“You were furious,” Warwicke said, lifting a vase from the mantel and studying it absently. “You built everything up. Property by property. And then your brother threw a wrench in your empire.”
“I was,” Harwood admitted. “He didn’t understand what I was building. He kept losing money with bad investments.”
“And worse yet,” Warwicke said, his voice dropping, “he wanted Bryon to marry your sister.”
Harwood sneered. “Bryon was a cad. Jemima deserved better.”
“And what did you do about it?” Warwicke asked.
“Nothing,” Harwood asserted. “But I won’t pretend I mourned him.”
“You made a mistake,” Warwicke said.
“I don’t make mistakes.”
A new voice rang out from the door.
“You underestimated how much the reformers despise you,” Lord Luca said as he entered, his expression grim.
Harwood let out an exasperated sigh. “Wonderful. You’ve decided to join the circus.”
Lord Luca nodded towards Warwicke. “The men who abducted Olivia are in Newgate. They’ve started talking. And they’ve named Harwood as the person who orchestrated it all.”
Olivia gasped behind Evander. He didn’t need to look at her to feel her betrayal.
Harwood rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “They’re lying. They want the plantation for themselves.”
“I’ve been tracking the indigo operation for months,” Lord Luca said. “You were the one piece I couldn’t confirm—until now. Faking a reformer attack was brilliant. But not brilliant enough.”
Evander turned fully to Harwood, his voice steady but low with rage. “Is it true?”
“Good gads, no!” Harwood cried. “You’d take their word over mine?”
Evander stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. “Yes,” he said. “I would.”
Harwood’s voice was filled with scorn. “You are a fool, then,” he responded. “And I don’t have to stand here and listen to these blatant lies.”
He turned as though to leave, but Lord Luca moved quickly, blocking his path. “You should know that everything I’ve uncovered will be printed in the newssheets in the morning,” he said. “It’s over.”
Harwood’s jaw tensed. “Then I shall enjoy suing you for slander.”
“Nothing I’ve written was untrue,” Lord Luca said. “And you know it.”
A smirk slowly crept onto Harwood’s face. “It matters not,” he sneered. “You’ll all be dead soon anyway.”
Before Evander could react, Harwood gave a sharp whistle.
Evander immediately stepped closer to Olivia, his instincts on high alert.
“If you’re waiting for your thugs to come bursting in, you should know,” Warwicke drawled from beside the hearth, “the constable rounded them up before I stepped into the room. Every last one.”
The smirk slipped from Harwood’s face. “Impossible,” he muttered, the first flicker of uncertainty entering his eyes. “They were stationed just outside the door. Waiting for my signal.”
In the next instant, Harwood’s hand moved fast—too fast. He drew a pistol from inside his jacket and pointed it directly at Olivia.
“I am leaving and taking Olivia with me,” Harwood shouted.
Evander surged forward, placing himself squarely in front of her. “Over my dead body,” he growled. If Harwood thought he’d so much as touch Olivia again, he’d have to kill him first.
