It had not seemed important at the time. His finding them was a pure accident, and the result had nothing to do with his and Mr. Ramsay’s history. What was more, Sebastian had been certain that he knew Mr. Ramsay well enough to say beyond a doubt that once the engagement was finalized, they would never hear from him again.
The fact that I know Mr. Ramsay as well as I do should have told me the exact opposite. But as arrogant as I am, I failed to consider just how much the diminutive publisher loathes me.
It was years ago now when they first came into contact. Mr. Ramsay, not a member of the peerage, was of the gentry and was desperately trying to worm his way into high standing by wooing the daughter of a baron who was far too good for him but was so broke that her father had been willing to marry her off to save his fortune.
Sebastian had gotten wind of the arrangement. He knew the girl’s father well enough, might have even said they were friends, and offered to cover the Baron’s loans and save him the humiliation of marrying his only daughter to a man as reprehensible as Mr. Ramsay.
Mr. Ramsay had never forgiven him. And the fact that Sebastian had mocked the man in Parliament not long after, happy to drag his name through the mud, certainly hadn’t helped.
“What do you want?” he asked, careful now to lean toward civility because he could sense that whatever this was, it would not be to his benefit.
Mr. Ramsay grinned maniacally at the change in tone. “A great many things, Your Grace. And I have spent these past few weeks considering them closely.”
“Whatever this is, it is between you and me. My wife has nothing to do with it.”
“If only that were true,” he sighed, still smiling. “My first thought was the same, if you believe it. In my heart of hearts, all I really want is to ruin your reputation as you ruined mine. Alas, such things are not so easy. You are a duke, after all, and what can one like me do to pierce through the armor you wear as if you did anything to earn it?”
“If you think that the way to weaken me is through my wife, I should warn you that –"
“Do not waste my time trying to dissuade what I know to be true,” he cut over Sebastian with a sneer. “You care for her, I know it as I know the sun will rise on the morrow. Which is precisely how I have come to realize that the only way to hurt you is to hurt her.”
Sebastian stiffened and bared his teeth. “I would be careful about what you say next. If you mean to live through the night.”
“Idle threats.” Mr. Ramsay waved him off. “Here is what I can do…” He fixed Sebastian with a glare that dripped with pure malice. “I can expose your wife and her writings. I can make it known to the world that she is Henry Monroe and that you know about her stories—those that are not something a lady should be writing. That you encouraged her. It might not destroy you as I would like, but it would harm her greatly. What is more, she can kiss goodbye any chance she might have had of being published.”
Sebastian was shaking. His hands curled into fists. It was all he could do not to strike Mr. Ramsay where he sat.
“What you can do…” He clenched his jaw, breathing deeply. “What does that mean?”
“I want her manuscript,” Mr. Ramsay said. “The Lady Who Would Be King. You are to deliver it to me so that I might publish it under my name. I have always meant to write something, and seeing as there is a wonderful novel ready and waiting that the world deserves to read…” He shrugged. “It is only right that someone takes the credit.”
“You…” Sebastian closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, determined not to break. “You reprehensible, deplorable?—”
“There is one more thing,” Mr. Ramsay spoke over him. “Once you hand me her manuscript, you are to ensure that your wife will never write again. Henry Monroe is to vanish as if he never was, and she is to give up her vocation because, to be perfectly honest with you, it is abhorrent that she thinks to write such things in the first place. A scourge on society, and we would all be better off without her wicked thoughts. Do you not agree?”
Sebastian was glaring at the man like a dog might a cat it had stumbled upon in an alley. “She will never agree.”
“You will make her agree.” Mr. Ramsay’s smile was smarmy and arrogant. “And for an added incentive, do I need to remind you that I know all about your little project here? The orphanage and the children.”
“You—” Sebastian moved to grab Mr. Ramsay by the throat, catching himself at the last second. And Mr. Ramsay, seeing it coming, did not so much as flinch. “What I’m doing is not illegal.”
“True enough,” Mr. Ramsay relented, eyeing the hand that had reached for his throat. “But it is part of a political maneuver, is it not? And if it were found out, I wonder how that would be received by your peers. No doubt they will be rather… reticent about supporting whatever bill you intend to pass. I mean, with your reputation…” He giggled. “I would not be surprised if theysuspected that something is amiss. An ulterior motive, as you are so well known for.”
The anger that was boiling inside Sebastian evaporated. Desperation and dark depression took their place. He wanted to glare and snarl and beat Mr. Ramsay into a pitiful pulp, but that would do him no good. Likely, it would only make things worse.
He looked out the window at the orphanage, his stomach twisting into knots such that he thought he might be sick.
The orphanage was everything to him; the children needed him. And yet, what of Helena? Could he betray her like that? And how could she ever forgive him?
Perhaps that is the entire point. That I don’t deserve to be forgiven.
“It… it will not be easy,” he muttered, more to himself, unable to look Mr. Ramsay in the eyes.
“Oh, I am sure it won’t be nearly as hard as you think.”
“The manuscript is one thing,” he said. “But forcing her to stop writing? I… She would never listen to me.”
“She will,” Mr. Ramsay insisted. “If you give her a good reason.”
