Chapter 10

10

Christian moved through the crowded house with his usual aplomb. The most demanding of society was nowhere in sight—Chipple’s background made him as much a persona non grata as Christian’s reputation—so he was greeted by most of the acquaintances that he passed. He stopped here and there for a short quip, a brief conversation, but then moved on to his eventual destination with single-minded determination.

Chipple’s library wasn’t that difficult to find. His brand-new house had been designed by Rotterdum, one of the architects used by new money, and Christian had already been in several. The layout was essentially the same, though when he slipped inside Josiah Chipple’s study and closed the door he felt a momentary start before he realized the tall, shadowy figure was simply one more of Josiah’s damned statues.

There was a fire going, but clearly no servant was going to be checking on it during the demands of a party, so he stoked it up himself until it came to a nice blaze, then helped himself to Chipple’s brandy. It was cognac, and he had to resist the impulse to throw it into the fire. He avoided all things French when he could help it, limiting himself to canary and claret rather than the French stuff. For harder spirits he preferred whiskey, but he decided not to be picky, and he sat down in one of Chipple’s comfortable leather chairs and propped his feet on the desk, admiring his elegant boots.

They’d cost a pretty penny—maybe he’d even eventually pay the poor artisan who’d worked so hard on them. In the meantime, he could enjoy the wonderful sheen and wait for Chipple to make his appearance.

It didn’t take as long as he’d expected, though he was on his second glass of cognac. The party was still going strong—the noise and the music filtered through the closed door, and he wondered briefly where the dragon was. Probably searching for him to give him another one of her lectures. Or perhaps she’d given up for the night. She’d looked a bit defeated when he’d left her in the garden.

A shame—both the leaving, and the defeating. He liked his dragon when she was breathing fire, and he would have been more than happy to see whether he could arouse her…ire…if he hadn’t had business to attend to. No man hired assassins to kill him and got away without being sternly reprimanded. And made to pay a price.

Chipple didn’t even notice he was there. His face was flushed with wine and good humor, and he was halfway toward the desk before he realized he wasn’t alone. His expletive was suitably sailor-like, and impressive even to a man like Christian.

“Good evening, Chipple,” Christian said, not bothering to rise, or even remove his feet from the vast mahogany desk. “Have a seat.”

If he’d had any doubts as to Chipple’s true calling the expression on his face made it vanish. The cheerful nouveau riche father was simply a facade.

The man living behind it was capable of just about anything.

“I wouldn’t make a fuss if I were you,” Christian continued smoothly.

“It’s past time you and I came to an understanding, and I don’t think you want any witnesses as to what I have to say.”

“I don’t know that I want witnesses as to what I’m going to do,” Josiah grumbled, but his initial flash of rage had vanished, leaving him wary.

“Take your boots off my desk, you whoring son of a bitch.”

“Certainly, you soulless purveyor of human flesh,” Christian replied in a mild tone, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Society is so interesting, don’t you think? So many simply refuse to accept a man because his money is self-made, and those who do hold the most ridiculous standards.

Trafficking in human beings is regarded in very low esteem, and of course illegal in this country. If the source of your money were to become public knowledge you wouldn’t be invited anywhere, and your daughter could kiss a titled marriage goodbye. But you know that already, don’t you? You’ve gone to great effort to cover up the fact that you make your money off the slave trade.”

It was a telling blow. “You have no proof,” Chipple said hoarsely, dropping down in the seat behind the desk.

Christian kept his triumphant smile to himself. It wouldn’t do to underestimate someone like Josiah Chipple—he would have no qualms in simply cutting his throat and leaving the servants to clean it up. Then again, Christian wasn’t easily bested, and he was on his guard.

“It would be easily obtained if I put my mind to it. At the moment I’m a bit perturbed. Two men attacked me this morning, and to my surprise they weren’t simply out to rob me. They seemed quite determined to kill me.”

“Imagine that,” Chipple said with a sneer.

“Clearly they weren’t properly warned as to who they might be dealing with. They seemed quite surprised when I put up a fight. So surprised that they were, perhaps, a bit too talkative.”

“What happened to them?”

“I’m afraid I killed them both,” he said blithely. The second man who’d run off was terrified of Josiah Chipple’s wrath, and having seen the look in his host’s eye, Christian could understand. Not that he should go to any trouble to save a man who was out to kill him, but he could afford to be generous in this circumstance, since he was about to get exactly what he wanted. “I suppose I could have spared one, dragged him before a magistrate and lodged a formal complaint, but I decided that dealing with you directly would be much more efficient.”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“Of course you didn’t. And I expect you are such a stalwart and law-abiding citizen that you would make it your duty to see that nothing like that ever happened again, at least to me.”

“What do you want, Montcalm?”

Christian smiled sweetly. “Your daughter’s hand in marriage, of course.

I thought I made my most honorable intentions clear.”

“You’re only interested in her fortune!”

“Wouldn’t you want a son-in-law who was eminently practical?”

“She can do better.”

