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Prevaricating would serve no purpose. “Yarborough is due to be arrested tomorrow morning.”
“What? But I just agreed not to—”
“For reasons having nothing to do with Eleanor,” Sorin interjected. He then told him what he’d learned that morning. “He’ll be sent to a penal colony—if he’s lucky enough to escape the noose,” he said, taking grim satisfaction in the pronouncement.
“George’s gouty toe,” swore Charles softly. He frowned. “Wait. Why tomorrow and not immediately?”
“Stafford agreed to wait until morning because I asked him for time so I might warn you. It is my hope that Yarborough will simply blame his creditors, but if he learns of my friendship with Stafford, he’ll rightly assume that I was involved. Given recent events, he might also suspect you.”
Charles regarded him with sharp eyes. “And if Yarborough thinks we have anything to do with his arrest…”
“He might attempt revenge of some kind,” Sorin finished for him. “The most obvious means of getting at either of us would be to threaten Eleanor. It would be an easy matter to spread lies from the confines of his cell and tarnish her good name.”
“Perhaps, but I shan’t worry much over it,” said Charles, shrugging. “Who would believe the words of a traitor?” He squared his shoulders. “Well, if the blackguard is to be arrested tomorrow, then I fail to see the point in speaking to him today. I’ll go and tell El—”
“You cannot,” Sorin interrupted. “You must go and confront him.”
“Why? As of now, the events of last night are known only to a very few. Why not simply let the matter rest?”
“Because we don’t know who else saw them. Marston said there were witnesses. He knew none of them, but that does not mean Ellie went unrecognized. And because we don’t know who he may have talked to about last night, and because he’ll expect you to come pounding on his door in a state of righteous anger. If it does not happen, he’ll wonder why,” Sorin stressed. “Then, when they come for him tomorrow…”
Crestfallen, his friend nodded understanding. “Very well. I shall leave at once. Better to have done with the nasty business quickly. What should I tell Rowena and Eleanor?”
“Nothing,” Sorin replied. “The less they know the better. When you see Yarborough, you must give no hint that you know what is to happen. If he is forewarned, he will flee.”
“Either way, the man is finished,” Charles told him with a humorless chuckle. “In truth, I care not what happens to the bastard as long as he troubles us no more.”
“I can find nothing to disagree with in that statement.”
But that night as he sat before the fire at his favorite club nursing his aching heart and his third brandy with Marston, Sorin began to care. He began to care very much indeed.
A group of rowdy young men intent on making merry came in and seated themselves a few tables away behind them. Their noisy discussion informed all in the room that they were recently come from taking their pleasure in Covent Garden. Ribald jests were traded, as well as some good-natured ribbing about a particularly buxom barmaid.
“Come, let us leave and g
o somewhere less crowded,” said Marston, draining his glass.
Before he could stand, however, Sorin heard Yarborough’s obnoxious voice rise above the others, boasting about how he’d lifted the barmaid’s skirts. Sorin’s blood heated, and he resettled himself. “I won’t be driven from my place by such as him, lest everyone think me craven,” he told Marston, who was looking at him askance.
“What does it matter what anyone thinks?” hissed his friend. “By this time tomorrow he’ll be bragging to the rats in his cell!”
Sorin eyed him for a moment. Pride and sheer stubbornness urged him to remain. But reason won out. “You’re right, of course. Come. Let us go someplace less polluted.” But just as he again prepared to stand, raucous laughter broke out behind him.
“I heard a somewhat different tale,” said one of the men in Yarborough’s party. “I heard that her-high-and-mightiness left early after taking ill.”
There was a derisive snort, Yarborough’s. “If she was ill, then I’m the king’s long-lost twin. The lady in question was the epitome of robust health, I tell you. Thankfully, her little swooning act seems to have fooled everyone. Truth be told, I’m just glad her cousin failed to call me out over the incident when he came to see me—or worse, force me to marry her.”
Sorin gripped the arms of his chair until the wood creaked softly in protest. All the pain of this morning’s disappointment came flooding back, along with all his wrath over how Ellie had been treated by the bastard. That this swaggering imbecile should speak so of her, when any man would be more than blessed to call her his wife…
“Force?” said another of Yarborough’s companions. “I should dance down the bloody aisle to be so lucky! The wench brings a fortune with her, and she’s not bad looking either. I’d certainly not mind playing a bit of bread and butter with her.”
Another round of laughter followed, as well as a few more ripe comments from the men. Again, Yarborough’s voice rose above the others. “Yes, yes. Her fortune might tempt another, less discerning man, but I tell you there is not money enough in the world to make me want to marry that succubus. Her…appetites are such that I’d never know if the babe in her belly was my get or a footman’s.”
There was a moment of shocked silence followed by a spattering of nervous laughter. The man had just gone beyond the pale and everyone present knew it.
Heat flashed across Sorin’s skin, and his heart began to pound.
“Don’t,” mouthed Marston, shaking his head.
