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CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
“What did you say?” Rhys asked after a long moment when he needed to be certain he had heard Paxton right.
“Johnathan Myers is Lady Elizabeth Livingston, My Lord.” His eyes moved from Paxton’s face to the newspaper on his desk. It was today’s paper, and the column dedicated to Myers was filled with Myers’ words. She had lied to him.
“Paxton, are you certain?” Rhys lowered himself into a chair and picked up the newspaper.
“Yes, I am, My Lord,” Paxton replied. “I did not want to believe it but after retracing it many times, I know it cannot be false. A young woman by the name of Stella Mills assists her by delivering the articles to the press.”
Rhys did not realize he was crumpling the sheet in his hands until the sound reached his ears. He found it difficult to believe Myers and Elizabeth were the same person, and at the same time, he was not surprised. He had seen many similarities between her ideas and Myers’, yet assumed she assiduously studied and agreed with his works.
“If you were able to discover Myers’ identity, then someone else could, as well,” Rhys observed. “Do what you must to keep it hidden. Johnathan Myers must never be found.”
“I will do that, My Lord.”
“I am marrying Lady Elizabeth,” he announced, and Paxton’s brows rose.
“Not Lady Irene, My Lord?”
“No. Someone decided Lady Elizabeth and I would make a better match and told Society about it.” Paxton stood rigidly before him, seemingly unsure whether he should congratulate him.
“You may congratulate me.” Rhys allowed a stiff smile before his brows drew together again. “Do you understand why we must keep this matter concealed?”
“I do now.” Paxton bowed. “My felicitations, Lord Guildford.”
“Thank you.”
“I will take my leave of you now.” Paxton had just turned when Rhys called him.
“Make a list of the names of all the men that Myers had ever written about,” he instructed. “I need to know who might want a pound of flesh.”
Paxton’s mouth curved, an expression he wore only when he was feeling confident about something. “I have every one of his publications.”
“Good. Thank you, Paxton.”
Paxton then looked as though he wanted to say something, and Rhys’s brows rose, prompting him. “I know I should not suspect Faraday for the contamination and William being followed because he is supposed to be dead…but what if he is not?”
Rhys considered that. “We were only told that Faraday is dead. Please look into the possibility of him being the perpetrator.” Rhys hoped Faraday was not alive, and this was not him.
“Very good. Have a good day, My Lord.” Paxton left. Rhys did not think he would have a good day, not when he had just discovered that every effort he had put into mending his family name might be for naught. His name next to Elizabeth’s in the gossip sheets was nothing compared to Society discovering that she wrote as Johnathan Myers.
He scrunched the newspaper and tossed it across the room, a string of curses following it. His hand moved to squeeze the bridge of his nose, hoping it would relieve the tension he was feeling there.
Rhys wanted to go to Winston House to speak to Elizabeth about this, but he knew it was not the rational thing to do. He needed to think about what to say to her first because she had been writing as Myers for years, and he wanted her to stop before she was found.
He stood abruptly and crossed the room to pick up the newspaper, now interested in reading every word she had written and understanding their possible implications. More than anything, however, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe. This urge was stronger than any anger and confusion he was feeling at that instant. Carefully straightening the sheet, he found the column and began to read:
As I predicted, it took only one man to lend his support to Edwin Sanders before others saw the gains that could be gotten from investing in younger talents. It has come to my attention that the Duke of Burton intends to support Sanders. If it is true, then we are about to witness the end of the Era of the Hammer and the beginning of another.
Rhys stopped reading and blinked. Burton wanted to invest in Sanders’ talent? This might cause a problem for him because he wanted Sanders to be sponsored only by Winston and himself.
He was about to go to Paxton’s office which adjoined his to discuss his findings when Mayton walked in, his strides heavy, and his demeanor dark. Rhys tensed, preparing himself for damnation from his cousin.
“Going somewhere?” Mayton asked coolly.
“No.”
“Good, because I would like you to explain to me what I saw in the gossip sheets this morning.” Mayton sat on the sofa where Rhys and Elizabeth had sat the night he found her delivering an article. He rested his elbows on his knees and glowered at Rhys.
