Julian turned away, crossing to the bureau. Opening one of the drawers, he withdrew a sheet of paper, followed by a pen and inkpot. His hand moved quickly, scrawling words with purpose before folding the note. The red stick of sealing wax followed, held briefly over the fire before he slid the signet ring from his right hand. Letting the wax drip onto the paper, he pressed the ring into it, the seal hardening beneath his touch.
Behind him, Julian heard the creak of a chair and the telltale sign of a man settling in, glad to get the weight off his feet. It sounded as though he were making himself at home. Perhaps he reasoned that the danger had passed. He certainly knew that Julian was lying about the cameo. If either Kingsley or Harper had it on their person, Julian expected it to be planted in Ester’s rooms or presented to him as being found there. Then Kingsleywould spring the trap, challenge him on his lie. Why had he done it? Was he under the spell of this thief? Kingsley would use it as leverage.
But Julian intended to heed off the attack with a thrust of his own. One that would force his old friend to show his hand immediately.
Julian turned with the sealed paper in his hand and held it out to Kingsley.
“I can’t say for certain how much you were after. This should suffice though,” Julian declared, his voice cold and controlled as he sat down, setting his other hand neatly in his lap.
Kingsley stared at the paper without moving, not rising or taking it.
“I don’t understand,” he smiled nervously.
Julian’s expression remained stony. “The price of your silence,” he explained, his tone deceptively calm. “I don’t know how much you planned to extort from Miss Ester, but this amount is such that your debts should be covered. I shall recover the funds from the liquidation of any joint assets we hold. Consider this to be my buying you out of our partnership.”
Had Kingsley been a man of honor, had he been the man that Julian had always believed him to be, he would have leaped to his feet and demanded to know what aspersions on his characterJulian was casting here. He would have torn up the promissory note and flung the remnants into the hearth.
But Kingsley did neither of those things.
Instead, he rose to his feet, his movements deliberate, and reached for the paper. Without a word, he slipped it into the inner pocket of his coat, not bothering to unfold it.
“I am sure it will be most generous,” he replied.
Julian stared at Kingsley with a rising feeling of bitter revulsion.
“Why?” he whispered, the question escaping him almost involuntarily.
Kingsley merely shrugged. He walked casually to the decanter and poured himself another drink, as though they were discussing nothing more than a business transaction.
“One has debts that must be settled,” Kingsley replied, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Debts that far exceed the value of our partnership—especially with your cautious approach to investment. I needed capital, and I needed it fast.”
“You have just purchased property in Cheshire…” Julian began.
“Rented, old chap. In order to escape particularly persistent creditors in this part of England. I ran away, you see.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” Julian’s voice softened, a trace of genuine concern slipping through for an old friend. “No matter how much you owed, I would have made good your commitments.”
Kingsley laughed again, harsher this time, before throwing back the rest of his port and hurling the glass into the fire with a sharp crack. “And be beholden to you? ThePhantom? TheGhoul of Theydon Mere?” His voice dripped with mockery. “God, no! My peers would have laughed me out of court.”
“So, instead, you throw yourself at an innocent girl, then extort and threaten to destroy her family,” Julian muttered darkly, the disbelief giving way to anger as he rose from his chair.
Kingsley turned his back, but Julian pursued him, trying to catch a glimpse of his former friend’s face.
“Better than losing my life. I am not speaking of evading debtor’s prison, old boy. I will die if my debts are not settled.”
For the first time, there was a rawness in Kingsley’s voice—fear and desperation underscoring the bitterness that marinated his words. Julian reached out, his hand falling on Kingsley’s shoulder to force the man to face him. But he flinched away, retreating to the door with hands raised protectively. Julian let his hands drop.
“I am sorry. I hadn’t known you were so afraid of me.”
Kingsley’s laughter was sharp and hollow, devoid of any real humor. “I simply cannot take any chances. My luck has not been exactly favorable as of late.”
“Take the money,” Julian said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “My bank will honor that note. Present it to them, and your debts will be settled. Ester is gone, along with whatever money you intended to take from her. Let her and her family be,” he finished wearily.
The rage in Julian’s chest was ebbing now, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. This was the end—the end of a long friendship, one that Julian had once believed would endure until death. But Kingsley had fallen, far lower than Julian had ever imagined, slipping from the pedestal on which Julian had unwittingly placed him.
Kingsley sneered as he opened the door. “You are a fool, Windermere,” he spat. “To allow a woman to come between us.”
“I did not, Simon. The blame is entirely yours,” Julian replied quietly.
