Page 113 of Deceiving an Earl
What kind of person, a physician no less, thought a human life didn’t matter? That his career and his reputation were more important than their lives?
“You are a sick man, Needham. Sick in the head.”
Needham laughed. “I am the most gifted surgeon in England, possibly all of Britain. I’ve sacrificed everything to become so. Hours and hours of cutting bodies open and studying them. My knowledge could save mankind. That is not sick. That is fact.”
Oliver had never met a man so full of his self-worth, who put himself above everyone.
“And how did Ellen fit into this?”
“She is my perfect mate. She’s beautiful, and she handles herself well in social situations.”
Oliver waited for more, for a declaration of love or something other than her charm and her looks. But nothing else was said, and Oliver felt a sadness for Ellen that this man did not appreciate her inner beauty as well as her outer beauty. She was so much more than her looks.
“And when she didn’t cooperate with your plans you blackmailed her?”
“She didn’t see what I saw. All she could see was you, and when I figured out why, I used it against her.” He shrugged as if that was what happened when you crossed him.
“How did you discover her secret?”
Needham chuckled again. “It’s so obvious. I can’t believe you didn’t see it yourself. The boy looks just like you, and by the way Ellen looked at you, I knew.”
Oliver felt a rush of pride that Needham thought Philip looked like him. How had he missed it? How could he not have known? Because it had been the furthest thing from his mind, and even when Ashland had mentioned it he still hadn’t believed that Ellen hadn’t told him.
Oliver sidled closer but Needham was so far into his story, talking about himself and how wonderful he was that he didn’t even notice that Oliver had stepped up to him until Oliver’s fist met Needham’s cheekbone.
The man howled and staggered to the side, clutching his face. Oliver quickly followed it with a punch to Needham’s soft underbelly and another to his groin, causing him to double over and sink to the floor with a strangled sound.
“The first was for Philip’s black eye. Don’t ever touch my son again or I will kill you. The second was for the people you had murdered, the ones you believe aren’t important. Those people were far better than you could ever be.”
Oliver crouched down close to Needham’s face. He was on his side, gasping, clutching his hopefully shriveled and throbbing cock, his eyes clenched closed.
“Look at me,” Oliver said softly. “Look at me,” he repeated when Needham didn’t obey.
Needham slit one eye open and Oliver whispered in his ear. “The last one was for Ellen. If I see you go near her again, even if you’re across the street or across the park, I will put you on your operating table and cut you up myself. I will pull your organs out one by one, while you are still alive.”
Oliver stood and brushed the dust from his trousers.
Needham’s hand fell to his side, and Oliver casually stepped on it, watching as Needham’s eyes widened and he howled in pain. Slowly Oliver increased the pressure of his foot on Needham’s hand until the bones crunched underneath.
He took his foot away and Needham rolled to his side, clutching his broken fingers. “And that is for all of the future surgeons you will never teach because you won’t be able to hold a scalpel again.”
The door opened and O’Leary, Ashland, O’Leary’s commander, and Needham’s housekeeper entered.
The housekeeper was pale and shaking. The three men looked grim.
“I’ll take it from here,” O’Leary said.
“Did you hear him admit to the murders?” Oliver asked.
“We did.”
Oliver looked down at Needham’s gasping, moaning body. “Your career is over.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Oliver returned to Ellen and Philip. Ellen was still in that dreamland of sleep and healing.
“She hasn’t moved,” Philip said. “I watch her to make sure she’s still breathing.”
