He ran his thumb along the soft skin of her palm. “What would you have me do? Let him roam free? Go on as before?” He didn’t think such an act of forgiveness was possible on his part.
“There are other ways to punish a man besides prison,” Rothchild said. He didn’t bother to say ‘or death,’ and for that, John was grateful. “We use the talents around the table. I can break into just about anywhere. Take anything of his you’d want. Or plant evidence against him, as well.”
Sutton tugged on his beard. “I’ve seen most of his properties in London. Dry wood. Poor construction. Sadly for him, very susceptible to fire.” He grinned, his eyes lighting up at the thought of arson as they always did.
“A man such as he has his self-worth wrapped up in his wealth,” Elizabeth added. “When you strip that away, there will be nothing left of him. You might even be able to arrange a cell for him in debtor’s prison.”
“Yes.” Montague buttered a roll and handed it to his wife. “The ways to destroy a man are limitless.”
John’s chest expanded until he found it difficult to breathe. He might lack the strong bonds of affection most men had with their brothers, but he had never lacked for family.
He looked around the table. Their plan was neat, with alternatives and redundancies. There was no possible way for Sudworth to escape ruin. If he wasn’t put away tonight, the man would wish he had been.
John rubbed his hands together. He almost wished this last adventure would present more of a challenge. A victory he could take pride in and reminisce over next to a crackling fire with Netta curled by his side.
“Oy, what about me?” Dunkeld asked, frowning. “I don’t think I have any special talents that would help to destroy a man’s livelihood.”
John rose to his feet and stretched. “Your talent is obvious. Beat the hell out of anyone that gets in our way.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Netta sat with one leg over the armrest of the settee, a glass of wine resting on her stomach. Members of The Minerva chattered excitedly about her, asking questions about being an actress, about performing, but Netta let Cerise respond.
She fingered the emerald pendent John had given her the night of the masquerade. It rarely left her neck these days. It made her feel closer to him to wear it.
Where was John right now? Had he left for The Black Rose? Was he even now sitting across from Sudworth, playing for his livelihood?
The thought of seeing Sudworth again made her palms sweat and stomach cramp. And she knew she couldn’t assist John. But it didn’t feel right her drinking wine with Mary and Cerise while he faced down the devil.
Cerise shot her elbow into Netta’s ribs.
“Gah!” Netta dropped her leg to the floor and straightened, rubbing her side. “What was that for?”
“Lady Walpole just asked us a question which I feel you can answer best.” Cerise’s smile was all clenched teeth.
Netta recognized that look. It was one she’d learned to be wary around. Her friend was nearing the end of her patience.
“I apologize.” She turned to Lady Walpole. “What was the question?”
The middle-aged woman leaned forward in her chair, the feather in her turban bobbing. “Whether it was true that actresses took a different lover each week. My sister said that they did, but I said that it would be too exhausting.”
A muffled cough drew her gaze to the far wall. Wilberforce sat as sentinel in the one hard-backed chair in the room. His position hadn’t changed. He’d sat in that spot through her and Cerise’s performance on the small stage. He remained in that spot as they chatted after the show. The man sat and watched, and apparently tried his best not to laugh at the impertinent questions.
“Lady Walpole,” she began.
“There are no ladies in The Minerva.” Mary swept into the room, John’s grandmother at her side. Mary arranged a pillow on the wingback chair next to Netta and helped Catherine to sit down. She took her own seat and shook out her skirts. “Titles are dropped at the door. I believe I shall have the next person who breaks that rule needlepoint it into pillows as reminders.”
That horrifying threat stilled everyone’s tongues for a moment.
“Now.” Mary accepted the glass of port a footman brought over. “Do you want to answer questions on the sexual customs of actors or do you consider that a boorish inquiry? I, for one, would have adored having a different lover each week when I was younger. Although coordinating the liaisons with so many men would be difficult. They are such sensitive creatures.”
Another snort from the far wall, but all the women had seemed by mutual agreement to ignore Wilberforce. He had been allowed into the club as their escort and then promptly forgotten.
Although Cerise’s gaze had flown towards him many times that evening, Netta had noticed. Usually with scorn or disdain, but that was her friend’s main manner of flirting.
“Why wait a week?” Cerise draped her arm on the seatback and gave Lady Walpole a tight smile. “I find if I don’t switch up my lovers every two days I become quite dull.”
Wilberforce didn’t smother a laugh at that. His corner of the room remained decidedly silent.
