Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order #3) - Adele Clee Page 0,75

from the trees. “Aye, just say the word, and I’ll put a lead ball between his brows.”

“But I don’t need to pull a blade, Charles. And Buchanan doesn’t need to fire his pistol. No, I estimate in three seconds you’ll be on the ground, injured and disarmed.”

It took two seconds for Evan’s words to penetrate his cousin’s brain. Then the fellow jumped in fright. Too late. For the last few minutes, D’Angelo had been moving stealthily towards them.

D’Angelo moved like a panther in the darkness, fiercely sleek, determined and deadly. His black eyes held a vicious hunger, a need to savage every man who posed a threat. He pounced. A few swift punches and Charles lay bleeding on the ground, D’Angelo hovering over him brandishing the pistol.

“Am I to shoot him, Sloane? We could weigh him down and throw him in the lake, let him rot there until he’s but a slimy bag of bones.”

Playing along with D’Angelo proved entertaining. “I cannot murder my own cousin. And if Livingston Sloane wanted vengeance, he would have named the traitor.”

“Please!” Charles wiped blood off his nose and held up his hands in surrender. “I came for the letter. Just the letter. I cannot cope with the stress, the worry.”

D’Angelo kicked the lord. “The last thing you need is this coxcomb spreading gossip about your grandfather, or jumping out of the shrubbery and threatening the woman you love.”

Vivienne inhaled sharply.

Evan felt the heat of her gaze moving tirelessly over his person. Now was not the time to drop to his knees and surrender to these confounding emotions.

“Let me kill him.” D’Angelo’s growl was almost feral. Make no mistake. If D’Angelo wanted this man dead, a battalion of trained soldiers couldn’t stop him. “Let me end this so you may live your life in peace. No one will find his body. We will spread gossip, say he’s obsessed with an opera singer and followed her to the Continent.”

“Aye, let me shoot him,” Buchanan said, playing his part in this little charade. “The hounds here look like they might rip a man to pieces and gorge on the remains.”

Despite D’Angelo’s ferocious glare, Vivienne was intelligent enough to know both men were bluffing. Still, she decided to even the odds and play along.

“Can you not see the viscount merely wishes to save his family name? As you said, he is not responsible for his grandfather’s misdeeds. Can you not show mercy?”

“Mercy?”

“Please!” Charles howled.

“Very well. I’ll give you the letter naming Cecil as the traitor.” Regardless of their estrangement, tarnishing the Sloane name would result in repercussions for Evan, too. “But I will keep the rest. I intend to erase the stain from Livingston Sloane’s name and prove he served the Crown. And Charles will help if he wants me to hold my tongue.”

Charles clutched his broken nose. “I’ll do anything, anything you say if you let me burn that letter, if you help me find the other incriminating documents.”

Evan tutted. Did this coward not have an ounce of sense?

“There are no other documents, Charles. Not to my knowledge. I was playing for time. Now, come inside and let Buchanan fix your nose. You must have been out here for hours and could do with a stiff brandy.”

D’Angelo offered his hand and hauled Charles to his feet. “I’ll keep the pistol.” He grabbed the lord firmly by the arm. “Let me escort you to the house, tell you what happens to those who cross the gentlemen of the Order.”

Buchanan followed behind, telling the viscount what Highlanders do to the ballocks of men who betray their kin.

Clutching the box under his arm, Evan turned to Vivienne and slipped his free arm around her waist. She came to him, melding her body to his as if it were as natural as taking a breath.

“Am I forgiven for not mentioning my suspicions regarding Charles?”

“We agreed to be honest.”

“While I doubted Charles had the strength of mind to pull the trigger, I feared you might fire a pistol and force his hand. It was a selfish decision on my part. Selfish because I don’t want to lose you.”

Her mouth curved into a smile. “When we play our game of questions in my bedchamber later, I might demand to know why.”

He bent his head and claimed her cold lips, warming them quickly, thoroughly, with the same skill he’d employed in Golding’s office.

“As I’m likely to lose the game, I shall have to tell you my darkest secrets, my deepest fears.” He would