The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,103

you did with the Albertinelli.”

Masterton had been gazing at his bound hands; now, he glanced up, his expression distant. He blinked; it seemed likely he’d already been working on his next plan. “What I did…” He humphed. “Cawley was pressing me for money—I had to give him something. He knew I haunted this house, worming my way into Matthew’s good graces, so Cawley suggested I look around here and see what was lying about. I remembered the painting was supposed to be by some famous artist, so I checked the signature and went back to Cawley and asked what it might be worth. Cawley arranged all the rest—he got in touch with someone who knew a nobleman who was willing to pay thousands for that particular painting, but he—the nobleman—insisted there be no hue and cry, which suited me, given I had hopes of more from Hinckley Hall. The buyer directed me to Hendall. We arranged for Hendall to come and work in Hull, so when he was ready, I took the painting out through the disused wing and took it to him.” Masterton shrugged. “You can guess the rest.”

Godfrey asked, “Who was the buyer?”

“A Count Wurtzberg. I never met him. The transaction—the exchange of the original painting for the money—was handled by Hendall.”

Godfrey knew of Wurtzberg, more than enough to know Masterton had spoken the truth. His heart sank as all prospect of reclaiming the Albertinelli vanished.

He hid his disappointment and, after a second of reviewing all that had been said, went on, “I believe you owe the Hinckleys the truth of what you had planned for them and Hinckley Hall. We understand your offer to marry Ellie was merely the first step in your plan.”

He’d expected some resistance, but it seemed that, in moving on to concoct a new plan, Masterton grew dismissive of his previous failed efforts. The devil shrugged. “It was a fairly obvious ploy. If I could get Ellie to agree to marry me—and she would have if the family’s straits grew dire enough that she felt compelled to marry to save the Hall—I would have been in a position to influence Harry and his thinking. Matthew”—Masterton glanced briefly at his cousin, who had believed in his inherent goodness for so long—“is older than he looks. He would have died soon enough. It didn’t really matter when, because once I’d married Ellie, any moneylender worth his salt would have understood my plan and waited, knowing they’d eventually get paid.”

Before Harry could erupt, Godfrey asked, “How did you think to persuade Harry to sell the Hall?”

Masterton sniffed. “That would have been the easy part—he’s not even twenty-one. If I’d married Ellie in the next few years, I would have had years to work on Harry, to make him trust me and believe all I told him. Then, whenever Harry inherited, I would have worked on him to sell the place.” Masterton glanced up at the ornate ceiling. “It would have worked, too.”

“Sadly, as to that”—Godfrey leveled a stern look at Harry, who appeared to be barely succeeding in keeping his mouth shut—“we will never know.”

Still gazing at the ceiling and transparently oblivious to anyone’s feelings but his own, Masterton continued, “Once Harry sold up, I would have taken the money and not looked back. I would have been set for life.”

His tone suggested that in his imagination, he was viewing a gilded future that had unfortunately slipped from his grasp.

His overweening self-centeredness silenced them all.

Godfrey had followed his instincts in asking Masterton for explanations regarding the Albertinelli and his more recent larger plan. Glancing at the Hinckleys’ faces, and at Jeffers’s, Godfrey realized Masterton’s answers had been important. The family had—each of them—extended a degree of trust to the man, and he had comprehensively betrayed them. None of the Hinckleys, and certainly not Jeffers or Godfrey himself, would feel a shred of regret over Masterton’s banishment.

Godfrey refocused on Masterton. “That, I believe, is all we need to know, except for our final question—do you agree to leave England and never return? Or would you rather we convey you directly to Newgate?” When Masterton brought his gaze to Godfrey’s face, he arched his brows. “Your choice.”

Masterton huffed out a strangled laugh and spat, “Some choice.” As if realizing his future wasn’t yet settled, he quickly added, “I’ll go to Rotterdam.”

Godfrey hadn’t expected anything else. He signaled to Kemp. “Please return him to the room beside the scullery.”

Chapter 15

The instant the door shut behind Masterton, Jeffers cleared his