Page 17 of When Hearts Are Wylde
Baxter tossed down his cards. “I’m no fool, gentlemen. I can think of far better ways to spend my evening than looking at your sorry faces.”
Aphrodite’s smile deepened as she turned and walked toward the staircase, her hips swaying in deliberate rhythm. He followed, the bitter taste of Randford’s reprimand and Hermione’s lack of loyalty still acrid in his mouth.
If Hermione thought she could defy him now, she was mistaken. Soon enough, she would be his wife, bound to his authority in every way that mattered. And if the company of a woman like Aphrodite reminded him of the pleasures that awaited a man unencumbered by the delicate sensibilities of a proper lady—well, so much the better.
By the time the night was over, Baxter intended to have forgotten his humiliation at dinner. And Aphrodite, for her part, looked like a woman who meant to make certain he remembered her.
Chapter Nine
Hartley spotted Randford across the dining room, seated at a table near the windows where the pale winter light spilled across silver and glass. For a moment, he considered turning on his heel and leaving. But he had already delayed this conversation too long, and avoiding Randford was hardly a solution.
Looking up, Randford saw him and gestured. “Hartley. Join me for luncheon?”
Hartley shuddered inwardly at the thought of food but crossed to the table. “I’ll have a brandy, but yes, I will join you. We have much to discuss.”
Randford signaled an attendant, who bustled over and took their orders before retreating. Only then did the other man fix him with that steady, appraising stare. “What have you learned?”
It galled him to admit that the Viscount had been right. After all, Phinneas Merrick was always bloody right. A virtual paragon amongst their peers. But in this instance, for once, their purposes aligned. “There are a rather alarming number of my guests who are being blackmailed by an unknown person… and you are not the first to assume that I was the villain.” That somany could easily believe he would stoop to such despicable behavior was lowering. Yes, he indulged his vices. Yes, he’d courted a reputation as a rake and libertine. But was enjoying brandy and the company of women really so depraved that criminal intent could not be far behind?
“That’s actually a good starting point,” Randford said mildly. “It eliminates a large number of people who were in attendance that night.”
Hartley inclined his head. It was more than a good start. He’d recognized instantly that, based upon the sort of secrets the blackmailer was using, it could only be someone who was in attendance at every party. And that was a very limited number of people. “Indeed, we can eliminate every gentleman who was in attendance. The only ones who cannot be eliminated were the cyprians. There are only a handful of those who have been in attendance at all the parties. Belle, naturally. Venus and Aphrodite were there as well.”
Randford’s mouth quirked faintly. “I do not think it’s Belle.”
Hartley snorted. He’d already crossed her off his list. “If it were, she’d have confessed by now. The woman is incapable of keeping a secret.”
Randford gave a brief nod and a wry smile. “She’s also practically blind, for all intents and purposes. It’s hard to be a blackmailer of note when one of the basic senses involved in observation is so limited.”
And suddenly so many of the affectations of the woman in question made much more sense. No wonder she stood so bloody close to everyone she was speaking to.
“So, Venus or Aphrodite, then,” Randford summed up.
“So it would seem,” Hartley replied. “And two nights hence, I shall have that answer.”
That earned him a flicker of something sharp in Randford’s eyes—concern, perhaps, though the man hid it well. “What do you intend to do?”
“I mean to follow the plan you suggested. I will provide false information to each of the women, as they are the primary suspects. That information shall be identical, barring that it will identify two different individuals as the guilty party in this particular rumor. Based on who gets the blackmail note, we will then know which of the women is responsible. At that point, I shall be out of it. I will leave it to you to deal with them, as Hermione is your responsibility.” The last came out edged in bitterness he couldn’t quite smother.
Randford’s gaze sharpened. “She means to marry Baxter. If you care for her at all, you will move heaven and earth to prevent that.”
Hartley felt his stomach tighten. “Baxter is a bully and a sot. The more foxed he is, the more vicious his temper becomes. He’ll destroy her… and then I will have to kill him.”
“I’m well aware,” Randford said quietly. “I think Hermione means to punish herself for her fall from grace by marrying the wretch.”
“Then forbid it,” Hartley snapped. What the hell good was it to have an older brother if they didn’t do anything on one’s behalf? It was time that Randford earned the devotion she gave to him. “You are her guardian.”
“I am not. Not in any way that matters, at any rate. I manage the marriage portion that I have settled on her. That is all. She is three and twenty, Hartley, and more than capable of making her own decisions. You were one of them, unfortunately.”
“Proof enough that you are doing a poor job of caring for her,” Hartley said sharply. He was being unreasonable and he knew it, but the very idea of her being at the mercy of that muttonheaded buffoon filled him with white hot anger. “Hadyou been more attentive as a guardian, she’d never have been vulnerable to a bounder like me.”
“You could always stop being a bounder,” Randford countered evenly. “In fact, in all the years I have known you, you’ve avoided the innocents like they carried the plague. They’ve never held any interest for you.”
Hartley folded his arms, glaring across the table in stubborn silence.He could stop being a bounder.His father was dead. The woman who had been his stepmother had married some aging roué and was presently waiting for him to die. They hadn’t even crossed paths in years. So why were her actions and his one misstep still dictating his life so many years later?
It was a question he could not answer. Not with any degree of satisfaction, at any rate.
Randford pressed on. “If you could see your way clear to being her husband rather than being the worst libertine in all of society, then she’d be spared Baxter’s heavy hands and constant criticism.”
