“You don’t want to know what happens.”
“But if I did,” she persisted. “Full disclosure is only sensible.”As was not looking like easy prey. She tapped the flat of her small blade on the desk, holding his gaze.
He shook his head. “Lady, if you talk …” He brought the end of his cheroot to one side of his neck and started to draw his hand across to the other side. The cheroot snapped in two, dropping clumps of tobacco onto his coat and pants. He cursed.
Colleen drew a pocket square from her skirt’s pocket and handed it across the desk to the man.She frowned. “I don’t see how covering me in ash will do me much harm. You’re going to have to be more explicit.”
He brushed the tobacco from his shirt onto her floor. “Not ash, lady. This!” He brought his hand up to his throat, scowled at the handkerchief dangling from it, and snatched the linen away with his other hand. Pinning her with a glare, he slowly drew his finger across his throat.
Colleen’s shoulders snapped back. Of all the … “Sir, I can only assume you are ignorant of the horrors of the French Revolution as there is no way you would invoke it otherwise.” As a child, one of her uncles had told the family the story of what he’d seen during his time in Paris. He made the very same motion to describe a poor man losing his head to the guillotine. She’d had nightmares for a week.
She eyed the sot across from her. It was a nasty threat, to be sure, but hardly practical. One which no sane person would fear. Did Zed have his own personal guillotine in his rooms? Colleen snorted at the thought. Really, if this Zed was going to send someone to intimidate her, he could at least have found a suitably villainous-looking scalawag, and one whose threats held some real teeth. “Guillotined? Truly?” She shook her head sadly.
The man swore under his breath. “It figures. I’d have to be given the dizzy ones to manage. Not dirtied up. Not guillotined.” He jabbed one broken half of the cheroot at her. “You really need me to spell this out for you?”
Colleen nodded. “I’m afraid you’ll have to as your pantomimes are incomprehensible. And it’s best to have all terms clearly defined in a contract to prevent any confusion later on.”
“And you don’t understand this?” He sawed the cheroot back and forth in front of his neck, making odd squeaking noises with each jerky movement.
She wrinkled her nose. He sounded like a rusted water pump.
“I believe what our blackmailer is trying to say, however inarticulately, is that he’ll cut your throat if you talk.” Sutton leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. A slight smile floated on his lips and he looked the very figure of ease. But the muscles beneath his trousers were taut, his legs ready to spring into action.
Of course,nowhe would show up, interrupting before she could get her visitor to reveal the identity of Zed. Just like a man. Never around when she needed him and underfoot when she didn’t. Her irritation almost made her miss his words.
“Wait …” She glared at the stranger in outrage. “You’re saying you’d cut open my neck?” If properly delivered, that would have been a threat she would have taken notice of.
Jumping to his feet, he stumbled back, away from the monolith at the door. “I wouldn’t want to! It would just be business.”
Sutton shrugged his coat off and tossed it on the back of a chair. He wore no waistcoat beneath, only a snowy white shirt. Every drape in the linen emphasized the strength in his arms, the hard planes of his chest and shoulders. “‘You wouldn’t want to.’” Sutton shook his head. “I guess that makes it all right, then.”
Colleen stood and fisted her hands on her hips. “It does no such thing. How he feels isn’t relevant. I’d still be dead.”
Both men stared at her.
“Dizzy bitch.” The visitor shook his head, pity in his eyes.
“She’s too straightforward to understand sarcasm,” Sutton said. “It’s one of her many charms.” He cracked his neck from side-to-side and prowled towards the man. “So, for her sake, and yours, I’m going to speak quite literally. Unless you tell me who you are and whom you work for, I’m going to rip your arms from their sockets and beat you to death with them.”
***
Christ, Max threatens a fellow just once with dismemberment, and the bloody fool turns into a fucking wet-nurse. Zed’s accomplice had turned into such a puddle of snot and blubber, Max had felt it necessary to send Colleen from the room. No need to humiliate the man further.
“This is my office,” she argued. “And I’m the one he threatened with …” She drew her finger across her neck and tried to mimic the man’s earlier noises. She sounded like a cat in heat.
He winced. “Yes, but I think he might speak more freely if it’s just the two of us.”
“Oh God,” the man wailed. “I can’t tell you anything. I’ll be killed if I do.” He eyed Max. “And killed if I don’t.” He pounded both fists into his head, cursing.
Max worried about permanent damage. He’d seen battle-shocked men act such, and their instability could be dangerous. “New plan. Go downstairs,” he told Mrs. Bonner, “and announce that the club is closing early tonight. Once it’s empty, we’ll be down to join you.” He strode to the desk and dashed off a quick note. He folded and addressed the missive. “And give this to a footman to deliver. Tell him to make sure the earl gets it immediately, even if the lazy bastard has to be kicked out of bed.”
“All right,” she grumbled. She took the letter, her fingers grazing his. “But I expect to be fully informed of any developments.”
“Of course.” Within reason. He waited to hear her step on the stairs and handed his handkerchief to their visitor. “Clean yourself up, man.” Two other pocket squares littered the floor. Max picked up the one with the letters C and B embroidered on it, folded the cloth, and tucked it into his pocket.
The man dropped into a chair, burying his face in his hands. They waited, unspeaking, for several minutes, the occasional sniffle and curse from the bugger the only sounds in the room. Giving Colleen plenty of time to clear the club, Max jerked his head at the door. “All right, let’s go.” When the man didn’t move, Max grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, careful not to inflict too much pain. Not yet. He marched him out the door and down the back set of stairs reserved for the servants. It led to a narrow corridor. The kitchen was to the left. Max steered them to the right where the hallway connected with the club’s back rooms.
He headed for the room he and Mrs. Bonner had been in earlier. It should be perfect to scare the shit out of someone.
