“I wonder,” Constantine said, tapping a finger to her chin, “if I could persuade him to paint me once more. That was when he let his guard down in the past.”
Guinevere grinned. “I’ll send Monsieur Lamont to you tomorrow. He does portraits. He’s quite good and handsome. Make certain that Kilgore sees him painting you. I guarantee Kilgore will want to paint you, then.”
Constantine had another thought. “Would Monsieur Lamont be willing to paint a rather risqué portrait?” She could never let him paint her in the nude, as Callum had once told her he wanted to, but maybe he could make her look desirable and provocative.
Guinevere smirked. “Darling, he’s French! Need I say more?”
“Very good,” Constantine replied. Oh, how she hoped Callum would be jealous at another man—a good-looking one, at that—painting her, especially if she was looking as if she’d been well sated. That surely would make him want to do the painting himself. Yes, it was a good idea. But it was only one step. More needed to be taken. “Frederica, would you mind specifically asking Blythe if she can secure any clues as to who Trask and Tate might be? That’s all I have to go on, but I believe those are the two men that Ross hired to overtake the carriage and kidnap Callum.”
Frederica nodded. “I’ll see what she can discover.”
Constantine prayed they would know more soon. She had a feeling that the longer Callum kept these barriers between them, the harder it would be to break them down.
Chapter Seventeen
“Afraid to come see me alone, Cousin?”
“Not at all.” Callum dropped into the seat across from Ross in his cousin’s study. “But it did occur to me that you might have more men lurking about, waiting to bash me over the head and take me to another asylum, so I decided to bring Beckford here.”
Callum motioned to Beckford, who stood to the right of Callum’s chair. Beckford would, as Callum and he had agreed, depart momentarily to discover four things: any unsavory information about Ross that would besmirch his cousin’s reputation; if the servants had ever overheard any conversations that included the names Trask, Tate, Selkirk, or Miss Delilah Dubois; and if the servants had ever overheard Ross speaking with his coachman, Shepherd, about Callum. Beckford would also see if the servants knew who Ross used as a solicitor, and Callum would also try to extract that information from Ross, though he doubted his cousin would be forthcoming. Beckford had two substantial bags of coin to loosen tongues, which would hopefully speed things along, granted Ross’s servants were not overly loyal to him.
Callum needed the name of Ross’s solicitor because he wanted to learn how Ross made his money—other than the money he received from the Scotland estate, of which Callum was about to relieve his cousin. He fully intended to take away all sources of Ross’s income. Desperate men did desperate things, which led to grave mistakes. Callum knew that better than anyone.
“Your man can wait belowstairs with the servants,” Ross growled.
Callum swallowed the triumphant smile that twitched on his lips. He’d been counting on his cousin’s attitude of superiority to surface and him to send the untitled Beckford from the room.
Ross waved a hand at his butler, who still hovered in the doorway after showing Callum and Beckford to Ross’s study moments before. “Show Mr. Beckford belowstairs to the servants’ visiting room.”
“Of course, sir,” the servant replied with the appropriate tone of deference. But Callum noted the curl of distaste on the man’s lip. He didn’t like Ross, which was all the better for Beckford to procure information from the man.
Once they departed and the door was firmly shut, Callum locked his gaze on his cousin. “Why not just have me killed?”
Ross’s face didn’t portray a hint of emotion. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and said, “How go things with Constantine?”
“That is Lady Kilgore to you,” Callum growled.
“Come now, cousin. I almost wed her. I hardly think I need to stand on propriety with a woman of whom I have carnal knowledge.”
Callum’s brain knew it was a lie, but his protective instinct didn’t give a damn what his brain knew. He was around the desk and had jerked Ross out of his seat and slammed him against the wall before Ross could react. Callum shoved his forearm under his cousin’s chin and firmly against his windpipe, cutting off his air. Ross immediately began to fight back, but it was futile, and that gave Callum immense pleasure.
“Listen to me,Cousin,” Callum said through clenched teeth. “If you hurt Constantine, or even come anywhere near my wife, I’ll kill you. I won’t give a damn about prolonging your life so that you can suffer as I want. I’ll simply go ahead and kill you.” He could see that Ross was quickly going to run out of air, and since Callum was not quite ready to be labeled a murderer, he released his cousin. He grabbed him by the back of the neck as soon as he let go, and in one quick motion, he slammed Ross’s face into the desk, effectively busting his nose. With his raging blood roaring in his ears, Callum let go once more and stood over Ross.
“I would never hurt Constantine,” Ross said. He straightened, swiping a hand across his face, wiping it on his trouser leg, and spitting blood on the floor. He then jerked his coat back into position and swept his gaze over Callum. “I see your time in the asylum gave you a hard edge. You can thank me for that.”
Callum didn’t know what he’d expected to feel if and when Ross ever admitted he was responsible for Callum ending up in the asylum, but sadness had not once entered his mind. It swept through him in a great gust, hollowing him. “We could have been as brothers,” Callum said, memories from the past filling his head. “I had hoped for that. But the moment you arrived, you coveted what I had, didn’t you?”
Ross gave a derisive chuckle. “I knew what you had belonged to me long before that, cousin. My father told me so. He told me how your father was weak, and how you were just like him. And you did prove to be weak.” Ross’s gaze glittered nastily. “My father had a plan to take what was rightfully his from your father. That’s why we were coming to see you the day our carriage tipped. Where the devil do you think I got the idea to do what I did to you? My father told me of the asylum with his dying breath.”
Callum stilled in shock. He’d known his father and uncle had been estranged, but he’d never known why. Was that why his father had tried so hard with Ross? Because he’d somehow felt responsible for the discord with his late brother and wanted to do right by his nephew? Regardless, his cousin was twisted in the head.
“Why didn’t you simply kill me if you wanted to take all that was mine?” Callum asked, hoping his cousin’s answer would offer some clue of how to prove what he’d done.
“Because,” Ross said, disgust in his tone, “I underestimated you, Callum. It never once entered my mind that you would escape, and it rather amused me to think of you trapped there forever. I’ll not make that mistake again.”
It was an obvious threat. His cousin was planning to kill him, but Ross was no fool. He had to do it carefully so that he didn’t end up put away for the deed and so that he still got all he wanted of Callum’s, including, Callum felt, Constantine. He had to get the proof he needed, and he had to do so while keeping a sharp eye out for danger at every turn.
“Sleep with one eye open, Cousin. I’m coming for you.”
