The room went silent. Even the footman near the sideboard had gone still. His hands froze on the decanter he had been about to pour.
Powell set down his wine glass slowly, his pleasant expression slipping into something more watchful. “Your Grace. Is there a problem?”
Anthony stepped into the room. He did not sit. “You are in debt,” he said, and his voice was even, stripped of everything but fact. “Deep debt. Your estate is mortgaged to the hilt, and your creditors are circling. You have perhaps six months before they call in everything you owe.”
Powell’s face went very still. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” Anthony withdrew a folded document from his coat and placed it on the table. “Your accounts. I had them examined. Every penny. Every debt. Every note. You’ve been courting Lady Caroline because you need her dowry to save yourself from ruination.”
Lewis reached for the document, his expression darkening with every second. Esther’s hand had flown to her mouth. Lord Talton looked between Anthony and Powell with the dawning comprehension of a man who had just realized he was seated beside something deeply unpleasant.
Caroline had not moved. She was looking at Anthony with an expression he could not read, something between shock and something else he did not have time to identify.
“Wynford,” Powell said, and his voice was calm, measured. “I don’t know what you think you’ve uncovered, but I can assure you this is some sort of misunderstanding?—”
“That’s not all.” Anthony’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “You frequent certain establishments in St. James’s. And you have a habit of hurting the women there. Breaking bones. Leaving bruises. Twisting arms until they snap.” He paused. “I spoke with one of them this morning. She was very clear about what you’ve done. About what you are. And she wasn’t the only one. There are others. Women who disappeared, and those who ran. There are women who are still too afraid to speak.”
The silence, however, did not have enough room to stretch before Powell laughed. It was a short, sharp sound, entirely devoid of humor. “You cannot be serious. You’re basing this on the word of a?—”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Careful how you finish that sentence.” Anthony gave the warning with absolute calm.
Meanwhile, Lewis had gone pale. He looked at the document, then at Powell, then at Anthony. “Is this true?” His voice shook. “All of it?”
Powell’s pleasant expression was gone. What replaced it was something colder, sharper. Something that had been there all along, waiting beneath the surface like ice beneath snow. He stood slowly, his chair scraping against the floor.
“You think you’re very clever, don’t you, Wynford?” His voice was soft, dangerous. “You think you can waltz in here and play the hero. Expose me. Ruin me.” He paused, and his smile was not pleasant. It was the smile of a man who had one card left to play and intended to use it. “But I know something about you, too. Something that will ruin you just as thoroughly.”
Anthony’s jaw tightened. “What are you talking about?”
Powell’s smile widened. “I know that Lady Caroline has been visiting your estate. Alone. At night. For weeks. I’ve had people watching her, Wynford, which meant they saw you, too. I know about the boxing matches. The gaming hells. The university lectures. I know everything. Every sordid little detail of your arrangement.”
The air left the room.
Lewis turned to Caroline. His face contorted with shock and fury and something that looked like betrayal. “Caroline?”
Caroline said nothing. She was looking at Powell with an expression Anthony recognized: the one she wore when she was calculating her options and did not like any of them.
Powell moved. It was fast, practiced, the movement of a man who had done violence before and knew exactly how to deploy it. He crossed to Caroline in three strides and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet before anyone could react. His other hand went to his coat, and when it emerged, there was a blade. Small, sharp, efficient.
“Let me go,” he said calmly, pressing the blade to Caroline’s side, “or I will kill her. Right here. Right now. And none of you will be fast enough to stop me.”
Anthony’s entire body went cold. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to move, cross the room, and put himself between Powell and Caroline, but he forced himself to stay perfectly still. One wrong move and the blade would slide home. One wrong word and she would die.
Lewis had frozen, his hand halfway to his own side. Esther had risen from her chair, her face white. Lord Talton was pressed against the wall, his eyes wide with shock and fear.
“Powell,” Lewis said, and his voice was shaking with barely restrained rage. “Put the knife down. Now.”
When the other man refused him, Lewis grew visibly much more enraged. “I will kill you with my own hands,” he added, and every word was a promise. “I will tear you apart.”
But Powell only laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “You’ll do nothing. None of you will.” His grip on Caroline tightened, and Anthony saw her wince, saw the blade press deeper against her side. “Because if you move, she dies. If you call for help, she dies. If you do anything other than let me walk out of this house, she dies. Do you understand me?”
Anthony’s mind raced. He could not reach Powell before the blade found its mark. The distance was too great, Powell’s position too secure. Caroline was too close to the knife, and one thrust would end everything. One slip of Powell’s hand and she would be gone.
And Anthony would spend the rest of his life knowing he had stood there and watched it happen.
No.