The Perils of Pleasure (33 page)

Leaving Horace and Snap in the Redmonds’ down
stairs parlor beneath the butler’s nervous eye for now, Colin lead Madeleine up the stairs to confront Isaiah Redmond.

Colin paused in the doorway for a moment, placing a hand against the door frame for balance. A weari
ness had suddenly struck him. Madeleine paused near enough to touch him, near enough for him to smell her. But she didn’t touch him.

It was a soothing room. Deep browns and golds and creams harmonized in the thick carpets, in the heavy, tasseled curtains pulled back now to let in light, in the plush brushed velvet and shining leather of chairs and settees.

Isaiah Redmond was standing near the window, staring out, it seemed, at nothing in particular. There was something almost melancholy about his stance.

They’d caught him in an unguarded moment, indeed.

Good.

Colin cleared his throat, and Isaiah Redmond turned.

His face registered Colin and Madeleine and the two drawn pistols; his complexion, so youthful for its age, went the color of parchment. But his expression never once changed, nor did his posture. And Colin nearly admired him for it.

Still, Redmond said nothing at all. Colin would have been even more impressed if he’d at least mustered an ironic greeting.

Then again, Colin hadn’t precisely planned what he’d intended to say, either. He saw, shining atop a spindly-legged table, the brandy decanter and two spot
less glasses, and strolled to it.

“Brandy, Mr. Redmond?”

Oh, quite the glib opening. Bloody habit of polite
ness. He saw the faint incredulousness in Madeleine’s expression. Doubtless she was growing used to it. But brandy wasn’t an entirely absurd suggestion, as Colin didn’t want Redmond to drop dead of shock before he had the satisfaction of hearing the man’s confes
sion. Also, brandy had life-giving properties, and Colin hadn’t tasted a drop in ages.

“Mr. Eversea . . . ” Redmond began. He sounded almost condescending. Though his eyes never did leave the pistols.

“I think
I’ll
have a brandy,” Colin mused. He poured a glass with the hand not holding the pistol, astonished that his hand didn’t shake. He sipped it. It was all bra
vado, however, as he couldn’t taste it, which seemed a damned pity, because doubtless Redmond had splendid brandy.

“We’ve found Horace Peele, Mr. Redmond.” Colin said this almost idly. “You should know by now that Everseas always prevail.”

It felt strange to say it, for it was family legend and had always felt like melodrama. For the fi rst time Colin knew it, felt it, to be true.

Redmond’s brows flew up. He had the nerve to look faintly contemptuous.

“Oh, Everseas certainly prevail.” His voice was ele
gant, modulated. One would have thought he’d prepared a speech in anticipation of Colin’s arrival. “Throughout history you’ve prevailed at horse theft, piracy, smug
gling, and other things that shall remain unmentioned, things you likely don’t even know about, young man, but are bound to discover and perpetuate. For that’s your legacy. But Mr. Eversea, there’s something you should know.”

“I’m all ears, Mr. Redmond,” Colin said softly.

“I didn’t do it.” Redmond smiled a little at that. As if at some private joke.

Colin shook his head ruefully. “Oh, they’ll love that story in Newgate, Mr. Redmond. It’s the song every
one sings there. They might in fact invent a song for
you
when you go to the gallows. More difficult to fi nd
words that rhyme with Redmond, but we’ve some tal
ented bards here in London.”

He once again felt Madeleine’s dark eyes on him. She would probably never cease marveling at the way he turned glib in extraordinary circumstances.

“No, Mr. Eversea. You see, I didn’t do it.” Redmond had begun to sound mildly entertained. As though waiting to hear what Colin would do next.

And suddenly it was all Colin could do to not throw the glass of brandy into his smug, elegant face.

He drew in a steadying breath. “You sent your man Baxter to pay Horace Peele to disappear, Redmond, and used threats to keep him from returning, and sent me to prison and to the gallows. All in the name of a
feud
.” He said that last word incredulously, though it was as important to the Everseas as it was to the Redmonds.

“I did nothing of the sort.” Redmond was still calm. His eyes flicked down to the pistol, over at Madeleine. Green eyes, his were. Reflected light like gems when they moved quickly.

Colin strived to sound bored. He managed a bit of a sigh, though his muscles were taut with fury. “All right, Mr. Redmond, this is what we’ll do. I’ll have the satis
faction of your confession first. And then my friend and I will take you to the Home Secretary so
he
can hear it. But I won’t leave your home without it, and I won’t leave without you.”

It was Redmond’s turn to sigh. “Mr. Eversea. I’m terribly sorry to steal your thunder.” He managed a tone of amused regret. “But it’s over. My man of af
fairs, Mr. Baxter, has been arrested for embezzling funds from the Mercury Club. Through a sense of mis
guided loyalty to me,
he
decided to pay Horace Peele
to disappear, thinking it would please me immensely, given the history of the Redmonds and Everseas, and given the issue of . . . Lyon.” And this word, the name of his missing son, clearly did not fall easily from his tongue. “Baxter paid himself a higher salary in order to accomplish all of this—paying Peele to disappear. This is what the Home Secretary thinks, anyhow, Mr. Eversea. Mr. Baxter will be transported in due course. There will be
no
scandal, my name will not be men
tioned in the papers, which is something your family has never been able to avoid, thanks in large part to you, and there’s absolutely no proof otherwise. Should Mr. Baxter
intimate
otherwise . . . well, he’ll be on his way to Botany Bay shortly, so it will hardly matter. Nothing you do or say will change this, Mr. Eversea, and I doubt you wish to subject your family to pro
longed pain and scandal. Though you’re an Eversea, after all.” Faint, dry scorn in the last sentence.