“Alas, I can’t argue that,” Christian said. “I must admit my reputation is a bit…shady. Unlike your own unblemished one. But I’m expecting marriage to make a new man out of me. A sober, devoted husband and father…”

“You aren’t fathering my grandchildren!”

“Then I suppose we can always have a celibate relationship. And of course there are ways of preventing pregnancy, but I imagine you know them and would rather not think of them in terms of your daughter.” He took another sip of the cognac. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he added as Josiah made an involuntary move toward him. “If the poor girl were orphaned she’d have no one to look after her.”

He halted, wisely. “The Honorable Miss Kempton—”

“Ah, yes, the Honorable Miss Kempton. She does try to be inflexible, does she not? I’m afraid if it came to a battle between us then I would undoubtedly win. She’s not nearly as fierce as she would have one believe.”

He allowed himself a faint smile at the memory.

“I’ll find someone else…”

“Accept the inevitable, Chipple.”

Josiah sank down in his chair, a calculating expression on his face. It had taken him long enough, Christian thought lazily. He had to be a smart man to acquire the kind of fortune he had, but it was taking him a damnably long time to get down to business. Perhaps it was simply that he didn’t want to admit defeat on any level.

“How much do you want?” Josiah demanded hoarsely.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know what I’m talking about. I’ll give you five thousand pounds to leave my daughter alone and to be silent about any speculations as to where I made my money.”

“Sir, you insult me.”

“Ten thousand pounds.”

Christian was enjoying this. “What kind of gentleman do you think I am?”

“Twenty thousand pounds.”

“A remarkable sum of money, indeed. But your daughter is your sole heir.”

“Fifty thousand pounds and not a farthing more. Or I’ll kill you myself and be damned to the consequences.”

“You could try,” Christian replied in a silken voice. “But I would hate to see such a thing happen. And it would be so hard on poor little Hetty. I suppose in good conscience I can only agree. After all, I would hate to see her abandoned with a father in the dock.”

“I could always get away with making you disappear.”

Christian smiled. “Believe me, you couldn’t.”

“I’ll send someone over to your rooms with a banker’s draft—”

“And a knife? I don’t think so.”

“Then how do you expect me to arrange this…?”

“You’re not the sort of man who trusts anyone, even banks. I’m certain you can find at least that much hidden in this house.”

“Do you think I’m a fool? I could be robbed.”

Christian was tactful enough not to point out that that was exactly what was happening. “Most street thieves have the sense to steer clear of me, because my reputation precedes me. I imagine the same holds for you. The members of the criminal underground are very well informed, and only a dolt would think to rob you.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“We are simply two gentlemen—and I use that term with great affection

—who have come to an agreement due to our mutual concern for your daughter. We both want what’s best for her, and I would never be so bold as to think that I could aspire to her hand.” Christian was enjoying himself.

“I’m willing to relinquish her affection at great cost to myself, and it is only to be expected that it be at great cost to you, as well.”

Josiah Chipple stared at him for a long moment. “All right,” he said finally. “I accept.”

“Of course you do,” Christian murmured. It was a lie, of course.

Chipple might hand over the cash, but he’d do everything within his power to get it back, and he’d choose his assassins a little more carefully next time.

On the other hand, Christian had absolutely no intention of relinquishing his hold on adoring little Hetty. Why should he, when he could have the fifty thousand pounds and her, as well? And once he had her, Chipple would definitely think twice about having her husband slaughtered.

No, he’d have no choice but to accept him into the family. Though somehow Christian doubted they’d be spending much happy time together, even when the children came along.

She’d be a viscountess, which was what she wanted. He’d have enough money to live as he pleased, though he wasn’t sure his young bride would find it as amenable. If she grew tiresome he could send her to live with her devoted father for long periods at a time, taking her noisy brats with her, while he concentrated on dragon baiting.

He was moving way too fast—he had to secure the lady first. And by the time they were married Annelise would be long gone, off to some other needy family.

“Stay here and I’ll go get the money.”

“I think I’ll come with you. I feel the need to stretch my legs.”

“You think I’m going to allow you to see where I keep my emergency funds?” Chipple demanded.

“And it is an emergency, is it not? I also know that you would change the location of your secret stash regularly, so you’ll be giving away no secrets. Unless you have one of your black slaves chained with it to keep it safe.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Josiah said stiffly. “And I’d appreciate it if you stopped mentioning that. If word of my former life reached society it could be devastating.”

“Former? I gather it was an ongoing concern.”

“I’ve retired,” Chipple said.

“Of course you have,” Christian replied, not believing a word. “Shall we go? Your guests must be wondering where their host is, and Miss Hetty might come to check on her dear father.”

Josiah Chipple didn’t like to lose. “There’s a word for people like you,”

he said darkly.

“The word is blackmailer,” Christian said. “Though I prefer businessman.”

“We’ll go through the garden,” Josiah said.

“We’ll go through the house,” Christian corrected. “I imagine you have at least one man stationed outside the house at all times, and it would simply take a gesture from you to have him attack. And then we’d have another bloody corpse to deal with, and it still wouldn’t be mine. Accept the inevitable and cut your losses.”

