“I’m here as you requested,” Olivia’s voice, though steady, was quite tense. “Now surrender the sketches, all of them.”
“My sweet Olivia.” Reynolds’ voice oozed false affection. “Always so direct. Wouldn’t you like to see what you’re purchasing first?”
A rustling of papers, followed by Olivia’s sharp intake of breath.
“These are far more explicit than the painting,” she said, voice hardening. “You never showed me these.”
“Artist’s studies,” Reynolds replied dismissively. “Surely you don’t think I achieved such perfection without thoroughly examining my subject? As for your husband, I understandhe maintains regular correspondence with important military figures. My associates would find details of troop deployments most valuable. This is information you could easily access as his wife.”
“I will never betray my country or my husband,” Olivia replied, her voice steely with determination.
“Then perhaps other methods of persuasion are required,” Reynolds said, his tone shifting to menace. “There are men in Paris who would pay handsomely for the intimate companionship of the Duke of Ravenswood’s scandalous duchess. And I already have a plan to get you out of the country if you should cross me.”
Victor’s control shattered. With one powerful kick, he burst through the door, the wood splintering around the lock.
Olivia stood near a paint-splattered table, her face paling with shock at his appearance. Across from her, Reynolds stumbled backward, sketches scattering from his hands.
“Victor,” Olivia whispered, her expression a mixture of fear, shame, and relief.
Reynolds recovered quickly, sliding into an obsequious smile. “Your Grace! What an unexpected honor?—”
“Silence,” Victor commanded, advancing into the room. He towered over the artist, using his height and size to obtain the full intimidating effect. “You dare to threaten my wife?”
Reynolds shifted backward. “I didn’t?—”
Victor’s hand shot out, gripping Reynolds by the throat and slamming him against the wall. “You shall speak only when I permit it.”
“Victor, please,” Olivia said, with a hint of concern in her voice. It had better not be for the bastard before him.
Reynolds coughed as Victor’s grip loosened just enough to allow shallow breathing. “Your duchess was quite willing once,”he gasped, a taunting gleam in his eyes. “You should have heard how she moaned when I?—”
Victor’s other hand connected with Reynolds’ jaw in a savage blow that snapped the artist’s head sideways. Blood trickled from his split lip.
“James Atherton sends his regards,” Victor whispered, his voice for Reynolds’ ears alone. “He remembers you well from the war. Your French connections.”
Fear replaced arrogance in Reynolds’ eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The Home Office maintains a file on you,” Victor continued. “One word from me, and you’ll hang for treason.”
“You have no proof?—”
“I don’t need proof. Just the accusation would see you in chains while they investigate. How long would you survive in Newgate? And would your French masters risk exposure to save a worthless pawn?”
Reynolds swallowed hard, fear evident. Victor released him and stepped back.
“You have a choice,” Victor said coldly. “Hand over every one of your sketches, leave London immediately, and never communicate with the duchess again.”
“Or?”
“Or I’ll have you arrested for treason.” Victor’s voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “And if by some miracle you escape the hangman, I’ll find you myself.”
Reynolds scrambled to comply, gathering sketches with trembling hands and hurling them at Victor.
“Our business is concluded,” Victor said, his tone making it clear no further communication would be welcome.
Once Reynolds departed, Victor turned to Olivia, who stood rigid with shock, having witnessed this violent side of her husband.
“You received a communication from this man yesterday,” Victor said, his voice controlled despite the rage still evident. “You arranged to meet him alone, without informing me.” Each clipped word conveyed the anger and frustration he felt toward her in that moment.
