“Again, how might we assist ye?” Malcolm refused to say a word about his relationship with Viola. It was none of Kendall’s concern, despite how eagerly the duke played the role of village busybody.
“I wish to speak with Miss Brodure.” Kendall tilted his head sideways, peering at Viola.
Malcolm turned to look at her behind him.
She appeared . . . distressed. Her chest heaved, the hollow of her throat sucking in as she tried to breathe.
“Do ye wish tae speak with His Grace, lass?” Malcolm asked. “I willnae see ye lapsing into an asthmatic fit for it.”
She placed a shaking hand on Malcolm’s arm, swallowing hard. But her voice, when she spoke, was stronger than he would have anticipated. “Say what you m-must, Your Grace.”
Kendall brandished the roll of papers in his hand. “I have been patiently awaiting the short story you are to write for me, Miss Brodure, but waiting has been a challenge. The editor ofThe Gentleman’s Magazineliked the idea of publishing a fictional story with a political bent—any political bent, it turns out—but without an actual manuscript before him, he has become somewhat anxious. So the man went hunting for another story.”
Malcolm felt the very air around him freeze.
Given how Viola stilled and closed her eyes in a long blink, she also guessed what was coming next.
Kendall peered down his aristocratic nose at them. “Imagine my fury when the editor sent me a work entitledA Hard TruthfromThe Rabble Rouserand informed me that, if he didn’t receive a story from yourself, he would runA Hard Truthinstead—a tale which directly opposes every last political aim I hold dear. My fury only increased once I uncovered the origins of its author.”
Malcolm dared a glance at Viola. She stared with desperation at the journal in Kendall’s fist as if it were her own child trapped in the man’s hand. When the duke abruptly slapped the papers against his open palm, she flinched.
“I see from both your expressions that a lengthy explanation is hardly needed.” The duke’s tone was hard and unyielding. A volcanic anger lurked under his polished veneer. “Oliver Aubord Twist? The anagram was easily deciphered. The editor ofThe Gentleman’s Magazineuncovered the truth, as well. In his mind, one Viola Brodure story is as good as the next. Your father was appalled when I told him.”
Viola let out a choked cry. “You t-told my father?”
“Of course, I did,” Kendall snapped. “Have younothingmore to say for yourself, Miss Brodure?”
Viola paled further. Malcolm slid his hand into hers.
“I thinkA Hard Truthmade my stance f-fairly obvious, Your Grace,” Viola stammered. Her fingers trembled in Malcolm’s, but his brave lass bit her lower lip and continued, voice strong. “As I said last week, I c-cannot write what you wish me to. I will not contract a sham betrothal with Ethan Penn-Leith. Both actions would be wrong.”
The duke snorted. “And asIsaid last week, I do not wish to be cruel, Miss Brodure. But I cannot allow direct attacks against my own ideals to go unanswered—particularly if those assaults originate from within my own household, as it were. It is one thing to decide not to assist me in my aims. It is something else entirely to directly oppose me. You do not wish me to become your enemy, Miss Brodure.”
Viola said nothing more, swaying slightly on her feet. Malcolm dropped her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his side. She permitted it but didn’t sag her weight into his.
Instead, she held herself stiff. As if fearful that the slightest change in direction might shatter her entirely.
“Let me be clear,” Kendall said, rolling up the journal once more and pointing it at Viola. “I hold all the cards here. I will give you one week to produce a short story I can send to the editor ofThe Gentleman’s Magazine.I require something tangible to persuade him against re-publishingA Hard Truth.”
“I will n-not do that.”
Kendall continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I can, andwill, personally ruin your father and yourself if you use your limited power to thwart my political aims. If you marry”—here he shot Malcolm a particularly withering look—“I can happily see your husband ruined, too. Trust me when I say, this is not the plot you want to be living, Miss Brodure.”
“Och, how could a man of your stature be so threatened by one wee woman?” Malcolm jumped to Viola’s defense. “Surely, ye have other ways of promoting your political agend—”
“Clearly, you do not understand the influence of the lady you court, Mr. Penn-Leith. That hardly surprises me, given that you are—” Kendall paused, raking Malcolm from head to toe with what could only be described as aristocratic disdain. “—what you are. Allow me to enlighten you. Miss Brodure is one of the most well-known and beloved writers of our generation. Her stories are read by thousands the kingdom over, masses who do not know their own opinion until someone else informs them of it.Thatis why I require her compliance on this matter.”
Malcolm held himself still, refusing to allow the duke’s blow to land true.
But how could it not?
The gulf between Viola and himself was vast. He intellectually knew that, but the duke’s words painted the differences in tangible black and white.
Malcolm could feel anxiety writhing in his chest.
“So you intend to b-blackmail me?” Viola said.
“I thinkappropriate encouragementwould be a more fitting description. You may have power in your limited sphere, Miss Brodure, but you are hardly a match for myself.”
