“Come now, Marchand.” The earl gave a little laugh. “I’ve never known you to be irrational.”
“We have a witness to your deed.”
He’d told Ginny that he never lied anymore. But this lie was strategic, and necessary. He had Hogarth’s word. And he believed him.
He wanted to see what happened to the earl’s expression when he said it.
The earl was a novice at this sort of thing, clearly. He’d gone absolutely motionless for a few seconds longer than mere surprise would dictate. And that, Marchand knew full well, was the telltale sign of someone internally scrambling to get their story together.
“I can’t imagine why you believe you have a witness for something that never happened,” Sydenham finally said, with a little laugh.
“I have eyes everywhere on the betting floor. It’s my responsibility to keep every single man in my establishment safe, after all. My reputation and my livelihood are staked upon it, as are the lives of some of the finest men in London. And when I made a few subtle inquiries, it was just a matter of the right person coming forward. We know for a fact that the only person from whom the young Earl of Highgrove accepted a drink was you. He was sober when he arrived at Lucifer’s Fall.”
The earl’s mouth worked, but no sound emerged. He was clearly unaccustomed to thinking quickly.
“Oh, and also?” Marchand reached into his coat and retrieved two folded documents. “This is a signed statement from the apothecary from whom you bought the headache powder stating that you did indeed buy it from him and were indeed aware of its properties. And this is the receipt with your signature on it. Dated a day before the event.”
He unfolded both of them and held them up so the earl could read them. Sydenham leaned over his desk to peer at them.
Color fled his face, leaving it gray.
“These documents are not proof that I did anything.”
Yet he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from them.
Marchand ignored this.
“I take it very, very personally that a young man who paid for a pleasant experience, someone who not only trustedme, but trustedeveryonethere, was so grossly abused.”
Sydenham finally risked looking up at Marchand then.
He recoiled from the look in his eyes.
“Come now, Marchand,” he cajoled, sounding hoarse. “I only meant to have a bit of fun. A sprinkle of powder couldn’t have killed the lad. Call it an initiation, of sorts, for a new member. I thought it would be amusing, and it was! I’ve never seen anyone dance on a billiards table before, have you?”
Marchand prayed for restraint. His hands twitched to close around the man’s throat.
“Anything could kill anyone, given the right conditions, Lord Sydenham. Ask me how I know.” He smiled almost tenderly.
The earl went still. For the first time, rank fear flared in his eyes.
“The main thing is that what you did wasn’t sporting at all. In fact, I consider it cheating.” Marchand said this silkily. “And I think you know how I feel about cheating. And what I do to cheaters.”
Sydenham was dead quiet now. A neat row of sweat beads had appeared at the earl’s hairline.
“But I’m giving you two choices. You can tell Miss Woodville that you’ve decided to tear up her brother’s vowels out of the goodness of your heart in order to honor yourfriendshipwith her parents”—he gave that word the most ironic frisson imaginable—“and resign your membership from Lucifer’s Fall. If you choose not to do that, I will ban you without comment from Lucifer’s Fall and strike your wager from the books, as per our rules regarding cheating, and allow the ton at large to talk as they may. If questions are asked about the reasons for your absence, I will not hesitate to answer them truthfully. In both instances, you will forfeit your membership fees, which will become the property of Lucifer’s Fall. Either way, you’re never welcome on the premises again. And if I witness or hear about any comment, protest, or slander regarding me or the Woodvilles from you, concerted steps will be taken to stop it.”
A long, long silence followed.
“I can ruin you, Marchand.” The earl’s belligerence was unconvincing. His voice shook.
“You’re certainly welcome to try.” Marchand smiled politely. “I do wonder, however, Sydenham, what you think I’m unwilling to do in order to exact retribution.”
And with that, he saw the fight leave the earl. The man was sickly pale and resigned.
Had the ancient, festering wound of losing Ginny’s mother to his rival driven the earl to this? Had he remained close to Ginny’s father only for the opportunity to be near Ginny’s mother? Was he witnessing how thwarted love could warp a man? A chill traced Marchand’s spine. Such a long time to grieve a lost love.
“I’ll just sit right here while you write the letter to Miss Woodville, shall I?”