Montfort took the verbal blow in stride. “Cheswick?”
Baron Cheswick emerged from the copse behind Montfort, looking not at all his usual hale and hearty self, but rather sheepish and contrite.
“What does he have to do with any of this?” Percy asked, the answer occurring to him before he’d finished the question. Rumor had it that Cheswick’s gambling had procured him a small press. Percy would wager his last farthing a scandal sheet was one of its publications. The London Diary, in fact.
“Here is the thing, Bretagne,” Montfort began. “Your activities as the Savior of St. Giles can no longer be tolerated. I know you’re bored, my boy, but I cannot allow you to carry on. Whitehall could have found a use for you. But you’ve gotten in the way of business important to the Crown one too many times.”
“I hardly think our government condones setting up peers in a blackmail scheme for votes.”
Montfort waved Percy’s words away like so many flies. “Our government hardly knows what’s good for it. That’s where men like you and I come in, whether you like to admit it or not. We have the stomach to do what is necessary to keep it running.”
“You always did have a high opinion of your methods.”
“Sometimes Members of Parliament need assistance in understanding the subtleties of government and their role in it. Call it a well-aimed nudge.”
“And how do you propose to nudge me?”
“So impatient to reach the heart of the matter?” Montfort shook his head as if he was indulging a fractious child. “If you can’t wait to read it in tomorrow’s issue, I shall tell you. The London Diary is set to run an exposé on the Savior of St. Giles, who has been using his fame to seduce a young virgin. He has even entered into a false marriage with this vulnerable young woman so he could deflower, ravish, and debauch her. And here is the truly scandalous detail that will set tongues wagging for the next decade.” He paused to savor his victory. “The Savior of St. Giles is none other than the younger son of the Duke of Arundel, one Lord Percival Bretagne. Every moving part is in place, including your pretend wife, Isabel, who through tears of abject shame and remorse will attest to these facts.”
Isabel cleared her throat. “About me.” A slight tremor wove through her words. “Am I just one more moving part to be placed?”
Montfort’s head canted to the side. “Isn’t that all our role in the larger scheme?”
Isabel gave a scornful laugh. “You see, Montfort, therein lies your problem. You regard people as nothing more than moveable objects.” Fists clenched at her sides. “It leads you to underestimate them.”
Montfort held out his hands placatingly. “I hardly think—”
“Miss Fox?” Isabel called over her shoulder. Her gaze remained steady on Montfort.
Admiration for this brave woman swelled inside Percy. Another emotion, too: Love.
He loved this brave, admirable, capable woman with his whole heart.
He didn’t know precisely what she had planned for Montfort, but the man had better be ready.
Isabel was here to win.
~ ~ ~
Isabel inhaled deeply and attempted to quiet the anxiety panicking through her veins and slicking her palms with sweat. This was the moment.
“All this time,” she began, “you’ve been presenting the situation as if there were only two options. Do your bidding and save my family, or fail and lose everything.”
Miss Fox stepped forward. “Those are the exact two options Montfort presented my father and me five days ago in London.”
“But in truth,” Isabel continued, “there is a third option which only occurred to me today.” Her eye met Miss Fox’s. “Shall I tell him? Or would you like the honor?”
Miss Fox’s mouth curled into a shrewd smile. “An exposé will run in tomorrow’s London Diary, but not the one you think. This one will expose a blackmail for votes scheme, spearheaded by none other than the Earl of Surrey’s younger brother, Lord Bertrand Montfort. How many of our most trusted politicians have been compromised? ’Tis a scandal that could rock our government to its very foundation.”
Montfort’s patronizing smile faltered, and his face turned an unattractive shade of aubergine. “This is thoroughly unpatriotic, traitorous even,” he sputtered. He swung on Cheswick. “Has your viper of a daughter been made aware of your debts?”
Before her father could reply, Miss Fox spoke. “Payment of Cheswick’s debt is in the process of being delivered to your solicitors at this very moment.”
“What is this, Anne? There are no monies for—” Cheswick blanched. “Don’t tell me you touched the dowry your mama left you.”
“We can discuss it later.” Miss Fox gave a shrug and a laugh. Both seemed forced. “You and I both know I shall never use it.”
Isabel’s gaze crept right to find Percy’s fast upon her. What she saw there stole her breath away. Admiration. And something more, that unnamable emotion she’d shied away from time and again.
Possibly, the time had arrived to give it a name and a say.
She allowed the note of hope that had been clamoring to sing through her veins its head. Her plan . . . It was succeeding.
Further, after this night was through, there might be hope for a future with this man.
Then she heard it—clear, mechanical, unmistakable—the cock of a pistol behind her. Isabel’s blood ran cold as she—and everyone—swung toward the source. Unhurried, Eva entered the clearing, gun pointed straight at Montfort’s heart. Cold-blooded calm shone in her eyes.
“And what of Montfort’s debt? It is not paid that easily.”
“Lower the gun, querida,” Isabel said, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. Not for Montfort, but for Eva. “Violence will solve nothing.”
Eva gave a shake of her head. “Oh, Isabel, you can be incredibly naïve. This is a unique instance where violence will solve everything. It will end a man who uses people as pawns. A man who doesn’t care about the outcome for anyone but himself.”
“You’re wrong there,” Montfort cut in. “It is all for England. And you, my dear, are nothing more than a deranged woman.”
Eva laughed in a dry manner, which served to undercut Montfort’s words. This was no deranged woman. This was a woman all too aware of her actions.