The Sugared Game - K.J. Charles Page 0,86
judge or condemn. Don’t let me down.”
Will would normally have said Coming from you! but Kim’s eyes were as serious as he’d ever seen them. “Go on.”
“You know that Phoebe required a husband sharpish. That or to be packed off to an aunt for a year to get rid of the evidence. Cheveley accepted his responsibility for her situation—”
“Was he responsible? I thought she said he wasn’t interested.”
“He didn’t love her, but since when has that been a precondition for fucking? As I say, he accepted responsibility, on conditions. A substantial settlement on marriage, with the promise of inheriting Waring’s fortune. In addition, Waring would attempt to amend the letters patent of his viscountcy to allow inheritance down the female line. That would let Phoebe become Viscountess Waring in due course, and make any son of Cheveley’s the next viscount.”
“Cushy for him,” Will said. “What happened to marrying the girl you got in trouble because it’s the right thing to do?”
“Idealist. Anyway, Cheveley was willing to accept his responsibility on those terms, until Phoebe told him that it wasn’t necessarily his. There was another possible candidate.” He shrugged at Will’s blink. “Wild times. Phoebe hadn’t betrayed any understanding between them, since there was none. She told him the paternity was uncertain because she has never been less than honest and true, and he might have appreciated that. He did not.” Kim’s dark eyes were hard. “She never told me the whole of it, only that he slapped her, spoke to her in words that no decent man would use, and told her parents in detail why he declined to proceed with the marriage. She miscarried a fortnight later, and that was that.”
“Right,” Will said. “Is there a reason you haven’t done something about this turd before?”
“She told me not to, and she had lost enough control. If I had gone after Cheveley I would have been one more person running her life against her wishes.”
Will wasn’t sure he’d have thought that way. That said something about himself, and for Kim. “You’re all right sometimes, you know that? I’m bloody glad Phoebe had you. All the same—”
“Let’s disembowel him.”
“Just checking. So why’s he changed his mind, and why does he think getting you out of the way will help?”
“The latter, because he lacks any respect for her,” Kim said. “He believes she’ll do what a strong man tells her, and will be helpless once she doesn’t have me to lean on. I suspect he thinks she regards having any man as better than no man. He is quite hilariously wrong, but Johnnie didn’t get where he is by considering other people.”
“Twat,” Will muttered.
“Indeed. As to why now, that is the question, and the shape of the question suggests the answer.” He grinned at Will’s expression. “Does it not strike you that Cheveley seems to be in one hell of a rush?”
“Well, I suppose— Did you hear that?”
Kim rose, face sharp. Will pulled the door open, and heard the noise again—faint, muffled by distance, but unquestionably a female scream. He grabbed the Messer from the bedside table, tossed the sheath away, and ran like hell.
Chapter Seventeen
Running with a bare eight-inch razor-edged blade was not a practice Will would generally recommend, but caution didn’t come into it. He took the great oak staircase three at a time, skidded round the corner at a speed that would have caused severe if very short-term problems to anyone he’d bumped into, and hit the door of the drawing room with a solid thump.
There was a crash from inside. He rattled the door handle.
“Locked?” demanded Kim, arriving breathlessly behind him. “I can—”
Will took two paces back, and gave the door—panelled oak, beautiful workmanship, a good four hundred years old—an almighty kick. The oak held but a second boot split the lock out of the frame with a horrendous splintering noise, and Will was in.
Maisie was backed up against the wall, and there was a man in there, one Will didn’t recognise. He’d turned from her to the door, and he was bleeding heavily from the nose. That would just be the start of his troubles, if Will had anything to say to it.
The man thrust out an arm menacingly, showing a clasp-knife with a wicked little two-inch blade. Will extended the Messer in silent reply, took a moment to enjoy the enemy’s expression, and went for him.
The man leapt away. Will assumed Kim was blocking the door, so he feinted with the Messer, driving the man back.