Page 98 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
This time she was the one who smiled. “So arrogant.”
“I’m only arrogant if it’s not true.”
He could see that she wanted to say something else. Instead she turned on her heel and headed up the stairs. He gave Wigmore a hard look. “Here or the library?”
The man was not a complete fool. He led them to the library. He did not offer brandy. He merely stood before his desk glowering, although the impact was tempered by the white handkerchief he held against his nose to stanch the flow of blood.
“I won’t stand for you coming into my residence and ordering me about.” With his nose broken, his voice was little more than a nasally whine. “My wife is not going anywhere with you. I shall order Scotland Yard to arrest you for kidnapping her. I shall see you hanged.”
“There is not a single thing that you can threaten me with that will change my course.”
“We shall see about that.”
“I know what you are,” Drake stated flatly. “I know what you did to Ophelia.”
The man paled, then straightened his shoulders. “I don’t know what the little chit told you but she lied. She’s never liked me—”
“She’s always had good taste. But she never lies.”
“Oh, wrapped you around her little finger, has she?”
No, she’d wrapped herself around his heart.
“Listen very carefully,” Drake ordered.
Wigmore opened his mouth—
“If you speak before I am done, I will be forced to break my word to Ophelia and reintroduce you to my fist. I shall place it where I placed it before and it shall hurt twice as much, I promise you.”
Wigmore’s mouth closed into a belligerent twist; it took everything within Drake not to slap it right off his face.
“I intend to destroy you. Slowly, over time. You won’t notice at first. Your yearly income will begin to dwindle. Creditors will turn you away. Your staff will be offered better positions elsewhere. You will find yourself no longer welcomed in Society. I won’t use what you did to Ophelia to destroy you as I won’t have her whispered about, but I can set other whispers into play until you are a pariah among your peers. Until you are totally and completely alone. I shall take everything from you. Your position, your standing, your wealth ... your pride. Your life will be nothing, just as you are nothing. Do you understand?”
“You’re nothing more than an arrogant little whelp. You can’t touch me.”
“You underestimate me, my lord. I was raised by the Duke and Duchess of Greystone. I consider as my uncles the Earl of Claybourne, Jack Dodger, Sir James Swindler of Scotland Yard, and Sir William Graves, royal physician. My closest friend is the Duke of Lovingdon. Should I require his assistance, I would not hesitate to call upon the Duke of Avendale.
“I am owner of Dodger’s Drawing Room, and I have at my disposal more resources than you can imagine. But more than that, I know the dark side of London, the dark side of myself. I am the son of a cold-hearted murderer. I have risen from the depths of hell and I have no qualms about returning there and dragging you down with me. Make no mistake, when I am done, you will rue the day you were born.”
Drake took some satisfaction in Wigmore’s withering before him. He hadn’t planned to flaunt the names of those he cared about, but they were powerful and influential, and he would use all resources at his disposal to see this man brought to heel.
“You would be unwise to underestimate me,” Drake said. “Don’t do anything that will cause harm to Ophelia or her reputation. The only reason you’re still breathing is because she asked me not to kill you.”
“They’d hang you.”
“I’d hand them the rope. I want you out of her life that badly. You are to stay within this room until we are gone. I want her to never again have to set eyes on you. Is my position clear?”
Averting his gaze, hunching his shoulders, Wigmore nodded.
“Good.”
Turning on his heel, Drake stormed from the room. His first order of business was to find Phee and get her, the countess, and himself the hell out of here.
He was in dire need of a bath.
If this was her aunt recovering, Phee would have hated to see her while she was truly ill. She was remarkably thin, her gray skin draped over her bones. So little of her seemed to remain.
“Auntie?”
