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CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
“What is happening?” Rhys asked as he closed his study door behind them.
“Chaos,” William intoned, sitting in a chair near a bookshelf. “I received this three nights ago.” He pointed at the bruise on his temple. “He ran away when I fired a shot from the pistol I carried, and I think I grazed his arm. I left London that night.”
Rhys’ fingers tightened around the neck of the decanter he had just picked up. “Could there be any other reason he is after you besides his wish for you to retire?”
“I have no secrets, Guildford,” William sighed, and Rhys tensed. “He wants to kill me because he knows how much money you make when I win or lose a game.”
“Are you certain he wants you dead?” Rhys poured quite a bit of whiskey into two tumblers because they both needed a strong liquor to think of a solution to this matter.
“He poisoned my mistress the day you got married,” William revealed through clenched teeth. “The poison was intended for me because she drank from my wineglass.”
Rhys stared tensely at William. “Where was this?”
“My house in Berkeley.” He stretched his arm to receive the liquor before Rhys offered it. “I dismissed every servant in the house.”
Rhys had never seen him this agitated. “How is she?”
William tossed back all the whiskey and held his glass out. “She will live. I had London’s best physician examine her.”
Rhys handed William the decanter and went to sit in the other chair near the bookshelf. “He wants to kill you to deal my business a blow,” he mused. “That is quite cowardly, do you not think?”
“Oh, it is cowardly but effective.” William was now drinking from the decanter. “I hope you know that he will follow you to the country if there is nothing in London that he could wield as a weapon against you.”
“I know that,” Rhys admitted. He had been thinking about it for several days, and now that he had Elizabeth to protect, the danger was growing beyond the scope where he and Paxton could manage it by themselves.
William’s voice tore Rhys’ gaze away from the fire he had been staring at. “I also want to tell you that I am retiring after the last fight at the end of the summer. After what happened, I do not believe I should be fighting beyond this year.”
The agreement Rhys had with him at the beginning of the year was that he could retire after two more years, but Rhys could see why he needed to do that now. “I am sorry I pulled you into this darkness.”
William chuckled. “Have you forgotten that I begged you to give me your support? I knew who your father was. I knew the hazards, My Lord. And it has been an honor doing business with you because you made me a very wealthy man.”
Rhys raised his glass in acknowledgment of William’s kind words, but he was feeling as if he had been plunged into uncharted depths, and he was fighting to keep from drowning. “I have a cottage in Cullfield where you can stay for as long as you wish. I do not want you to go anywhere until I have discovered who this man is.”
“Running makes me feel like a coward,” William complained.
“Would you rather be dead?”
“Of course not! What do your eyes in London tell you?”
“Nothing, and that is the problem.” Rhys’ frown deepened.
“Will you be traveling to London?”
“I am uncertain, but I might have to.” He could not leave Elizabeth in Dorset, and London was not safe for her. Rhys did not know what he would do immediately, but he no longer wanted to rely on Paxton.
“I think you should,” William encouraged before taking a gulp and wincing. “I wish I could get foxed by this thing faster.”
Rhys stood abruptly. “Let us walk. I think better when I walk.”
“I prefer to get drunk and forget the wound to my pride, My Lord,” William mumbled. Rhys grabbed the almost-empty decanter from William’s hand and set it down then pulled William’s arm.
“You will thank me for this walk. You want to live, and I have a wife to protect now. Come.”
William’s eyes narrowed. “You are happy to be married to her, are you not?”
“Yes, I am,” Rhys admitted. He wanted to preserve this happiness that he had found with Elizabeth.
