He might be overdoing it. It was fifty-fifty: cockiness sometimes got kicked, but grovelling begged for kicking. Gaskin stared at him levelly; Nico met his eyes with all the insouciance he could muster.Look at me, the confident aristocrat who is absolutely going to pay you any moment now.
“How soon?” Gaskin said after a geological epoch.
Nico all but collapsed in relief. “Two months would be—”
“One. One calendar month, and after that I’m going to make an example of Evelyn Perreau. I don’t like people who mess me about.”
“Sir—”
“An example of Perreau,” Gaskin repeated. “You heard about anyone I’ve made an example of?”
Nico tried not to flinch. “I have heard stories, yes.”
“When I’ve finished with Perreau, that’s the example people’ll be talking about. And when they’ve scraped up what’s left—” He pointed the knife at Nico, his hand very steady. “You’llstillowe me the money. You, personally. Your cousin’s debt is your debt, understand?”
“I did not agree to that!”
“Should I be talking to Perreau, then?” He dropped the knife and clicked his fingers at a lurching henchman. “Hoi, you. Go get me—”
“No, no, no!” Nico said. “I merely wished to clarify. My debt. Absolutely.”
“A month.” Gaskin returned to scraping his nails. “And the interest’s thirty per cent now, payable to the end of the period as a late fee; I’ll have someone bring you a note of the newtotal. Don’t think about a midnight flit, will you? It upsets me when people do that. Off you hop, little Frog.”
Nico was not really in the mood to go shopping after that. What he wanted to do was curl up and scream until he was hoarse and then… he didn’t know what then. Bloody Gaskin, bloody England, bloody vengeful, defiant, reckless Eve.
Theycouldfix this, he told himself as he made his way to Carey Street, filling his lungs with air that felt cleaner for not being near Gaskin. Eve’s plan was solid. They’d come so close already. If Baynes hadn’t been a murderous greedy swine, or Miss Whitecross hadn’t died, or both…
They’d very nearly pulled off a coup before. He could do it again and get them out of this stupid hole filled with spikes. Pilcrow’s company would silence Nico’s various creditors for long enough that he could sell the goods to whichever collector was fool enough to buy—be damned to moral qualms, he couldn’t afford them—and they’d pay Jacky Gaskin off, and everything would be fine. He had a whole month to do it. Anything could happen in a month.
Nico was an ebullient man by nature, and had a lot of practice in putting unpleasant things to one side. He had mostly recovered his composure by the time he reached Carey Street, and was quite prepared to receive a chilly welcome at the door.
The butler Thorpe did indeed look rather displeased. “Comte. I regret that Mr. Pilcrow is engaged.”
“He is, with me,” Nico said, with the pleasant smile that he liked to deploy against hostility. “We go to buy him the boots, on his request.”
“Indeed, sir. Unfortunately, he has a visitor.” He hesitated a second, and then met Nico’s eyes directly. “Lady Mary Ormskirk has paid a call with Mr. Ralph Ormskirk.”
“Vraiment? And did Monsieur Pilcrowwishto be paid a visit by the Lady Mary and the Monsieur Ralph?”
“I could not say.”
That sounded like a hint, perhaps even a request. Nico would take that, even if the butler’s thinking was of the “set a thief to catch a thief” variety. “Alors, I have the prior claim. I regret greatly to inconvenience the Lady Mary, but—” He gestured gracefully, requesting permission to enter.
Thorpe bowed and stepped back. “Certainly, sir.”
Nico headed to the parlour and opened the door. Inside, Pilcrow was seated with his guests. The Ormskirks had both drawn chairs uncomfortably close to his, and Lady Mary was talking at him, holding his hand in both of hers, while Ralph Ormskirk prodded his knee to emphasise his mother’s words. Pilcrow was doing a startlingly good impersonation of a cat up a tree. His gaze flicked up as Nico entered, and the silent plea was deafening.
Neither Ormskirk noticed. Lady Mary was speaking about sending missionaries to foreign lands, with particular emphasis on natives of Africa running around without a stitch of clothing on, and their consequent need for a charitable supply of knitted woollen undergarments. It was her favourite subject, on which she would discourse for hours, and since she was entirely impervious to hints, the only courteous way to make her stop was a subscription to her Charitable Fund.
Nico generally liked to be courteous: It was a marvellous way to make people do things. Right now, though, he had Jacky Gaskin’s words in his head, and Pilcrow was looking hunched up and harassed in a way that did not suit him, and Nico simply wasn’t having it.
“Ah, bonjour,” he said loudly. “Milady, monsieur, I regret to incommode you, but Monsieur Pilcrow is engaged with me. Mon ami, I must demand your company: We will be late.”
“Late for—? Oh. Yes, of course, late. Oh dear, is that the time?” Pilcrow said, seizing thankfully if unconvincingly on the lie. “I beg your pardon, Lady Mary, will you excuse me?”
Ralph Ormskirk gave Nico a malevolent look. “I daresay the Comte will wait. Mr. Pilcrow was just agreeing to subscribe to the Fund.”
“The most necessary of causes, I assure you, Count,” Lady Mary said, swinging round to gaze at him. Nico had always felt she needed to blink more. “Let me explain—”