Standish expelled a harried sigh. “Very well, I suppose I’m being absurd to imagine any connection between them. Still, I don’t like having Branford involved in any way.”
“Does the earl frighten you?”
Standish dropped his gaze to the floor.
“You see, Arthur, that is why you should leave the thinking to me. Branford will not pose a problem.”
“Then let us get it done—and as quickly as possible.”
Hammerton shot him a look of contempt. “It will be done, but in such a manner that no suspicion will ever fall at our door. You do not fancy the noose, do you? I for one, do not.”
Standish swallowed hard, then drained the rest of his glass in one gulp. “Maybe we don’t have to get rid of him at all,” he said nervously. “I mean, he has no idea! His father never had a chance to?—”
“No, he has no inkling, nor do any of them,” cut in Hammerton. “But I’ve always told you that young Chilton would have to be eliminated some day. Now that he’s come to Town, the chances, however slim, increase that he might somehow stumble onto the truth.”
“Hell and damnation,” swore Standish as he grabbed up the bottle from the sideboard and refilled his glass..
“Come now, Arthur—think on it. Are you really willing to forgo all that you’ve enjoyed these past years?” The voice was soft but there was no mistaking the note of warning. “How long do you think you would be welcome at your clubs, your gaminghells, the beds of your various mistresses—and all the other pleasures you indulge in—without the steady stream of money that I provide from the Hammerton fortune?
A pause. “Remember where it comes from and think carefully, cousin.” counseled Hammerton. “It’s a little late to be developing a conscience—or feet of clay.”
“I’ve done all that you’ve asked of me,” shot back Standish. “I’m the one who’s taken the risks, so don’t bloody worry about me. I’m not backing off.”
“Excellent.” Hammerton gazed into the fire and swirled his own drink. His cousin would have to be watched, he thought. But then, the fellow had always been a loose screw. He would have to be dealt with at some point in time.
But not until he had served his purpose.
“As for Branford,” continued Hammerton, “the damnable fellow may have unwittingly helped us in a different way than I had planned—but one that may be even more useful. I understand he helped the pup get into Manton’s. It is the perfect place for me to strike up an acquaintance with him and become a friendly confidant. It will give me a chance to pick just the right opportunity …”
His eyes narrowed, the coldness in them sending a chill through his companion. “I promise you, Arthur, the next accident will be the last.”
“Well, well!”Cecilia Ashton looked up from the book she was reading and quickly set it aside. “It’s about time you put in an appearance.” She patted the empty spot on the sofa beside her. “Come, sit down.”
Branford dutifully crossed the elegant drawing room. “When you issue a summons, I dare not ignore it.” He settled himself on the plump down cushions and casually stretched one arm atop the decorative mahogany back.
“Fustian,” retorted Cecilia. “You know as well as I that you do whatever you damn well please.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Tell me,” he said, bending to murmur softly in her ear. “Is your husband at home?”
“Ye heavens, is that how you begin flirting with the ladies?” she asked. “It seems a rather unimaginative way to start a seduction.”
“No,” he admitted. “I do try to be slightly more creative than that.”
They both chuckled—the comfortable laugh of longtime friends. Cecilia then rang for the maid to bring the tea tray.
“I haven’t seen you in an age,” she said, her expression turning serious. “How are you—truly?”
The glint of humor in Branford’s eyes gave way to a stony stare, “I take it that Henry has been voicing his concerns to you, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t ring a peal over my head, too.”
Her gaze clouded with concern, “Fine. I shall leave it to Henry to chide you over the excessive amount of amount of brandy you’ve been consuming, as well as all your other reckless activities.”
However, Ceclia refused to drop the subject. “What I care about is that you begin finding some sort of happiness for yourself, Sebastian.” She drew in her breath. “And I can’t believe that your current devil-may-care activities will lead you anywhere but down the road to perdition.”
Not trusting himself to speak—he didn’t wish to hurt her feelings—Branford fixed her with a quelling scowl.
Ignoring the wordless warning, Cecila plunged onward. “You have always loved Riverton. Make it your home, and devote your talents and energy to creating something good and lasting rather than fritting away your life in mindless carousing here in Town.”
“Make it my home?” His eyes narrowed, and he flashed a sardonic smile.
