Given the physical similarities between his sweet Primrose and the baroness, he couldn't deny the obvious conclusion. Kitty Barnes had lied about Primrose's origins; the Draven whore was the mother, and all that she'd done since arriving in Town—snooping around, hiring a Runner—had proved that she meant to have Primrose back.
Over my dead body. I've been cultivating my flower all these years. She's MINE.
The gentleman forced himself to take several calming breaths. Yes, Lady Marianne was proving more of a nuisance than he'd first believed, but his secret was still safe. He had Primrose securely tucked away. He must not panic; he must stay on course and stick to the original plan.
In another three or four years, Primrose would ripen. At that time, when she was at the peak of her perfection, he'd pluck her once and for all. His loins stirred with anticipation.See? I am a man! A man with rarefied taste.Smiling dreamily, he imagined taking her abroad, marrying her some place free of nonsensical age of consent laws. After a few years, they'd return to Britannia with none the wiser.
Only one obstacle stood in his way: Lady Marianne Draven. The bitch had more lives than a feline. Somehow, she'd not only survived his efforts to have her killed, but also his cleverly designed plan to have her framed for Leach's murder. Hiscoup d'étatwould have killed two proverbial birds with the same stone. Yet she'd somehow escaped.Goddamn her.
For the inconvenience, she would have to suffer—she and that dull-witted policeman she'd managed to mesmerize. Anger hummed in the gentleman's ears. He'd taken a great risk in tapping Leach to engage the services of Bow Street, and all of it had come to naught because thatnobody, that bloody River Charley, had failed to do his duty.
Agitated, the gentleman jumped to his feet. Paced before the portraits. Looking into Primrose's big green eyes, he saw her loving wisdom glimmering there.
"Only you understand me," he murmured. "Tell me, precious, how shall we get rid of them?"
The solution burst into his brain.Divide et impera—Caesar had the right of it. He chuckled with the sheer simplicity of the first step. Afait accompli.Nothing like betrayal to cause a schism. As for the second step… For the sake of Primrose—and thiswasfor her, to protect her and the love he would give her—he would show no mercy. Draven and Kent would have to die and in a clean manner, one untraceable to him.
Something in the order of… an accident.
Yes, a tragic and public mishap would suit his purposes well.
The gentleman poured himself another brandy as the plan unfolded in his head.
28
Kent madehis way toward Marianne's suite, grateful for the thick carpeting that muffled the sound of his footsteps. As he passed each closed door along the hallway, he feared that it would open to reveal one of his siblings. God knew what he would say if they asked him what he was doing skulking there in the middle of the night. Tactful by nature, Emma had not disclosed his relationship with their hostess, going along with his more circumspect assertion that he was being employed by Lady Draven and she had decided to act as a patron of sorts to his family.
He'd finessed the situation to protect Marianne's reputation; when she'd gotten wind of it over supper, she'd raised her brows and continued coaxing his father into eating the potato soup with a fancy French name. Nowadays, any change in routine roused his father's truculence, yet Marianne's unexpectedly patient and soothing manner had seemed to awaken Samuel's charm. Ambrose hadn't seen his sire so lively since before his stepmother's death.
Ambrose arrived at Marianne's door, which had been left ajar. Exhaling, he stepped inside and closed the door behind. His blood went hot at the sight of Marianne lounging on her bed. She looked up at him, and her welcoming smile made his cock jerk to attention.
"What took you so long?" She put down her book, her blush-colored robe fluttering languidly as she stretched her arms. "I almost fell asleep reading."
He had planned to first update her on the progress of his investigation. To demonstrate to her that he was committed to finding her daughter—and that her generosity to his family would be repaid in kind. Yet the invitation in her eyes dissolved his words. He found himself striding to the side of the bed. He sank his fingers in her hair and claimed her lips in a hard, demanding kiss. When it ended, both of them were breathing raggedly.
"I wanted to do that all night," he said, cupping her jaw. "All through supper, I thought of naught else."
She gave him a sultry look. "So that was why you looked so famished? And here I was thinking it was Monsieur Arnauld's excellent menu."
"The food was delicious." With each course that had appeared, his siblings' eyes had gotten bigger and bigger, and they'd piled more on their plates than politeness allowed. Knowing how little they'd had of late, he hadn't had the heart to chide them. "It was a treat for my family," he said gruffly. "Thank you."
"It was little enough."
"It was not little to them. Your generosity..." He trailed off as the knots in his chest tightened. "A policeman's wages affords a simple life. My sisters and brother have known little in the way of luxury."
"They are delightful and unspoiled." With dexterous fingers, Marianne removed his cravat. "I shall enjoy rectifying the latter situation."
His throat grew dry as she moved onto his waistcoat. "Why are you doing all this?"
Rising on her knees, she kissed his jaw, murmuring, "I should think my intentions rather obvious."
"I don't mean this. I mean,"—his voice went raspy as she investigated his ear with soft nibbles and licks—"why are you being so kind to my family?"
She drew back, smiled at him. "I like them."
"You do, truly?" he said.
"Why do you sound surprised?"
