“As do I,” Sebastian agreed. “As do I.”
He was sitting in the same booth in the same tavern where he had met Mr. Ramsay earlier this week. This time, Sebastian positioned himself such that his back was facing the neighboring booth. In that booth, directly behind him, sat Giles, his back facing Sebastian so that to an observer, it would appear as if the two men did not know one another. Certainly, they had not come together.
The tavern was not quite as empty as the last time. There were the same drunks peppered across the various tables, heads bowed, drinks in hand, keeping to themselves as they drank away their sorrows. But they weren’t who mattered.
Sebastian scanned the bar, taking note of the five new faces he had brought with him. They were dressed plainly, also with drinks in hand, also appearing to the casual observer as little more than drunks. Only, they were anything but.
He caught the eye of the one closest to him, a large man with dark hair and severe features. He nodded once when he saw Sebastian watching him, indicating that he and his men were ready.
This had better work. Although I can't imagine how it won’t. Mr. Ramsay has dictated terms until now, moving the pieces as he needs them because, in his mind, he has all the power. It’s time I take control of the game and put an end to it once and for all.
It was a brilliant plan, or so Sebastian thought. And so simple was it that he could not believe he hadn’t considered it sooner.
Mr. Ramsay was a problem. But it wasn’t enough to simply tell people what he was doing, to try and smear his name so that his word would hold no sway.
After all, who would believe such things were he to deny them? And even if some did, there would be many others who might consider the truth of his accusations and thus lend credence to the filth he threatened to spew.
If Sebastian were to stop Mr. Ramsay in his tracks, he needed witnesses. He needed proof that Mr. Ramsay was a no-good charlatan whose word could not be trusted. He needed to cut the legs out from under the vile man, crippling his image and putting an end to his schemes once and for all.
Hence, the plan.
“Hang on…”
The door to the tavern opened suddenly, and Sebastian straightened, certain it was Mr. Ramsay. He was already tenminutes late, and despite his assurances that nothing was amiss, Sebastian was starting to grow nervous.
Through the door waddled an overweight urchin who limped toward the bar and fell into a stool. Certainly not Mr. Ramsay.
“Bastard!” Sebastian cursed.
“Not him?” Giles asked over his shoulder.
“Not yet,” Sebastian hissed. “Any moment now. Stay ready.”
It was just last evening when Sebastian sent the letter to Mr. Ramsay, requesting another meeting at once. In the said letter, he claimed that he found new pages written by Helena, revisions of the manuscript that Mr. Ramsay now held.
Knowing how eager Mr. Ramsay was to publish the work, not to mention his insistence that the novel would become the stuff of legend, Sebastian had no doubt the publisher would want these new pages for himself. Thus, he requested this meeting, demanding it be taken care of as soon as possible.
Once that letter was sent, he rode into London and commissioned a meeting with the Bow Street Runners. They were a private police force of high reputation, and when he told them of the blackmail attempts by Mr. Ramsay, they were only too happy to help.
Five of them were sitting across the bar, waiting for Sebastian’s signal to make the arrest. And another five were waiting outside, in case Mr. Ramsay tried to flee.
As to Giles’s involvement? He was to bear witness, as having a fellow lord corroborate the story could only help confirm Sebastian’s claims.
And once Mr. Ramsay was taken care of, Sebastian would explain to Helena why he said the horrible things he had and hope that she forgave him.
She will forgive me. She will see that I did what I did for the right reasons. She will understand, and all of this will be a bad memory.
Sebastian had to believe that. The only problem, as he saw it, was how much he hurt Helena. Since fleeing the estate the previous evening, she had not returned, and he had to assume that she had gone to her parents’ to spend a few days away from him.
She was clearly furious. Clearly heartbroken. But that would change. Ithadto change.
“Your Grace…” one of the undercover officers whispered to him from across the tavern. “It looks like your boy won’t show up.”
“He will show up,” Sebastian snapped. “And stay in character. If he sees you speaking to me, he will likely turn and run.”
“It doesn’t look good,” Giles agreed. “He’s over ten minutes late now. What if he doesn’t come?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Sebastian argued, his body tense, nerves mounting because he was starting to think the same. “He has no reason not to.”