Chipple glared at him. He rose and walked over to the fireplace, fiddling with the books. A small section of shelving swung out, revealing a tiny compartment filled with neat packages. Chipple reached his hand inside, and Christian spoke.

“I wouldn’t go for that pistol if I were you. If it’s been in there for long it will no longer be properly primed, and think of the noise it would make.

And I think it should be quite clear that I’m not about to go quietly.”

Chipple turned back with his hands full of neatly bundled sacks. “I accept defeat when I must. If this is what it takes to get rid of you then I consider the price small enough.”

Now, that was a total lie on every account, Christian thought as Chipple counted out the sacks. He wasn’t the sort of man who ever accepted defeat, and he wouldn’t part with a penny unless he had no other choice. At the

moment he realized that he had no choice, but Christian expected that to be only temporary. Which required him to act quickly.

“It’s quite a bit to carry around—are you certain you’re safe on the streets with it? I could send a link boy with you…”

“I’ll be fine.” It was a hefty sum of money, one that he couldn’t very well tuck into his fashionable pockets, but he certainly wasn’t about to have Chipple send someone with him, someone who’d doubtless try to relieve him of his bounty. “I’m afraid I’ll have to beg the favor of a bag to carry it in, though. I’ll be sure to have it returned.”

Chipple made a low, growling noise, rather like that of a hungry polar bear, but he simply nodded, tossing a small embroidered sack across the desk. “Consider it my parting gift,” he said. And there was no mistaking the murderous look in his small, dark eyes.

Christian rose, stretching lazily, and gave his future father-in-law his most fetching smile. “I’m pleased we’ve come to an understanding,” he said. “I knew we would deal well together, as one businessman to another.”

“Get out of here,” Chipple snapped.

Christian Montcalm scooped up the money, placed it in the soft velvet bag and gave Chipple a mocking bow.

He could see Chipple’s eyes dart back to the open panel, doubtless considering whether to risk using the gun, but he clearly thought better of it.

He’d try something soon, though, and the quicker Christian put his plan into motion the better.

“Good evening, sir,” he murmured.

“Goodbye,” Chipple snarled. He stood there, motionless, as Christian Montcalm sauntered gracefully out of the room.

William Dickinson knew when a cause was lost. He’d known even before he’d traveled to London, but he’d risked everything for one last glimpse of her. He was from yeoman stock, an old family of impeccable lineage with no aspirations beyond the careful managing of his estate and the surrounding villages. His father was the local squire, a good man and one William hoped to emulate. And in truth, Hetty was too far above him to spend her life as the wife of a country gentleman—too beautiful and too wealthy for such a simple man. He knew it, accepted it. But he couldn’t help dreaming.

If she really did come to meet him, as Miss Kempton said she would, then he could tell her goodbye. Give her up to a grander future than he could ever provide.

But not with someone like Christian Montcalm. He’d heard the rumors, and a man like that wasn’t worthy of a treasure like Hetty. She’d be better off in the country than tied to a scoundrel like him.

Josiah Chipple wasn’t going to let that happen, though. If he wouldn’t let his only child throw herself away on a wealthy country family, he’d hardly let her go to an impoverished rakehell with a title that wasn’t even his yet.

Will sat down on the marble bench, then turned to keep his eyesight away from the offending statue. For some reason Chipple thought these obscene Greek marbles made him refined. With Chipple it was a lost cause.

It was a wonder that Hetty was as sweet and delicate as she was, but she could thank her mother for that. The poor woman had always looked a little afraid of her mostly absent husband, but she had raised her daughter well until her sudden, unexpected death. Hetty could look almost as high as she wanted for a good marriage, and Will had long ago accepted that fact.

He just wanted to say goodbye. To wish her Godspeed. To tell her he’d accepted her decision gracefully, knew she didn’t love him, and in fact, that he had moved on himself and would be marrying Miss Augusta Davies (or at least, as soon as he asked her, since she’d been chasing him for years now).

When he saw Hetty coming toward him his heart leaped in his throat.

He rose, turning his back on the statue, straightening his already neat clothing, his graceful departing speech all prepared.

She slipped into the garden, closing the door behind her. She was a vision of pink and lace and glittering gems, her artful tangle of blond curls like a halo, her perfect rosebud lips pouting, and angelic blue eyes wide with love, and he melted.

“Oh, bloody Christ, Hetty!” he exploded. “I can’t live without you!”

And ignoring his promise to Miss Kempton, his vows to himself, his duty to his parents, and his sense of honor and decorum, he swept Hetty into his arms and planted his mouth on hers in one long, bracing kiss.

Her response was not what he would have expected. She tore herself out of his arms and burst into noisy tears.

Guilt swamped him. “Oh, Hetty, darling, I beg your pardon. I should have never…please forgive me. I thought I could control myself…I ought to be horsewhipped…I’m a wretched—”

She looked up, and her tear-filled eyes were smiling, and she put her hand against his lips, silencing his babbling apologies. “You do still love me, Will!” she breathed happily. And she flung her arms around his neck, kissing him back.

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