Colin took everything he said in with an increasing sense of desperation. It was brilliant. It was also likely a skillful, elegant, airtight lie, and he could see noth
ing,
nothing
at all, he could do about it if that were indeed the case. Weariness suddenly swamped him. He struggled to keep it from his voice.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you will,” Redmond continued easily. “You cannot prove a thing now, anyhow, and that’s what’s most important. And I imagine
your
godfor
saken family somehow managed to ensure you didn’t hang, in the process causing chaos in London. Aston
ishing what families will do to protect their own, isn’t it, Mr. Eversea?”

Colin’s temper began to blacken around the edges, and he heard it in his voice. It gave him strength. “My
family had nothing at all to do with rescuing me from the gallows, Mr. Redmond. What I do know is that I am innocent, and my family and people I love suffered greatly on my behalf. And everything,
all
of this, leads back to you. For the enormous suffering we’ve all en
dured, for the time I’ve lost . . . I want you to pay.”

Redmond had been nodding along, frowning a little, as if this was all very interesting. “How, precisely, did you want me to . . . ‘pay’?” He sounded mildly curious. Did you or your . . . ‘lady’ friend . . . intend to murder me today?”

Colin’s voice was a taut thing. “I’m not a murderer, Mr. Redmond.
Your
godforsaken relative fell on his own knife, because he was a drunken, violent sod. I came here because I want you to know the pleasure of walking the steps out of Debtor’s Door, and looking upon a crowd calling out your name. I warrant, how
ever, you’ll be a less popular criminal than I was.”

He’d at last succeeded in striking fl int from Red-mond’s green eyes.

“Mr. Eversea.” Two clipped, cold words. “My former man of affairs Mr. Baxter has been involved in some nefarious business, and I will deny everything else he might say, and I will also pay well to keep the informa
tion out of the papers and out of circles of gossip, and the authorities know this. My family will
not
suffer. But perhaps
you’ll
be more careful the next time you’re in a pub with a Redmond, as you now know what the consequence may be, and the lengths we’ll go to protect our own. Know . . . when . . . you’re . . . bested, Mr. Eversea.”

These last words were low and ferocious.

Colin at least knew the satisfaction of fi nally rousing this man to revealing his anger. They locked eyes. Isaiah
Redmond could stare as well as Colin could; they were precisely the same height.

They all swiveled when they heard the click of ex
pensive slippers coming directly toward them from the marbled hall, Colin and Madeleine somewhat abashed to be discovered pointing pistols while the immaculately groomed Fanchette Redmond paused in the doorway.

Mrs. Redmond glanced in almost curiously. She no
ticed Madeleine and frowned in confusion, as if disap
proving of her gown, which no doubt she did. And then she saw Colin.

“Oh,
there
you are, Mr. Eversea.”

And of all the astounding things that had happened to Colin in the past few weeks—a gallows rescue, life altering lovemaking with Madeleine Greenway in a barn, a night spent in a room with a seven-foot-tall skeleton—nothing astounded him more than hearing Fanchette Redmond address an allegedly notorious es
caped criminal as though he’d been late to a tea party.

As though she was
relieved
to see him.

And then he stared at her, because he was genuinely curious. The Eversea and Redmond families didn’t typi
cally entertain each other in each other’s homes unless a grand ball was being held, so Colin normally only saw her in church or at ballrooms or in the midst of large parties. He looked at her now, a handsome blond woman to whom he’d been scrupulously polite his entire life but instinctively, irrationally disliked simply because she’d tied her fortunes to a Redmond and bred a whole brood of other Redmonds.

She was a little thicker now with years, but still quite fair. She was wearing dark gold muslin banded with gold embroidered flowers. Genevieve and Olivia would have known the cost of that dress.

Isaiah turned to his wife dismissively. “Fanchette, perhaps you should leave us to—”

Fanchette Redmond turned slowly to her husband, and the look she gave him was shocking. So utterly con
temptuous that he fell silent.

“You’ve done enough, Isaiah.”

A thing of steel, Isaiah Redmond’s composure. He didn’t even blink. “Fanchette, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve done . . . nothing at all.”

She ignored her husband and turned to look again at Colin. “You were supposed to be rescued from the gallows, Mr. Eversea, and then stay put for a short time so I could fetch you. I’d arranged to have put you on a ship, quite discreetly, under an entirely different name,” she said, sounding elegantly apologetic. “When I went to collect you from where I was told you’d be—that dreadful little part of town—you were gone.”

“Fanchette.” Isaiah Redmond said this coldly. “What in God’s name—”

“Extraordinary, wasn’t it?” she continued, bemused, ignoring her husband. “I wondered, I truly did, if it was even possible to achieve such a thing—an eleventh hour gallows rescue. But do you know it’s possible to get nearly anything you want in London?
I
didn’t know, but you can hire someone to do that sort of thing. I arranged to hire someone, and it worked, for here you are, Mr. Eversea.”

Colin sought out Madeleine’s dark eyes again. She looked stunned.

As for him, oddly, he felt in sympathy with Isaiah Redmond at the moment—in that he’d never been more at a loss. “Mrs. Redmond . . . are you trying to tell me that
you
arranged the rescue from the gallows? But . . .
why
in God’s name . . . ?”

“Ask your father, dear.” The words were clipped and ironic.

Colin drew in a sharp breath. “Mrs. Redmond, as I explained to your husband, my
father
and my family had nothing to do with any of—”

Fanchette had turned in the direction of Isaiah Red
mond. Her hand out, palm up . . . presenting him.

“Ask your father,” she repeated quietly.

And Colin felt Isaiah Redmond’s utter silence like a blow to the head. Disorientation. Cold nausea. For an instant Colin couldn’t think or breathe.

The man should have at least scoffed, and quickly.

But clearly Fanchette had surprised his composure from him, and that moment of hesitation was perma
nently incriminating.