A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,98
he said, shaking his head. “Not going to do it, Willie. Not going to do it!”
“Why not, Stinky?” Laleham asked quietly, once more pulling out the club he had used on the man, had used on all of them. “You’ve killed before. He wasn’t altogether dead when we hung him up. You saw his futile attempts to grab at the rope, his desperate struggles when he knew he was about to die. Did you lift a hand to help him, raise your voice to stop it? You’ll learn after the first, the second comes easier. Especially when we all know the prize awaiting us. The fortunes. No more worries about money, Stinky, you’ll be able to gamble away two fortunes a day and still be rich.”
Lord Chorley began worrying at his thumbnail. “Yes, well, there is that. But Ralph never said anything about regicide, Willie.”
The earl smiled, or at least as much of a smile as his still tender jaw allowed. “I don’t tell Ralph everything, Stinky. Only those I feel are closest to me. Those for whom I have the greatest affection, the most ambitious plans. You’d feel comfortable living in Carleton House, Stinky, as you visit it so often to see the prince. And then there’s that ridiculous building project Prinny’s working on in Brighton. It can be yours as well.”
Then Laleham sat back, watching the smile that dawned over Lord Chorley’s round face, banishing the last remnants of his frown and the last of his misgivings. He still might marvel at the man’s stupidity, but the earl knew he had never underestimated his old friend’s overweening greed. He owned Lord Chorley, body and soul, and the devil with the man’s incessant gambling. Soon it wouldn’t matter if Lord Chorley gambled away his own back teeth.
His plans, his very private plans, were all beginning to come together. Now all Laleham had to do was line up the rest of his ducks, make them quack on cue—then sit back and watch as they mowed each other down, leaving him to reap the rewards of victory, Marguerite by his side as he ascended the throne.
Sir Peregrine Totton lifted his chin and raised a hand to his chest, peering at his reflection, mentally congratulating himself on both his new jacket and his impressive air—the look of the Compleat, Accomplished Gentleman. A gentleman of breeding, a gentleman of knowledge. Respected, and more than that, envied by his peers. Worshiped by his intellectual inferiors. Feted and applauded by all!
“I believe the shoulders could be broader,” he said to the tailor, who was reclining on his haunches beside Sir Peregrine, his mouth stuffed with pins. “Some buckram padding? And I’d like the same styling made up in Clarence blue, although this brown must be in my hands tomorrow morning. That should not tax your abilities overmuch, should it? You can have the brown altered and to me by nine. Not a moment later, mind you, for I shall be off to the Tower before ten.”
The tailor bobbed his head enthusiastically and quickly helped Sir Peregrine out of the jacket before bowing himself out of the private office, nearly backing into the Earl of Laleham.
“William!” Sir Peregrine exclaimed, espying the earl’s reflection in the mirror and wheeling about to greet him. “Why didn’t my man Grouse tell me you were here at the Ministry? I would have dropped everything to meet with you.”
“Supplementing your wardrobe, are you, Perry?” the earl asked, helping himself to a chair. “Is there something I should know about?”
Sir Peregrine smiled widely, then turned away, to slip back into the jacket he’d been wearing before the tailor had showed up for a final fitting. “Don’t be ridiculous, William,” he said a moment later. “There is nothing in the least unusual about ordering a new jacket or two. Why, I wager you own several dozen yourself.” All of them black as your heart, he added mentally, wondering where he had found the temerity to so much as think meanly of William Renfrew.
He covered his mouth with his hand, hiding a smile behind a cough, feeling suddenly giddy with the knowledge that, after tomorrow, he would not have any reason to worry about William Renfrew ever again. Not after tomorrow. He would be established, he would be famous—he would be respected! In the meantime, he would keep his secret. William could read about it in the newspapers, like the rest of London.
“You’re perspiring, Perry,” the earl said smoothly, so that Sir Peregrine quickly