The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,88

opportunity. Harry wasn’t of age and wouldn’t be for another five years. If Masterton succeeded in marrying Ellie, then if anything subsequently happened to Matthew Hinckley, the most obvious hands into which the reins of the estate would fall would be Masterton’s—Matthew’s cousin and, in legal terms more importantly, his son-in-law.

Masterton’s push to marry Ellie—and to ensure she didn’t marry anyone else—was purely a step in that wider scheme, albeit a crucial one.

Godfrey almost laughed. He’d already scuppered Masterton’s plan, did the blighter but know it.

Of course, to actually scupper Masterton’s plan, Godfrey had to remain alive.

The thought instantly sobered him; he tried again to tense his fingers and, this time, managed to curl them. Relief crept through him; he’d started to worry that the blow to his head might have done permanent damage. He tested his toes and found he could curl them more or less normally. Next, he tried to lift his ankle and managed an inch before the weight of his foot became too much for his weakened leg to bear.

Masterton had been pacing at some distance, but now he came striding back.

Godfrey lay still and fought not to show any sign of consciousness.

Masterton halted beside him and nudged Godfrey’s arm with his booted toe, clearly testing if he was still unconscious.

Godfrey remained limp, his features lax.

Masterton humphed, crouched, grabbed the material wrapped about Godfrey’s wrists, and pulled the knot even tighter. “There.” He released the material and patted the knot. “That should hold you, even if you wake up—at least until I get back.” Masterton paused, then went on, “And if you do manage to get to your feet and attempt to get down those stairs, with your hands tied—”

Although unable to see it, Godfrey heard the smile in Masterton’s voice.

“—you’ll fall and break your neck, and I won’t have to do anything more drastic to remove you from my path.”

Masterton rose and, again, stood looking down at Godfrey. “You, my lord, have left me no choice. I have to get my plan back on track, and the only way to do that is to remove you entirely. That will solve everything.”

Godfrey doubted it, but clung to his façade of unconsciousness as Masterton swung on his heel and stalked away.

Halfway across the room, Masterton muttered, “Luckily, I know just the man to take care of you, one who has as much at stake in this as me, and thank the Lord, he’s close by. I’m sure he’ll happily do the deed, then when your powerful family comes asking questions, I can put my hand on my heart and swear that I had nothing to do with your death.” Again, Godfrey heard a smug smile color Masterton’s voice. “And there won’t be any way they’ll be able to prove otherwise.”

Masterton’s footsteps continued, then Godfrey heard the fading patter as Masterton went down the stairs.

Your death.

That, Godfrey decided, was clear enough. But who was the man Masterton had gone to fetch—his chosen executioner?

Godfrey lay unmoving. He was still too weak to sit up, even to hold up his hands and examine whatever was binding his wrists.

He didn’t know how much time he would have before Masterton came back, but until control over his limbs returned, he simply had to wait…

He might have slipped into unconsciousness again; when he blinked and realized he could fully open his eyes, he thought the gray light seeping in from outside had dimmed.

Time had passed, but he had no way of telling how much.

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his head, he tried to sit up. When that proved beyond him, after regaining his breath, he closed his eyes and, with an effort that left him groaning, rolled onto his left side.

When the throbbing in his skull eased, he opened his eyes—and found himself staring at the painting that had so distracted him earlier.

His new angle, virtually level with the canvas, had him staring directly at it from only a few feet away.

He drank in every line, all he could make out through the layers of dust and grime, then drew in a long, slow breath.

Today is not a day on which I want to die.

Chapter 13

After a lengthy discussion with Mrs. Kemp over the state of the household linen, Ellie returned to the library where she found her father still chatting with Morris and Pyne, but no sign of Godfrey—or Masterton, for that matter.

She waited for a break in the men’s conversation, then asked, “Do any of you have any idea