The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,3

glass and took a sip. “It turns out that dear Benna’s way of going on has quite played into my hands. The last time she went anywhere was with my uncle when she was barely a girl. Nobody else in our family has seen her in years. The people in town see her, of course, but all they see is a tall, skinny, towheaded woman. None of them would be able to describe her more fully that that. She has no friends and has shocked and alienated all the local mamas by dressing and behaving like a man. Best of all, rumors abound about her infamous temper tantrums with her brother. I’ve already got five witnesses willing to swear she’s become even more volatile and unstable since David’s passing.” One side of his mouth pulled up. “Thanks to my cousin David’s ironclad will, Norris and Ridgewick will be at point non plus if they dare to challenge me. They may have their hooks in the trust, but my little cousin is all mine.”

Benna let out a shaky breath and forced herself to inhale, her body trembling.

Michael smirked and sipped his brandy. “I’ve been seeding word of her instability for over a year now. By the time the marriage is known I shall be viewed as the hero of the matter—sacrificing myself for the future of the de Montfort family. And then once dear little Benna has been persuaded to—”

Fenwick snorted. “Not so little. She might be a bean pole but she’s almost as tall as you, Norland. How will you take care of her when you’re done?” he asked, his tone sly. “The one thing everyone in these parts agrees on is that she’s a spanking rider—far better than poor David. It won’t be so easy to arrange for her to take a convenient fall.”

Benna bit her lower lip in time to hold in a gasp.

Michael’s mouth tightened, his eyes glinting dangerously. “You had better learn to mind your tongue, Fenwick. I shouldn’t want somebody to cut it out for you.”

For a long moment the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire.

Michael pinned Fenwick with cold blue eyes. What the viscount was looking at, Benna had no clue.

It was Fenwick who broke the silence. “I still don’t see how you’re going to get her up to scratch. A right willful baggage from what I’ve seen.”

“Benna has been too long indulged, first by her father, and then by David.” Michael’s features tightened until his handsome face was a cruel mask. “Never fear, my dear Fenwick. I shall bring her to heel with very little effort. Besides, it will hardly matter what she says or does.”

Fenwick chuckled. “You’ve got a parson in your pocket?”

Michael cocked his head at his so-called friend, his expression anything but friendly. “So curious you are about my affairs, dear Dickie. But I believe you don’t need all the details. All you need is to be sober enough to stand upright this coming Monday.”

Fenwick said nothing, but his white knuckles around the glass told Benna how much he liked being spoken to so contemptuously.

“As soon as we are wed my man Diggle shall take Benna to a place where she will be safely—and quietly—kept.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Never you mind. Suffice it to say that I’ve got somewhere secure I can tuck her away until I need her.”

Benna’s breath froze in her lungs.

Fenwick chuckled and Benna heard a grudging—but nervous—admiration in the other man’s braying laughter. The viscount raised his glass. “Here’s to you, Norland—a more heartless bastard I hope never to meet.”

Benna pushed the wooden cover closed with a shaky hand and slid to the floor.

Good God. She’d always thought Michael was loathsome but she’d not dreamed he’d stoop to murder.

Everyone had believed David’s death was an accident. His hunter had been found, dying, near David’s body. Her brother’s head had been crushed by the stone wall he’d apparently been trying to jump.

Based on Fenwick’s not very subtle ribbing she now had to wonder; had Michael engineered David’s death?

Had her brother signed his own death warrant when he’d re-written his will giving Michael control over not only Benna, but, by extension, the dukedom?

If Michael planned to force her to marry him and lock her away then the thought that he might also be a murderer was not so farfetched.

It must have been difficult to murder a man during a crowded hunt.

It would be far simpler to kill a reclusive duchess who’d not left her remote estate