The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)

Oliver swallowed. “Actually, my lord, the last bill was rather conservative. You see, the—”

“You’ll never get my vote on anything more liberal. I ask for so little—just that rate-paying clause I introduced. If they can’t afford to pay it, what business do they have offering an opinion?”

Oliver shut his mouth in annoyance. That would only put this same debate off another ten years. But a small step forward would be better than nothing. “Perhaps we could come to an agreement if the rate was low enough.”

“Perhaps.” Bradenton tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair. “But there is one other thing I need. Hapford, why do you suppose Marshall is so keen on this bill?”

“I had thought his background.” He flushed. “My apologies for speaking of it so openly, Marshall.”

“Yes. What else?”

“I…” Hapford shook his head, looking at Oliver for some hint. And perhaps he found it because his brow cleared. “Because everyone is talking about the issue,” he said. “And if he plays a role in getting it passed, he’ll get the credit.”

“Precisely,” Bradenton said. “It was me and my friends who got the last bill voted down. Think what it will mean if he is the one to broker the compromise. He’ll be respected, elevated, talked about for office of his own. It will be a coup.”

Oliver’s nostrils flared.

“It’s one I’m willing to grant him,” Bradenton said. “That’s what it means to be us, Hapford. We don’t just vote. We give power.”

Oliver leaned forward, wanting. Wanting so hard that he could almost taste victory in his mouth.

“And so if we’re going to be doing it,” Bradenton said, “we have to be sure of him.”

“We do?” Hapford echoed.

“We do. We need to know that he’s going to be part of the proper order. That he’ll know his place, and expect everyone to be in theirs.”

That taste of victory turned metallic. Oliver didn’t know his place. He’d spent too many nights seething at the way of things, too long wanting to rise in power, not just so that he might wield it, but so that he might wrest it from the hands of those who abused it. They’d spent years trying to teach him his place; he’d learned through long, hard experience that the only way forward was to keep quiet until he grew so tall they could no longer shove him down.

But all he said aloud was, “I should think I’ve proven my discretion over the years.”

Bradenton simply smiled. “Didn’t you hear me, Marshall? I don’t want your words. I have a job that needs doing, and I cannot do it myself.”

That sick sensation in Oliver’s stomach grew.

“You see, Hapford?” Bradenton said. “He wants. I have. The only way to make a deal is if I want something, too.” He leaned forward. “And what I want, Marshall, is Miss Fairfield.” There was no masking the venom in his voice. “I don’t want to see her or her annoying gowns. I don’t want to hear her thoughtless jibes.” Bradenton’s nostrils flared. “She’s the worst of the worst—a woman with no birth to speak of, who thinks that her hundred thousand pounds makes her my equal. A woman like her, running about, spouting her tripe… She does damage to us all, and I want her gone.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Oliver said sharply. “I don’t ruin women, no matter how annoying they are.”

Hapford was looking between them, his eyes worried. “Well said, Marshall.”

Bradenton seemed to come back into himself with one long, slow breath. The hatred in his eyes dimmed to mere amusement. “Oh, look at you two. Ruin her? Goodness, how sordid. I wouldn’t ask my worst enemy to kiss her.”

“Then what are you asking?”

The marquess leaned back in his seat. “I want her to know her place. Humiliate her. Hurt her. Teach her her lesson. You know how it’s done; it took you long enough to learn yours.”

For a second, the room seemed to go hazy about Oliver. He’d learned his lesson, all right. He’d learned to keep quiet in public and seethe in private. He’d learned to keep his ambition hidden. To let men like Bradenton see only what he wished to see.

“Don’t answer, Marshall. Work it through your principles.” Bradenton smiled. “But in the end, we all know how this will work out. It’s one annoying girl against your entire future. Against the future of voting rights.”

“I say,” Hapford muttered.

“It’s not pretty,” Bradenton said. “And yes, Hapford, there are times when you might not like the details, messy as they are. But this is how things get done. If there’s something you can’t do, that must nonetheless be done…”

“But—”

“One day, your Miss Johnson will wish she’d cut the acquaintance far sooner. You’re doing her a favor, Hapford. You’re going to be her husband; it’s your duty to do what she needs before she knows it.”