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Who lived in it anyway? Maybe a gamekeeper?
"My brother is going to complain," Orlando says with a sigh before glancing over at me. He taps his beer bottle and tilts his head to the fridge. At least he's asking nicely. Comparatively, anyway. I slip to the fridge as the men talk, Benedict's voice a low buzz in the background.
"He doesn't take risks," Benedict complains, "so that option is out."
"I swear my brother's wife encouraged him to take up hunting larger predators in the hopes he'd end up gutted by a lion," Dallas comments idly, playing with some of the chips he has left. He lifts them up and drops them again, letting them slip through his fingers. They click together rhythmically.
"How's he with the help?" Orlando says as I set the beer down in front of him. He lifts a hand and reaches for my wrist. "Does he look at you, girl? A knife in the bedroom is a lot more efficient than any other kind of killing."
His fingers graze the inside of my arm, and I jerk away and back.
Benedict makes a noise of warning in the depths of his chest.
"What?" Orlando says, glaring across the table at his friend. Dallas chuckles.
"You wouldn't say no to a few million dropped into a bank account somewhere foreign, would you, girl?" He asks me directly, and I'm caught in their spotlight, all eyes on me. "A new passport, a new name. What's your life worth, anyway?"
I tear my gaze from his and stare at Benedict, letting the weight of my anger speak for me. He clears his throat.
"Leave off Dallas," he says with a wave of his hand. "I haven't ruled it out yet, but I'd prefer not to—"
"Lose your new plaything? She's not much to look at," Brighton says with a dismissive sigh, gathering up his chips. "I'm done for tonight, chaps."
His insults glide right over me. I'm nothing to them, and they know it. I'm possibly a means to the end of the duke. It still doesn't answer why. Except they're all younger sons. That sticks in the back of my mind like a thorn in my palm, burning anddemanding I work it out.
I melt back into the shadows.
"You'll call the car for me; I'm not hiking up through those woods. I swear they're haunted," Brighton continues complaining, and I feel bad for any of the servants under his control and the people that he rules over. He's a mean, petty little man, and I'm surprised that Benedict even makes time for him.
They all make my skin itch.
"Nothing in America is haunted," Wyoming says with a roll of his eyes, getting out of his seat. "So still, no plan?"
He glances at me with a meaningful purpose, and I hold my breath. I'm not going to kill someone. Not for millions of dollars, and when I flick my gaze to Benedict, I hope he sees the conviction in my eyes.
I really have to wonder if he's serious about this. I thought he was a useless playboy with an empty title, but here he is, planning the over-turning of one of the major duchies in the entire country. How deep runs the hatred he holds for his older brother?
And does the duke return the sentiment?
Benedict gets to his feet, walks to the wall, and flicks a switch I hadn't noticed. It lights up once, then dies. It's a call button, I realize. There are a few in the house for alerting the drivers that a car is needed. There must be a drive, even gravel, nearby, and cars waiting for these men.
"As long as all of you still hold firm—" he says, turning to them.
"My brother's next on the list," Dallas says, sounding irritated, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from gasping. Are they all planning to get rid of their older brothers? "So I'm not backing out now."
"Patience," Benedict urges, glancing at each of them, holding his hands out as if to stop them physically from moving. "If this is going to work, each of you needs to exercise that steel will you brag about having."
Oh. God. They are planning it. Fratricide. Murdering sitting earls, dukes, and lords.Treason.
I watch Benedict from the shadows, trying not to breathe, trying not toblink, as the men file out of the room, muttering with each other. Benedict watches them go, then turns to me.
"And now this involves you as well," he says, "payment for my saying nothing of that love tap you gave me."
The door closes with a click, and I exhale.
"You want me to seduce your brother and kill him in his sleep?" I ask him, incredulous, not even able to keep myself from saying it. He rolls his eyes.
"It's one thought."
