Michael flicked his gaze to his wife, and then moved in closer to the bars. “I’m going to roll over his people like a bulldozer. Whoever doesn’t want to work with me will likely hang.”
“Work with you…” the baron said carefully. “What would that entail?”
“Giving me information. Testifying against him in a courtroom. His reign would end.”
“He would hang.” Both men looked at Charlotte.
“Is that what you want, Sebastian?” she asked.
“No, dearest,” he told her. “But I don’t want anyone else to hang with him.”
Were her lips trembling? Michael looked around for more candles or lanterns or whatever else they used for light these days. There was nothing.
“He’s going to find out you spoke to Michael and he’s going to kill you.”
“Now, how will he find out?” the baron asked her. “Will you tell him, Char?”
“I will not have to,” she retorted. “You said you were sent to kill Michael. When he finds out Michael isn’t dead, he’ll put the pieces together.”
“Are you saying I should kill Michael?”
She slapped her thighs and he laughed, finished with teasing her.
“All right, all right.”
“’Tis no laughing matter, Bastian,” she scolded.
Listening to them, Michael was reminded of family members, brothers teasing their sisters. He thought he finally understood that she was more involved than she had told him, and she likely wouldn’t be much help putting her “family” in jail.
“You will have to keep me locked up,” Surrey volunteered, “until Preston is no longer a threat.”
“Protection is not free, Surrey,” Michael told him.
“Hmm. Preston is the head of the Horsemen. He’s the head of all crime in this area. How’s that?”
Michael ground his teeth together. That haughty little worm had people crapping their breeches and hose. How? “What kinds of tactics does he use to enforce his threats?”
Surrey shifted his gaze to Charlotte. Yes. Michael turned to look at her, too, but without the regret and tenderness that the baron offered her. She knew. She knew Preston’s character, his life, who he was. She had likely been right at his side. A regular Bonnie and Clyde.
He wanted to tell her to leave them alone. He didn’t want to see her right now.
“He gives orders to kill,” Surrey confessed. “He’s given orders for…ehm…families to—”
“No!” Charlotte stepped forward and grabbed hold of the bars to stare into the baron’s eyes. “You’re lying, Sebastian! If you think Preston would do such things, you don’t know him.”
She didn’t know. At least, she didn’t know everything that her ex-boyfriend/childhood friend did. That was good to know. Either that or she was a very good actress.
The handsome baron’s gaze was full of pity for her. Michael thought he even saw a tear or two glittering off the dim candlelight.
“’Tis you who doesn’t know him,” the baron countered. “He keeps great and terrible secrets from your delicate ears. You thought what he was doing was for good. ’Twas never about the good of anyone but Preston.”
“No,” she cried. “It takes a certain person to—”
“He gave deVille the order to burn Rosie’s village.”
“What?” she gasped. Her eyes were wide on her friend. Wide and horrified. “Sebastian, please don’t deceive me in this.”
“I didn’t know of it until a few hours ago. I was having an afternoon drink with Preston when deVille came to speak with him. He confessed to everything, burning the place, killing Rosie’s husband, seeing both of you together in the middle of the night. Preston was enraged and ordered your death. John deVille was to kill you tonight.”
