Page 14 of The Pleasures of Passion
“Because I require your assistance in a sensitive matter that cannot become known beyond this room.” Fulkham set down his port. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Why us?” Niall asked.
“For one thing, it has come to my attention that you two were well acquainted before you left England.”
Bree glanced at Niall in alarm.
“Don’t look at me,” he snapped. “I didn’t tell him.”
She scowled. “No, but you just confirmed it with your answer.”
The snippy reply made Fulkham chuckle. “I already had it confirmed, Mrs. Trevor. I found your maid from seven years ago, and she readily admitted that you and Margrave had a . . . er . . . friendship.”
“Christ,” Niall muttered.
“Besides,” Fulkham went on, “several people saw the two of you react dramatically to each other a few weeks ago. So it’s no great secret.”
She was blushing furiously now, reminding Niall painfully of the old Bree. The one who’d crushed his heart under her pretty little heel.
“Fine,” Niall clipped out. “We knew each other. What of it?”
Fulkham stared at Bree. “I’m afraid this has to do with Mrs. Trevor’s father, Sir Oswald Payne.”
With a frown, Bree rose. “Then it doesn’t concernme. As I told you earlier, I’m not remotely close to my father. I haven’t seen him in years, not since my mother’s funeral.”
Niall started. Her mother had been dead for “years”? That shook him a little, given Father’s skepticism concerning her sickly mother. How many years had it been? He would have to find out.
“I realize that you and your father aren’t speaking,” Fulkham said. “Unfortunately, he’s landed himself in a bit of trouble recently.”
“Doesn’t he always?” she said bitterly.
“Ah, but this time he’s facing the possibility of something worse than debtors’ prison.” Fulkham’s voice hardened. “You see, several weeks ago, counterfeit twenty- and fifty-pound banknotes started showing up at various merchants. It took some effort, given how widely notes are generally disseminated, but the Home Office eventually traced a couple back to your father, who’d used them to pay off creditors.”
As Niall gave a low whistle, a dangerous glitter appeared in Bree’s eyes. “Then arrest him. I washed my hands of him long ago.”
“Good God, that’s cold-blooded,” Niall said. “I know your father’s gambling was problematic, but surely—”
“You know nothing about my father, sir,” she said hotly. “If you did, you wouldn’t be shocked by the possibility of his behaving criminally.”
Fulkham narrowed his gaze on her. “Do you realize that the punishment for counterfeiting is death?”
Bree sucked in a sharp breath. Clearly, she hadnotrealized it.
“So you see, my dear,” Fulkham continued, “if we simply arrest him, he will hang. Then you—and your young son—will once more be embroiled in a scandal, but one far worse than that caused by your husband’s death last year. I don’t think that’s what you want.”
When Bree paled and sank into her chair, Niall felt a sudden perverse urge to protect her. “That sounds distinctly like a threat, Fulkham.”
“Not a threat,” the man said calmly. “I’m merely stating the facts so that Mrs. Trevor knows exactly what the situation is.” He steadied his gaze on her. “But if you will help me with this matter, I can keep your father from the noose even if he’s guilty.”
“If?” Niall stared him down. “You just said he was.”
“No. I said that we traced the notes to him. The problem is, we don’t know if he merely passed them on unwittingly from someone else or if he created them.”
When Bree snorted, Fulkham said, “What?”
“Papa isn’t talented enough to create forgeries. He could certainly pass them on, but the kind of ability required to make believable copies of a banknote?” She shook her head. “That’s beyond him.”
“If you say so,” Fulkham said. “But he could hire talented artists to do it, which is practically the same thing, if he’s paying them and overseeing the operation. That’s why we need to find out where the notes came from, how many are out there, and who is ultimately behind the counterfeiting.”
