“Yes, ma’am.” Rothchild gave Max a look, raising his eyebrow.
Max tugged Colleen closer. The move was instinctive, and Max chided himself on his own folly. His friend was a happily-married man. But he was finding any man’s interest in his manager, casual or not, to be most aggravating.
Rothchild gave Pinkerton a sound shaking. “Now, you were about to tell us how you came to be involved with the individual known as Zed.”
“I was on the board of directors of the Chesseworth Corporation.” The American drooped, his fetters clanking. “I’d made my fortune in America and came over here on a world tour. I met my Isobel. She’s the second daughter of a Scottish baronet, and he wanted her to marry a peer. My money persuaded him to accept me for his daughter, instead.”
Colleen snorted. “Isn’t that just like a man? And your wife? Did she want to marry you, or was she only bought and paid for?”
“Of course, she wanted to marry me! We’re in love.” Pinkerton looked at her with big doe eyes. “Isobel is the kindest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
Colleen lowered her shoulders, the tight set to her back relaxing. “How sweet.”
Max met Rothchild’s gaze, and they both rolled their eyes. Women were so easy.
“We don’t want your life history,” Max told Pinkerton. “Jump ahead to when you got involved with a crime ring.”
Colleen elbowed him in the side and took a step back. “He’s getting there. There’s no call to be rude.”
“As I said, I was on the board of Chesseworth.” Pinkerton straightened and jutted out his chin. “It was doing well. I invested most of my money in its stock.”
A stab of pity struck Max but he repressed the emotion. He could see where this story was heading, but it still didn’t excuse the American’s actions. Max and his friends had discovered that Zed and his crime ring had infiltrated the boards of numerous corporations. When the Crown had gone after the criminals, many of those businesses had gone under. Chesseworth had been one of those that had gone bankrupt. The stocks had become worthless.
“How much is most of your money?” he asked the American.
“Nearly all.” The man glared at Max. “Because of you and your friends, my wife is forced to wear rags. Clothes hardly better than Mrs. Bonner’s.” The man jerked his head at Colleen, who looked down at her outfit, a wrinkle of confusion puckering her forehead. “My son won’t be able to go to Harrow. This is your fault.”
While Max felt some sympathy, that was a step too far. “Who’s the idiot that put all his eggs in one basket? Besides, those businesses had become part of a criminal enterprise. The government had no choice but to shut them down.”
“And I had no choice in my actions,” Pinkerton said. “I have to provide for my family.”
“By threatening to cut a woman’s throat?” Max’s skin prickled with heat. “How low were you willing to sink to keep you wife in the latest fashions?”
“I wouldn’t have done it.” Pinkerton’s voice was hoarse, his chin trembled. The man probably didn’t know whether he believed that himself.
“How did Zed contact you?” Rothchild brought them back on course. “Did you meet?”
“No.” Pinkerton rattled the chain at his wrist. “Can we take these off?”
“When you’ve told us everything,” Colleen said.
Max glanced at her in surprise. She rested her hands on her hips and tapped her toe. Max waited for it, waited, and when she arched one burnished eyebrow, heat flooded his body and his bollocks drew tight. A tiny taskmaster shouldn’t stir him so. Disciplinarians were never his predilection. But the more Max was around his manager, the more he ached for her.
“I’ve never met the blasted man,” Pinkerton said. “I received a note. And included in that note was the payment for the back rent on our townhouse. Zed said more of the same was available if I worked for him. It was my salvation.”
Rothchild leaned against the wall next to the American and crossed one leg over the other. “And what will happen to your family when you’re in prison?”
“Prison?” Pinkerton jerked his wrists, the chains clanging.
“That is the normal course of affairs for someone caught assisting in blackmail and threatening murder.” Rothchild buffed his nails on his waistcoat. “Or perhaps the courts will ship you off to Australia. That does seem to be the latest furor.”
“Please.” Pinkerton closed his eyes, his chest heaving. “Please. I need to take care of my wife and son. If I’m sent away, they’ll starve. Her father won’t take her back; not if her husband has disgraced the family.”
“You should have thought of that before you disgraced your family,” Colleen said tartly. She turned to Max. “He doesn’t know anything that will help us. Will you call for a magistrate?”
Pinkerton blanched.
“He might be helpful yet.” Curious, Max examined her face. “Have you no problem sending this man to prison?” Australia was a better alternative. The prisons in London were filthy, miserable places filled with desperate men. Even if a person wasn’t sentenced to hang for his crime, death resulted from the imprisonment more often than not.
