“I want in,” he stated.
“M-membership in our group is by invitation only, old boy,” Thorne said. “And you forfeited your right to be h-here when you abandoned the Horsemen years ago.”
Ben fought the distaste that rose like bile in his throat. Thorne hadn’t changed a whit. With his artfully mussed blond curls and brooding gaze, he had a Byronic magnetism that drew females to him like moths to a flame. It didn’t matter that he was famed for his cruelty and inconstancy, discarding his lovers like last season’s fashions.
“I concur with my brother.” Bollinger stood next to Thorne, striking a belligerent pose. “You are not welcome back.”
Back in the day, Bollinger had been the follower in the pack, content to take the others’ orders and leftover scraps. Apparently not much had changed. The brown-haired viscount retained his boyish looks, although he’d gone softer in the middle and the line of his chin.
“Your position has been taken,” Stamford said.
Although Stamford had been recruited after Ben’s time, Ben was acquainted with the other, who’d been a year behind him at Eton. Back then, Stamford had been a runty, sniveling sort, his bony nose shoved up the arse of the popular boys.
Ben sauntered toward the refreshment-laden table close to the men. Aware of the gazes fixed upon him, he took his time selecting a ripe berry. He made a show of eating it slowly.
“I am notaskingto be reinstated, gentlemen,” he said. “I am telling you that I want Longmere’s cut in your venture.”
The men exchanged startled glances, with the exception of Edgecombe. The earl was too clever to betray his reaction.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Edgecombe drawled.
“Perhaps this will clarify matters.”
Ben withdrew the red snuffbox he’d found clutched in Pete’s lifeless hand. As he placed it on the table, the enamel gleamed like blood, a reminder of what was at stake.
I have failed at so many things. I will not fail in this,Ben silently vowed.
“Longmere told me about the Devil’s Bliss and your supplier,” he said coolly. “Mr. Fong, is it?”
In that instant, it was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Fear burgeoned in its place. Radiated from the Horsemen’s paling faces and dilated eyes.
These bastards are terrified of their so-called partner,Ben mused.
“For G-God’s sake, do not say his name aloud.” Thorne darted his gaze around the room as if he feared the Chinese man might emerge from the shadows. “He has eyes and ears everywhere.”
“Then he will hear me when I say that I want Longmere’s place in the enterprise,” Ben said.
“You’re bluffing.” Edgecombe’s eyes slitted. “Why would Longmere tell you anything? As far as I know, he and you were acquaintances at best.”
“The sod owed me money.” Ben had prepared his story, the lies rolling smoothly off his tongue. “That was why I was the one to discover his dead body. I’d gone to his studio to collect the two thousand pounds I’d lent him and instead found him with his toes cocked up. Longmere could never hold his drink…nor his laudanum, it seems.”
He added the quip to appeal to the cold-blooded bastards. His instincts proved correct when Edgecombe’s mouth edged into a smirk.
“Longmere’s constitution was rather delicate.” The earl studied Ben with a calculating expression. “Unlike yours. You had the heartiest appetite for sin amongst us…that is, before you succumbed to abstinence. Rumor has it that when you parted ways with us, you also gave up your vices.”
“I made a mistake. After Arabella’s passing, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“The duchess’s passing would befuddle any man,” Edgecombe said grudgingly. “She was exceptional.”
“God rest her soul,” Thorne murmured.
Not to be left out, Bollinger blustered, “She was a fine lady. Splendid hostess.”
For once, Ben did not doubt the bastards’ sincerity. When it had suited her purposes, Arabella could be vivacious and charming, and she had enjoyed entertaining the Horsemen, flirting with them to rile Ben up. She’d hung on Edgecombe’s every word, stroking the bastard’s vanity. With Thorne, she’d discussed poetry and exchanged innuendos. She’d even indulged Bollinger, taking part in his amateur theatre evenings.
Whereas these memories would have once sucked Ben into a tar pit of bitterness and anger, he now felt only twinges of regret over his failed marriage. He credited his improved state of mind to Livy. He hadn’t wanted to let her go this morning. The way she’d clung to him in the carriage had conveyed that the feeling was mutual. And if he’d been too stupid to realize that, then her words had left no doubt.
I love you, Ben. Be careful and come back to me swiftly.
