Page 15 of His Wicked Secret
“I’m sure that will come to pass. Unfortunately, you will not be here to see it.”
Langley stared at Sheffield. The man held a pistol, aimed at his chest. Blood began to pound in his ears.
“Sheffield, now hold on a moment…”
“Take out a pen and paper and write exactly what I tell you.”
“I will not!” Langley snapped.
Sheffield took a slow, measured step forward. “Do it now or you won’t have a chance to set your affairs in order.”
Langley swallowed thickly. Sheffield was serious.
“So…this is it?”
“I’m afraid so. Do you need a minute?”
Langley swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat as he opened the drawer and removed a piece of paper and prepared a quill. “No. Let’s get on with it.”
Sheffield nodded. “Write this. ‘To my family, I have disappointed you with my shame and my disgrace. I cannot bear the weight of it anymore.’ After that, you may say what you must to see that your relations are looked after.”
Langley wrote the words, fear and horror almost paralyzing him. His mouth was dry, and he couldn’t speak. When he finished, Sheffield looked over his words carefully.
“Very good.” Sheffield handed the pistol over to Langley. A second one was already in his other hand.
“I will give you two minutes.” Sheffield exited the study but stopped a moment at the door. “Understand, if you try to run, it will be much worse for you. And your sister.”
Langley stared at the pistol in his hand, then the clock in his study. The steady tick counting down each remaining moment he had left.
Two minutes.
It was a fitting end, he acknowledged. He had started a hellfire club, and now, once he took his life, he would be in hell for the sins that he’d committed.
He opened his mouth and put the barrel inside.
* * *
Daniel Sheffield waiteduntil the pistol went off, then opened the door to ensure the deed had been done. He put the second pistol back in his coat. He left the wreckage of the ridiculous house of the Unholy Sinners of Hell behind and stepped into a waiting coach outside.
“It’s done,” Daniel said.
“Good.” Hugo Waverly, Daniel’s employer, nodded. His eyes were impossibly dark, the sort of black that always left Daniel a little on edge.
He’d served Waverly for years, the two of them doing what had to be done to preserve and protect England’s interests. In those years, he’d grown as close to the man as anyone could, and he’d gained a measure of his trust. As a result, Waverly had requested his aid in side missions that often weren’t directly tied to king and country.
This was one of those nights where Daniel faced the darkness of Waverly’s heart and the demons that secretly drove him. But Waverly had saved him from a life of squalor as a boy and taught him to be a gentleman. He’d given Daniel an opportunity for adventure and advancement in society. For that, Daniel would brave the deadliest missions if Hugo gave the order.
“Back to our original plan, then?” Daniel asked.
“Yes, I think so. Why don’t we meet with Avery Russell this week and have him make contact with Miss Sheridan?” Daniel knew better than to assume that questions like this weren’t in fact orders.
“I’ll see to it,” Daniel replied.
“Good. I think if you provide Miss Sheridan with an opportunity to serve her country, she’ll be most anxious to join you and Russell in France. The mission has always required a diversion, something to rattle the cages of the English rebels in Calais as well as the feathers of those at the royal court.” Sheffield was well aware of the plan. Fingers from various factions would point at one another, each trying to accuse the other of complicity or conspiracy. It was under this disruptive cloud of suspicion that the reformists were expected to make their move—and their fatal mistake.
“Miss Sheridan’s capture will put the country into an uproar, and it will give you time to see to the mission. I want those names of the reformists at any costs. I’m certain they’re finding support from our shores.”
“You believe that allowing the Sheridan chit to die will work?” Sheffield asked.
