“Due to our government’s appalling dearth of wars currently, it has come to a near standstill.” A circumstance he could never complain about. He’d seen too many good men die on the battlefields to want his profit to come at peace’s expense.
Rothchild pulled a cheroot from his pocket and lit it from a lump of coal from the fireplace. He inhaled deeply, staring at John through the smoke. “You could always go back into your laboratory,” he said quietly. “You created one new alloy; you could create another. One using a different source of ore.”
John’s chest tightened. “That isn’t an option.” Wil harangued him about it, then Netta, and now Rothchild took up the task. It was a damned conspiracy.
His friends all gave each other looks. One that John didn’t appreciate.
“You know why,” he ground out.
“It was an accident.” Montague ran his hand through his hair. “How long will you punish yourself?”
“I’m not the one who was punished.” John stood and stalked across the room. He’d entertained this conversation long enough.
Sutton took his arm as he passed. “This woman of yours—”
“Yes?” John didn’t want to hear talk of Netta. His mind was already a confused morass with thoughts of her; he didn’t need his friends complicating the issue with their insinuations and veiled remarks.
He should distance himself from her, stay out of her bed. That would be the smart thing to do to keep his head clear and succeed with his mission.
He didn’t want to.
“She may be smart and capable, but the plan you propose is not without danger.” Sutton scrubbed his face with his large paw. “If you do lose and don’t turn her over to Sudworth, he may take that very poorly. Is she truly prepared? Are you?”
“I won’t lose.” He’d already ordered something that would ensure his victory. “And I’ll make damned certain nothing untoward happens to her.”
“No matter how good a plan, there are always unforeseen circumstances.” Rothchild tossed the cheroot in the fireplace. “Our past histories are proof enough of that.”
“Are you volunteering to assist?” John asked.
Rothchild dipped his chin and gave him a reproachful look. “I’ll be there. We’ll all be there. You know we will. But it would be better, safer, if Liverpool’s men were in on it, too.”
John’s shoulders sagged. Rothchild was right. John should have known his friends would have his back. But a small part of him had worried they’d become too content in their retirement to pick up arms again. That they would consider his problem of a lost ore mine unworthy of their time.
Not that heneededtheir help.
But it wouldn’t hurt.
He blew out his cheeks. He’d been an idiot. Of course his friends would volunteer. If the issue was important to John, it was important to all of them. That’s how their friendship worked.
It also wouldn’t hurt to speak with Liverpool. The prime minister’s priorities might be different but that didn’t mean they weren’t compatible.
And if their priorities diverged, well, John wasn’t one of the prime minister’s spies. He didn’t have to do as the man wanted.
“All right.” He nodded to Sutton. “Let’s go pay a visit to our former employer.”
The ride to Liverpool’s residence was tense, not least because they’d insisted on all jamming into Rothchild’s carriage. Almost as if his friends were afraid he’d change his mind if they let him out of their sight.
“Will you move your fat arse?” John pressed his elbow into Dunkeld’s side and levered out from between the Scotsman and Sutton. “I feel like the meat in a bloody ruffian sandwich.”
Dunkeld sniffed. “My arse is in perfect proportion to the rest of my body. It’s hardly my fault you’re slender enough to snap like a twig.” But he shifted, giving John an inch more breathing space.
“Gentlemen, can we stop with the gratuitous insults?” Montague asked. He leaned into the corner of the carriage and stretched his arm along the back rest. With just him and Rothchild on the seat opposite, he could spread his body and take up as much room as he liked.
John glared. “Why would we want to do that?”
“Because we’ve arrived.” He nodded to the window, and the three-story townhouse coming into view. “I don’t want the prime minister to know the sad maturity level of the men he entrusted state secrets to.”
“He already knows.” Rothchild pushed open the door. “Why do you think he dismissed the lot of us?” he muttered as he jumped down.
