“Yes?” Benedict asked as he turned back with his heart in his throat.
“I have criminals, judges, constables, and more than a few members of the royal family in my debt. If you hurt my daughter, the only limit to your pain is my imagination. You’d do well to remember that.”
“Yes, sir,” Benedict croaked.
“Good lad,” Wayland said as Benedict backed slowly out of the room.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Benedict slid against the wall beside it and released the breath caught in his throat.
The enforcer from before strolled over, quirking a brow. “He’s never had anyone killed, as far as I know.”
“That’s a relief,” Benedict replied with an exaggerated sigh.
“Of course, no one has courted his daughter before either.”
Benedict’s chest tightened again. “You did that on purpose. Didn’t you?”
“It was a good lark. You should know, he’s not the only one you’ll need to worry about if you hurt that girl.”
“Yes, yes, the uncle.”
The other man chuckled. “You haven’t heard about what Lady Juliet did to her own father? And, of course, there’s Sophie; she’s a feral thing. When they’re finished, there will be the rest of us.”
The man’s dark gaze met Benedict’s, holding it for emphasis. He gestured with one hand to the entirety of the club, and Benedict swallowed.
“Best go meet with Mr. Ainsley. He’ll be expecting you, and he gets cross when he’s late returning home to his wife.”
After divulginga great many carefully crafted half-truths to Wayland’s second, Benedict seized the opportunity to walk back to the townhouse. The night was pleasant, and the distance brief.
In all the years he’d had to prepare for this scheme, he’d never considered Wayland himself. The man had been an abstract, amorphous villain in his mind, cackling atop his piles of money. More caricature than person.
Benedict’s imagination had been entirely in opposition from his experience. The reality of Michael Wayland left him shaken. The man had been polite enough, though forceful. Benedict rather thought he would approach a suitor of Bella’s with a similar attitude.
The way Wayland cared for his daughter—Benedict could not recall his own father ever sparing Bella a thought beyond her usefulness. Ambrose Sinclair—Lord Blackwood—never would have threatened someone on her behalf. The contrast shook him.
And those threats were a problem Benedict had naively never considered. He had fixated on whathisfather might do should he fail. But Wayland had never entered into Benedict’s fears. The older man hadn’t been bluffing. He had considerable wealth and influence, and given the naked affection in his expression when he spoke of his daughters… There was real danger in this plan.
Benedict reached the townhouse long before he’d found a solution. The distance hadn’t culled his rising nausea.
Inside, he found Bella on the settee with a book and a drink.
“Well?” she demanded as soon as the butler disappeared down the hall.
The urge to needle her was always present, but he needed an actual confidante. His sister wouldn’t have been his first choice, but Benedict lacked a second. West, the stable master’s son-turned-friend, usually served that role—but Benedict could not bring himself to inform West of their scheme. Though he’d never admitted it aloud, Benedict knew it was because West would’ve talked him out of it.
“He’ll allow me to court her, assuming she agrees, but?—”
“Perfect, perhaps a promenade the next time the weather seems?—”
“Bell, I… There is more to consider than we originally thought. We worried I might fail, that I wouldn’t be able tosecure her interest, or that her father would separate us before I could win her affections. But… Wayland is a powerful man, with powerful friends.”
“Benedict,” she warned. “What more could he possibly do to us, take from us? He has already stolen practically everything. If you fail, we’ll lose Blackwood, regardless. You cannot possibly win enough matches to fund the repairs—no one could.”
“Of course not.”
“It was never going to be simple. But we’re Sinclairs; we stay the course. There is nothing the man can do to us worse than he already has. This is what Wayland deserves, and we will have what we deserve—what should have been ours all along.”
Benedict could offer only a weak nod. “You’re right.”
