Page 118 of Rules for Ruin

Compton’s gaze narrowed.

“The proof is there for anyone to see,” she said. “Do you dispute the fact?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“My gift to you on the eve of our marriage,” Effie quoted. “But you didn’t marry Elizabeth Wingard, did you?”

Something dangerous glimmered in Compton’s eyes.

“You had a contract with her and you breached it. You kept her books. You took her fortune. You defrauded her, and presumed that shame would keep her silent. But you have been the author of your own downfall. Your greed and lust for riches have done you in.”

Compton moved closer to her. “Where have you heard this nonsense? From Royce? From someone else?”

“From Miss Wingard, naturally.”

His face betrayed a flare of uncertainty. “Miss Wingard is dead.”

Effie would have loved to tell him the truth, that Elizabeth Wingard was alive and thriving. But Miss Corvus desired her past self to remain dead. Effie must respect her wishes.

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “And her voice cries out from the grave. Too long you’ve evaded justice. Consider this your reckoning.”

He stared at her, all traces of doubt gone. His face went hard with calculation. “What do you want of me? Money?”

“No, not money.”

“What, then?”

“Resign from Parliament,” she said. “Write a public letter of apology, acknowledging your crimes against women.”

Compton gave a sudden laugh. It was a chilling sound, short and contemptuous. “Like all females, you overreach yourself.” He took a step toward Effie, lowering his voice. “Do you imagine your threats can harm me? You’re no one. You have no family or connections. No money. You might have made an interesting diversion in the bedchamber, but let us be frank, my dear. You are in no ways my equal.”

“On that we can agree,” Effie said.

“A word from me and you’ll be hauled to prison. No one will save you, nor will they wish to do so. Society has no love for violent, conniving females. When they hang you, the crowds will cheer as your neck snaps.”

Effie’s heart beat heavily. This time it was anger that surged in her blood, not fear. “A diverting picture. I trust you’ll enjoy the spectacle from your cell at Newgate.”

Compton loomed over her, gritting his teeth. “Who do you think you’re speaking to? Do you imagine you know me? That I’m a man to be trifled with?”

“Oh, but I do know you, my lord. I know you well, indeed. Ask your mistress. Ask your daughter. You have no idea of what I’ve set in motion. You, sir, are on the brink of being besieged on every front.”

Compton reached for her.

Effie stepped back, avoiding his grasp by inches. “Have a care, sir. Do recall that violence is the last resort of a desperate man.”

His expression hardened. “Enough of these games. Return the book, and we shall end this amicably. I’ll allow you to leave London under your own power.”

“A generous offer. I fear I must decline it.”

“Don’t be hasty, Miss Flite. Think on it. I will await your answer. I give you until two o’clock today.”

“You will wait in vain, my lord,” she said.

His lips curled into a smile that had more in common with a sneer. “We shall see.” Turning on his heel, he exited the room.

Effie pressed a trembling hand to her midriff. Her stomach was roiling and her pulse was pounding in her ears. She remained in the drawing room until she heard the fading tread of footsteps descending to the hall. Venturing out on the landing, she peered down in time to see the front door shut.

The instant it did, Effie dashed upstairs to collect her things. She found her bedchamber door standing open.