalked out.
—
David paced the length of the private meeting room at Quex’s, turned neatly, paced back. He didn’t feel like sitting.
Richard had gone to force Lord Maltravers’s hand; Lord Gabriel was to meet his brother afterward to refuse his blackmail once and for all. Everything would depend on how Lord Maltravers now played the game out, whether he would begin by prosecuting his brother or picking up the fight with Richard in a fury of insult and disappointment. David had men watching Ashleigh House; he would be informed by the swiftest possible messenger if Lord Maltravers headed in the direction of Bow Street first. David didn’t think he would. Lord Maltravers didn’t like to give up anything he thought his by right, including vengeance.
Mr. Skelton would doubtless have advised Lord Maltravers to put pressure on Lord Gabriel, but Mr. Skelton would not be available. Mr. Frey had called on his many connections from a lifetime of government service, and that afternoon Mr. Skelton was due to sit before a board of interview for an excellent post at the Admiralty. He would place that before his lordship’s failing scheme, David was sure. Lord Maltravers would have to make his decisions alone. And if Richard had carried out his task, the man would be in no fit state to do it.
Confuse him. Insult him. Make him angry with you, David had said, and Richard had given that authoritative nod of his, accepting David’s instructions as though nothing were more natural.
He wanted that again. He wanted to tell Richard what to do, and he wanted to see him take it as easily as David took orders from him, and he wanted…
He reached the end of the room, turned again. He’d stand still when Richard arrived of course—no twitching nerves would be displayed then—but he needed action now, to get out the quivering tension that ran through his body at the thought of the game to come.
It wasn’t a game for Richard, with noble names at hazard and his friends in the balance, but David couldn’t help feeling the thrill. He’d worked from behind the scenes for so long. Now he had stretched out his hands across London and tugged on a tangle of threads painstakingly set up over the years, and this time he would see his puppets dance.