The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,100

seated brother, and balled his hands into fists. Six thousand blasted pounds. Gone. In the blink of an eye. “I’m going to beat some sense into you for once—”

“Wait!” Darius threw his hands up in supplication. “It’s not all gone. And I don’t need it all at once. Just a few thousand to keep them from killing me—”

“I’m going to kill you!”

“Gentlemen,” a voice said behind them, “it’s time to become scarce.”

Fuming, Con barely turned to acknowledge whoever had the balls to kick him out when he was about to bring down a chair on his own brother’s head. “Look at that,” he said to Darius, “I’m suffering from your selfish, irresponsible, unbelievable abuse of my good nature. Again.”

“Please,” Darius said, looking pathetic and weak, “they’re really going to kill me. It won’t be a dark cell in King’s Bench. It will be my corpse in a hole in the ground.”

As much as Con wanted to grind out, “Good!” he couldn’t. Not to his own brother. If anything ever happened—really happened—to Darius, he’d never forgive himself.

“Gentlemen,” the proprietor urged, “be off before I call the constable.”

“Where do you think I get the money to pay your bloody debts?” Con hissed, grabbing the back of his chair and leaning into to his brother’s petrified face. “Why the hell would you think I want to spend every last coin in my pocket covering your idiotic wagers?”

Darius’ lip trembled. “Please. Just this once. Last time, I swear.”

Con growled and flung the chair in the direction of the empty aisle. He grabbed the hair at his temples, as if he could physically yank his brother’s pathetic plea out of his head. Then he kicked at the empty chair, sending it skidding a few more feet, and turned and stormed from the coffeehouse.

All because his bleeding little brother couldn’t be trusted with a single guinea.

He didn’t remember the walk home. All he remembered was his brother’s face, so identical to his own, looking as feeble and heartrending as a young lad’s. How the hell had he managed to grow up, and not Darius? How was it that he had finally figured out what to do with his sorry, empty sack of a life, and his brother was always going to be there, bleeding him dry like a fat little leech he couldn’t pry off? And how was it that he was the only one in their family who cared that Darius was about to be folded in half and shoved under six feet of earth?

He finally saw the brick outer walls of his family’s townhouse. It was little relief. For some reason, tonight it looked like a cage. Four walls with a lock on the door. You can’t escape.

Every light in the house seemed to be lit. Even in the first shadows of twilight, he could see the faint glow of candles in all of the windows. Large, unfamiliar silhouettes passed across curtains that had been drawn. Upstairs, a window fell closed. The snick of a lock being sent home clicked.

Con’s belly tightened. He quickened his pace even as time seemed to slow. He took the steps two at a time. No one opened the door, turning his trepidation into outright alarm. Where was Mr. Benjamin? Why were all of the candles burning?

He opened the door slowly. Suddenly, it flew back as someone on the other side whipped it open. Con stumbled forward into the entryway. When he looked up, it was to see four men in dark coats. The first one stepped forward while two others came at him from the sides. The fourth disappeared into the house.

Before Con could ask what the hell was going on, his mother appeared in the foyer. Her eyes were red and weepy, and her fists were pressed to her mouth. “He’s innocent,” she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” he started to say, but the tallest of the body snatchers said, “Take him in.”

Con drew up taller. The men at his sides jostled toward him, though they didn’t touch him. “Don’t do what?” he asked again.

His mother shook her head in horror, as if she couldn’t even contemplate it.

His alarm turned to dismay.

One of the men—likely the bailiff, given his sense of authority over the others—took another step forward. “Lord Constantine Alexander, you are hereby charged with child stealing and fraud. If you’ll come with us peacefully, I see no reason to restrain you.”

“What?” Terror gripped his belly. It rang in his ears and turned