back and slipped his gloved hands back into the pockets of his long coat. “My friend, a gentleman never ponders another’s unintelligible insinuation. It is too weak to deliver the intended force of insult, and hence, an embarrassment to both to pursue its explanation.”
Timothy puffed out his stocky chest. “Am I being too vague? Then please, let me clarify.”
He gripped onto the lapels of his jacket with his stubby fingers. “How would the Caldwells feel about the ‘brilliant and forceful’ Doctor Hellreich if they knew it was your assistant, Edward Wallace, who had been at Weems’s den of depravity and engaging in the most unspeakable acts. There is even rumor that he may be involved in these horrendous night attacks on—”
Caden stopped him with a forceful wave of his hand. “If you are attempting to test my composure with ludicrous threats, you will find yourself at a distinct disadvantage, Mr. DeRocha.”
Caden drew upon all his powers of self-composure to quell his racing heart. How could this fool possibly know? He’s bluffing, trying to conceal his impotence when challenged by a superior man.
Withdrawing his gloved left hand, he flexed the muscles, leaving the right inside its pocket. “And considering the source of these accusations, the Caldwells would find no credence in them as I do.”
“A bottle of good brandy makes for quick friends with those who share it, even with those one might otherwise avoid. Someone like . . . Ichabod Weems, for instance.”
“Of what interest is that creature to me? Drunkards and lechers share much in common, including a natural gift for lying.”
“As do many respectable gentleman, wouldn’t you agree?” Timothy reached into his vest pocket and removed a photograph. “For all his faults, Mr. Weems is quite astute when it comes to protecting his own interests.” He handed Caden the picture.
Even in the faint moonlight, the person’s face was clear. Caden slumped and stepped back as if the wind had suddenly been knocked out of him. “Where did you get this?”
Timothy snatched the photograph out of his hand. “Mr. Weems’s reproduction cost me a considerable amount but in the end I’m certain it will pay off handsomely once Gabrielle sees it.” He fanned the air with the picture. “And I wonder what your neice will think. She looks quite stunning in the photograph, don’t you agree?”
Caden glanced away, perplexed and distracted by the absurdity of considering the possibility of wasting any more time on this troublesome, insignificant creature.
So what if the interfering fool had managed to procure a photograph out of the lair and drunkard Weems? He would discipline Edward when he returned since his man had promised that all pictures had been destroyed.
Caden indulged Edward his carnal proclivities as long as they served the greater purpose. He had to keep the man’s hunger for Rebecca in check until the proper time. And what would this pompous imbecile know of that? No, it changes nothing.
He studied the look of smug satisfaction on the smaller man’s face. “How dare you speak of my assistant’s reputation in the same breath as some gutter-dwelling pornographer like Weems? Mr. Wallace is a gentleman of the highest moral virtue and courage.”
“That is not quite how the unfortunate young lady described him after she had sufficiently recovered from their encounter. She spotted your assistant entering the Society building. Mr. Weems had to pay for her silence or she would have gone to the police.”
He raised his stocky chest as though trying to prop up superior poise with an inferior frame. “And all this, of course, has cost me considerably to keep Weems and the woman silent until I could present my terms to you.”
Caden wet his thin lips. The cool, night air now tasted clammy and dank with every rapid breath. Perhaps he had presumed too much and left more to impulse than intuition.
He ran his finger around his shirt collar, conscious of the mounting perspiration and the tightness in his neck. The tension curled in the balled flesh of his fist was uncomfortable and out of place for his character. He extended the long fingers of his hand again, stretching the glove’s leather. “So, am I to assume that blackmail will follow?”
Timothy drooped forward ever so slightly as though being struck by an unexpected blow. He lowered his hands to his sides. “No one is talking about blackmail. I don’t care what a man does in private for gratification. All I want is for you to stop influencing Arley’s decisions and cease immediately in