Page 108 of Scandalous

Martín dropped onto the seat beside the smaller man. Ramsay took up the entire opposite bench, his knees almost at his chin, a fact that also wouldn’t improve his humor.

“How did you find out?” Martín asked.

Ramsay’s face shifted into the hard, unemotional mask that usually scattered men in all directions. Martín had to admit he did not appreciate being the recipient of such a murderous expression. Here was yet another man eager to kill him.

“Chenier shot his bloody mouth off all over town. Imagine my surprise when I learned from a stranger at Brooks’s that my bloody protégé was going to fight a duel.”

Martín smiled at the word protégé.

“I don’t know why you have that obnoxious smirk on your face, Martín, but you’re not too big for me to thrash it off you.”

“You are not my father, Ramsay,” Martín snapped, bristling at the other man’s tone.

“No, but I’m the closest damn thing to it.” The baron leaned forward, until their faces were only inches apart. “Do you think I rescued you all those years ago and then put up with your shenanigans for more than a bloody decade just so you could throw your life away on a whim?”

“This is no whim, you stubborn, dog-headed—”

“Bull.” The word was soft, like the sound of a razor-sharp dagger being slipped from its leather sheath.

“What?” Ramsay and Martín both said at the same time.

Exley gave them a chilling smile. “Bull-headed, not dog-headed.” The marquess waved his hand. “But that is neither here nor there. As much as I would enjoy watching you two squabble and pull each other’s hair, we don’t have time.” He looked from Martín to Ramsay. “If Bouchard wins, he gets two deeds—the woman’s and his son’s. If Bouchard loses, d’Armand gets everything he has but has still agreed to tender the two deeds. Correct?” He looked at Martín.

Martín nodded.

“Now, you expressed some concern about d’Armand’s honoring his word.” Exley’s skeptical tone told Martín what he thought of the outrageous notion of a gentleman peer not honoring his word.

Again Martín nodded.

“So, to encourage his compliance you would have me offer him something that is in Ramsay’s possession.”

Martín turned to Ramsay. “He’s talking about the—”

“I know what he’s talking about, Martín,” Ramsay burst out, his tone pure acid. “Are you mad? You are going to your death and doing paperwork on your death walk.” He made an almost feral sound. “And you have a son?” Martín nodded, and Ramsay’s face creased into pleading lines. “You have a son and yet you would risk your life before you can ever get to know him? You don’t need to do this, Martín. Let me talk to the man. I will make him listen to sense. And if I cannot, I will know somebody who can. You forget—I am not without friends and influence.”

“I have not forgotten your connections, Ramsay, but this is my matter to handle. It is a matter of honor.”

“You will give up a chance to know your son on a matter of honor?”

“You do not understand! I am doing this for my son, Ramsay. D’Armand will never release him otherwise. Not as long as I’m alive.”

“We can make him, Martín! He cannot compel you or your son to leave British soil against your will—you know that. We can stop him if we just take our time and handle this correctly.” When Martín didn’t respond Hugh asked, “And what about Sarah? Are you doing this for her, too?”

Martín flinched at the sound of her name.

Ramsay saw his chance and pounced. “Does she even know about this? Have you—”

“I have written her everything she needs to know, my lord.”

“But have—”

“D’Armand has a document—something that will force the British authorities to send me back—from a New Orleans magistrate accusing me of the murder. He has probably already given the document to the authorities here. You know they will not let me go free. And you know what will happen if I go back.”

Ramsay’s mouth sagged open, and the carriage compartment became as silent as the proverbial grave.

“How did he find out?” the baron asked, his voice subdued.

“Perhaps he bribed somebody who was at Madam Sonia’s that night? Maybe even she sold him the information—you know she will do anything for money.” Martín shrugged. “What does it matter how he found out? You see now why I must do this? I must get my son to safety now, while I still can.”