Page 31 of The Rum and The Fox

A tall, thin man eased himself out from the shadows and moved towards him.

“Shall we,” he said, motioning to the benches that lined the abbey with a smile, for all the world as if he was inviting Ash to sit and take tea.

“No,” Ash replied, praying his voice didn’t tremble as he felt sick to his stomach. “Say your piece and have done.”

The man grinned, a thin moustache stretching out over a face that put Ash in mind of reptilian creatures with cold, staring eyes.

“As you wish, your grace,” he said with mock civility, bowing his head a little. “Though I think my note made my intentions clear enough.”

“So they did,” Ash replied, with a nod, staring at him, unblinking, though he wanted to look away and avoid that cold gaze. “So do what you will. You’ll get nothing from me.”

If it weren’t for the fact that he was struggling to stop himself from vomiting as his stomach tied itself into knots, the look on the man’s face would have been utterly comical.

“You can’t be serious,” he demanded, staring at Ash with such shock that for once Ash felt very sure of himself. “You’ll hang!”

Ash gave him a contemptuous look that swept him from head to foot and back again, imitating the manner in which his father had given anyone he deigned beneath him a set down to great effect.

“It’s not an easy thing to hang a peer, sir,” Ash replied, his tone cool. “I am the seventh Duke of Chartley, and I’m afraid it will take more than …” He waved a nonchalant hand in the man’s direction with a look of revulsion. “Than a fellow like you to end my line.”

“There will be a scandal,” the man hissed, stepping closer to Ash, his eyes glinting with malice. “You want to see your family dragged through the dirt?”

Ash forced himself with difficulty to not move, swallowing down the bitter taste of fear that had risen in his throat.

“I do not,” he replied, his tone short. “But if I dare to get rid of vermin like the viscount to rid myself of a threat, just imagine what I might do to perhaps …” Ash paused and looked him over, seeing the neatness and precision in his dress and person, the expert way he had tied his cravat, and took an educated guess. “His valet.”

For the first time in his life, Ash had the pleasure of seeing a man discomfited by a threat of his own making.

“Do as you will, sir,” Ash replied before turning on his heel. “But beware the consequences.”

Ash heard the sound of the abbey doors bang shut behind him and hauled in a breath, walking fast. He didn’t know where he was going, other than away from that vile creature, and moved quickly, darting anxious looks behind him, but no one seemed to have followed. Finding himself in a quiet back road with no one around, he leaned back against the wall and tried to breathe, to quiet his racing heart, and then doubled over, retching into the gutter as his stomach rebelled against the terror that had held it in such a tight grip.

He wiped his mouth on his handkerchief, realising his hands were shaking as he leaned back against the wall. “Dear God in heaven,” he whispered to the sky. “What the hell have I done?”

On legs that felt unlike his own, he forced himself to move on before he was seen. He’d been perfectly correct, of course, far harder to hang a duke than a mere commoner, but that’s not to say it couldn’t be done or that the threat was any less real. Especially as he’d not murdered a mere commoner either, but a viscount. If there was enough evidence to prove him guilty, he’d swing like anyone else.

It had been done before.

Not to mention the scandal. The idea of people talking about him and whispering behind his back was enough to make him want to retch again, and that was without even considering how his grandmother would take it.

Now that … that simply did not bear thinking of.