“There’s no surety in that child surviving,” Raverson says. At what must be the revolted look on his face, Raverson rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t be so sanctimonious. Her age, the likelihood of childhood mortality, I’m not saying anything you don’t already know.”
James grits his teeth. “Your games won’t work. I’ll tell Lord Havenfort—”
“What, that both of his nephews are poofs?”
James hesitates, a deep mortification and shame rolling through him at the idea of disappointing Lady Havenfort and Lord Havenfort—at explaining why he needs to tell them, why they’d be forced to reckon with such a heavy secret.
“And how will you prove that?” James asks, pushing thethought out around his panic. “Going to tell Lord Havenfort you’ve slept with both of his nephews? Are you so self-hating you’d risk your own reputation?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Raverson says, that glint of a scheme coming into his eyes—a tall tale about to be expertly told. “You both came on to me. You at school, and Mason at the opera. Simply grabbed me and groped me.” He holds up his palms in feigned innocence and something gold glints there on his pinky. A signet ring with the initials RJM—Mason’s signet ring.
James’ stomach plummets.
Raverson smirks. “I was too polite to fight either of you off, but you both understood that it wasn’t to occur again. I’m far too much of a gentleman to try and take either of you to the authorities. I wouldn’t want to sully your cousins with such news.”
James stares at Raverson, rage, revulsion, and disbelief at war in his chest. He cannot let this man take them all down just to slake his perverse need for power, for control. James isn’t sixteen anymore. He won’t let Raverson see him scared, even if everything about this conversation has terrified him to his very core.
“Go and get your sick pleasure and power somewhere else. Or better yet, leave these atrocious schoolboy schemes in the past.”
“You’re so naive, Demeroven,” Raverson says, smirking at him. “School was just the start.”
James squares his shoulders. “Stay away from my family, or you’ll live to regret it.”
Raverson just winks at him. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
And with that he turns and strides away, slipping Mason’s ring into his pocket, looking confident and entirely unruffled, while James stands there, thoroughly shaken.
He has to stop this. He has to figure out a way to outplay Raverson at his own game. A way that will keep his and Mason’s reputations intact, keep his cousin and her stepsister safe, and keep Lord and Lady Havenfort out of all of it.
The very last thing his aunt needs right now is further stress.
He knocks back his drink. He’ll need reinforcements to fight this, and that means teaming up with Mason—who’s caused this problem in the first place.
What was the man thinking, messing around with Raverson at the opera? Did James’ words really— But no, Mason wouldn’t be so affected by anything James has to say. He’s sure Mason rarely thinks of him at all, other than to bad-mouth him to his cousin. And it’s not as if James is spending all his time thinking about Mason.
Yet, when he sees him alone, leaning against the railing of the patio, smoking, looking devil-may-care and aloof, James can’t quite halt the familiar nervous flutter in his chest. But no matter how attractive he is—no matter how much James envies Mason’s relationships with his cousin and friends—no matter how much James wants to be like Mason, Mason has put them all in danger. And now Mason must help him fight back against Raverson.
But just as he steps onto the patio, still formulating the proper entrée into this... presumably horrible conversation, Mason spots him, sneering in dislike.
“Ah, there he is, the golden boy.”
James bristles. “Excuse me?”
“Been off hobnobbing? Gathering votes? Playing nice with the lords you hate so much? Are you humbled?”
James stares at Mason, indignance flushing through him as the man pushes upright, teetering a little. “Better than skulking in the shadows downing whisky like a dilettante,” Jamesreturns, even though that’s exactly what he was doing up until a few minutes ago.
“Charming,” Mason says, taking a long drag of his cigar. “I hope you’ve had a drink to drown your pride. How low you must feel to be doing Albie’s busywork.”
“At least I’m living up to my obligations,” James hisses, stepping forward so there’s only a foot between them. “Instead of getting caught being buggered behind curtains at the opera.”
Mason’s sneer drops and he stares blankly back at James. “What?”
“What were you thinking?” James continues, all thoughts of a rational, reasoned conversation flying out of his head. “What if you’d been caught by someone else? Someone with the power to ruin us all? It’s bad enough Raverson thinks he can milk more money from Lord Havenfort without you making it easier for him. Giving him your ring—what were you thinking?”
Mason gapes, glancing down at his hand in confusion. “I didn’t—”
“Your need to get whatever you want, whoever you want, whenever you want could ruin the entire family.”
