Laverre’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline—he might not mingle at the edges of theton, as Julian did, but Cartham’s name was widely known in London, and Laverre certainly knew men who had been unfortunate enough to find themselves entangled with him.
“Indeed,” Julian said, rising to his feet. “Fortunately for Rowanbridge, I believe I can make sure that Cartham never so much as looks at him—or at Emily—ever again.”
“Where are you going?” Laverre asked, sliding his foot off Julian’s desk and straightening in his seat.
Julian gave him a grim smile. “To pay a visit to a gaming hell.”
You could say what you liked about Oswald Cartham, Julian reflected half an hour later, but you could not deny that the man had an appreciation for dramatics. Cartham’s gambling hell occupied prime real estate on St. James’s Street, where Julian had been admitted by a threatening-looking doorman whose expression had darkened further when Julian had requested a meeting with his employer. A bit of blunt smoothed the way, as it so often did, and before too long Julian found himself seated opposite Cartham in an office that practically beggedvisitors to speculate about its decorating cost. There were two Old Masters on the gilt-covered wall, and everything from the candlesticks to the inkwell seemed to be made of gold.
It all fit perfectly with the impression Julian had always had of Cartham himself. He was a few years older than Julian, a minor relation of an aristocratic family who’d been born in America and had made his way back to his ancestral land as a young man. As Julian understood it, Cartham used his distant aristocratic connections to worm his way into every ballroom he possibly could, for no reason other than to round up potential customers for the gaming hell he had opened. The past couple of years since the end of the war with France had seen an explosion in business for gaming hells, and the ostentatious wealth on display in Cartham’s office was a testament to the fact that business was indeed good. Very good.
But apparently, financial success had not been enough for Cartham. Which was why Julian was here.
“You know, Belfry, I wouldn’t have thought you the type,” Cartham said without so much as an opening pleasantry. “You’ve never given any indication you intended to wed, so I certainly wouldn’t have expected you to steal a lady right from underneath my nose.”
This was, more or less, the reception Julian had expected, so he was unfazed by this welcome. “I don’t believe I stole her, Cartham,” he said, reclining in his chair as if this conversation wasn’t of much concern to him. “She is, after all, of age, with her own thoughts and opinions, and she was in no way coerced to accept my proposal.”
Cartham waved a dismissive hand.
“She’s a woman, and as far as I’ve observed over these past three years, she’s a woman who does what she’s told. It was clever of you to get her alone at Willingham’s house party where you could get her allmuddled, far away from her father and myself.” Cartham’s elbows were braced on his desk, his fingertips pressed together, his mouth a thin line. He had dark hair and seemed to have decided to grow an absurd mustache since the last time Julian had seen him. Everything about his countenance at the moment radiated irritation.
“Perhaps you didn’t spend enough time actually speaking to her, then,” Julian said, striving to keep his tone pleasant. “Because I can assure you, the Lady Emily that I know—Lady Julian, now,” he added, with petty satisfaction, “has plenty of thoughts of her own. And she’s intelligent enough to know that you never intended to marry her.”
Cartham looked unrepentant. He wore a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles perched jauntily on his nose that Julian was almost certain were entirely for show, since he’d never seen him wear them before.
Julian waited.
“My intentions in regard to Lady Emily are none of your concern, Belfry.”
And, in that moment, Julian was very, very glad that he had married Emily, so she would not have to spend a single minute more in this man’s company.
“I haven’t come here to argue with you, Cartham,” Julian said. “I’ve come to see what Rowanbridge owes you, so that I can pay it in full—and whatever else will ensure that you never come within sniffing distance of my wife again.” It still felt odd to utter the wordsmy wife—he was not used to being in possession of one.
A crafty gleam came into Cartham’s eyes, one that informed Julian in no uncertain terms that his bank account was about to take a very large hit. And, indeed, Cartham named a sum that caused Julian to spare more than one uncharitable thought for the Marquess of Rowanbridge—and to cast a suspicious glance at Cartham, wonderingjust how much he’d inflated whatever the true sum of Rowanbridge’s debt was. Still, it was an amount that Julian’s flush accounts could more than spare, and he resisted the urge to argue the point.
But this, he knew, would not be Cartham’s full price.
“And?” he prompted.
Cartham’s eyes widened innocently. “I can’t imagine what you could be implying.”
“I think you can,” Julian said, unmoved. He leaned forward in his chair. “Because, Cartham, I’m no fool, and I asked a few questions around town before departing for Willingham’s estate. Which is how I know that Lady Emily had at least one suitor in the past who was willing to shoulder Rowanbridge’s debts, who was still warned off. So I dug a bit further, and imagine my surprise to learn that Rowanbridge had invested heavily in a smuggling operation during the war that went poorly—a few ships lost in a storm, as I understand it.”
Julian watched Cartham carefully as he spoke, gauging his reaction. Cartham’s expression was guarded, his fingers still pressed together, his gaze wary.
“Is that so?” Cartham said, straight-faced. “That’s a nasty business to be wrapped up in, Belfry—almost treasonous, some might say.”
“Some might,” Julian agreed, leaning back once more and crossing his ankle over the opposite knee. “Which is why it would be terribly unfortunate if it ever came to light who it was who first got Rowanbridge involved in this operation.”
Cartham went very still. “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.”
Julian gave him a thin smile. “All right,” he agreed. “That’s fair enough. But please know that I’ve deep pockets—nearly as deep asyours, I’d guess—and it’s simply astonishing what money will buy these days. Like damning letters that should have been burned, for example.” He paused deliberately. “Hypothetically speaking.”
Cartham’s eyes narrowed behind those idiotic little spectacles.
“Of course,” he said. “Was there something you wanted from me, Belfry?”
“Not at all,” Julian said, almost—almost—starting to enjoy himself. “So long as you see fit to stay far away from my wife and her family, I don’t think we need ever see one another again.”
