The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)

“You’re not alone,” Oliver said.

It was ninety-five percent of the truth.

Oliver took leave of the company a few minutes after midnight. He was rather surprised when Bradenton followed after him, walking with him to the pavement out front. Instead of ignoring him, though, the marquess called for his carriage and gestured to Oliver. Oliver came—reluctantly—to stand by him.

“You should meet them,” Oliver said quietly. “The people who will be most affected by the extension of the franchise. You’ll see—”

Bradenton laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Marshall. I meet them every day. They stitch my shoes and measure me for my trousers. I cannot walk anywhere without tripping over a worker. Showing me yet another one won’t help your case.”

Oliver contemplated the shapes of the buildings across the way. In the dark, he couldn’t make out much more than the silhouette of peaked roofs, rough dark pools of windows with lamplight glimmering from them. The sound of Bradenton’s carriage—hoof clops and the creak of leather—drifted to them from the mews behind the building.

“I said meet them,” Oliver replied. “Not use their services. Meet them. Talk with them. See what sort of men they are. My sister-in-law and I are organizing a set of dinners when I return to London, for—”

“You mean I should treat them as my social equals? I do enough charity work, Marshall.” He smiled. “Here I am, talking to you.”

If this is a sample of your charity, I’m sure you’re well-loved on your estate.

But he didn’t say it. He held all his complaints in the stillness of his heart, marking them down to accounts earned but not yet repaid.

“You’ve always been amusing,” Oliver said instead. “But there’s no need to laugh off what I’m trying to tell you. Which is—”

Bradenton laughed. “Leave off, Marshall. I don’t want to talk to you about your precious reform.”

The carriage turned the corner, a dark ghost in the mist.

Bradenton turned to Oliver. “You’re thinking about my proposition. You cannot know how gratifying I find that, to know I judged you rightly after all.”

Oliver’s hand tightened, his knuckles whitening.

“So what did you mean with her tonight, then? I suppose if you want to hurt her by making her fall in love with you and then sending her into a decline, it will serve. Still, that seems overly sordid.”

“You can’t hurt someone you don’t know,” Oliver said. And I know you well. “Sometimes the easiest way to break a person is to make him think you’re on his side and then withdraw your support.”

He shouldn’t have spoken words laden with such double meaning. But Bradenton laughed.

“That is why I need you to do it. I’ll pay you no false compliments, Marshall. I admit, I have a personal interest in seeing Miss Fairfield too unhappy to move about in society any longer.” His lip curled. “But you’re clever and too ambitious by half. I won’t allow you a foothold until I’m sure of you.”

“One choice on my part will make you sure?”

“No.” Bradenton shrugged. “One, you’ll dismiss as accident. Two, you’ll doubt yourself. Three times…” He paused, as if recalling something. “Three times, and you’ll convince yourself you were right to act as you did. Three times doing a thing will change a man’s character.”

“So there will be other tasks, then.” He couldn’t do it. Even contemplating this one made him feel sick to his stomach. It brought back old memories, memories he had long since vanquished to their rightful place.

But Bradenton shook his head. His carriage stopped in front of him, and a footman jumped down to open the door. Bradenton advanced forward, “There’s no need for anything else,” he said airily. “By my count, you’re already at two.”

Chapter Five

There were three skills that Miss Emily Fairfield had found necessary in her current position in life: lying, smuggling—and most important of all—scaling walls. It was the last she’d put to use at the moment.

After a tepid ten-minute walk around the garden at midday, she’d been put down for a nap in her room as if she were a child of four.

She waited until the house grew quiet, the servants departing to mop floors and go to market. Then she’d hastily changed her clothing and scrambled down the stone wall outside her window. She wanted to go away—anywhere, so long as it was not here.

She had an unapproved novel in one cloak pocket, a handkerchief in the other, and a determination to spend all two hours of her ridiculous nap outside.