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Leopold was part and parcel of Rochdale’s general peculiarity. The servant was immensely tall—possibly six feet seven—and skinny in his black clothes. Someone once likened him to a giraffe in mourning, and St. John agreed. A very unpleasant giraffe. He had some sort of accent that no one could decipher. Rochdale had picked the odd man up during the travels that had occupied him for most of his adult life, and Leopold only added to the mystery surrounding his employer.
“He’s waiting for you,” Leopold said in an unpromising voice, receiving St. John’s wet coat and hat and handing them to the waiting footman, also dressed in funereal black.
St. John grimaced as he straightened his coat of superfine, not made by Weston but a reasonable facsimile if one didn’t look too closely. Appearance was paramount in his position. He found that if one looked and acted as if one belonged, then usually one was welcomed.
He followed Leopold down the long dark hallways, ending up in the depressing library where he usually met with the earl. It was deserted, of course. Rochdale always liked to make an entrance.
A small fire burned in one grate, doing little to warm the cavernous room. Why in the world anyone would want so many books was beyond him. And all these books had to have been acquired by the current earl. The previous one had lost almost everything in a shortlived, profligate life.
He heard the familiar approach, that ominous step that wasn’t quite even, the bite of Rochdale’s walking stick hitting the ground heavier than mere stylistic use, and an unconscious dread filled him. The door opened, and light flooded the room.
“They’ve quite left you in the dark, dear Christopher,” Rochdale purred, moving forward with his barely halting gait. “How remiss of my servants. Or perhaps how prescient. I gather you haven’t come to celebrate our success in your little venture?”
Christopher swallowed. “I did everything I could. Those damned Rohans. Any other family would have been begging me to marry the girl. Any other girl would have been besotted and grateful. ”
Rochdale said nothing, moving to a chair by the fire and sinking down gracefully, his ruined face in shadows. “Ah, but I warned you those Rohans are not like other people. Am I to presume those bruises and cuts on your face are the result of the brothers’ attentions?”
“And her father’s. My entire body’s nothing but bruises and cracked bones. ”
“Refrain from showing me. I certainly don’t doubt the Rohans would take their revenge. You’re lucky they didn’t spit you like a goose. ”
“By the time they found out I’d bedded her it was too late. We were already in London and I refused the younger brother’s challenge. I could have bested him easily—he’s nothing but a boy—but I decided he wasn’t worth having to flee the country for. You know how they’ve gotten about dueling recently. ”
“I know,” the earl said gently. “I’m surprised the two older didn’t challenge you. The oldest in particular—I believe his name might be Benedick? If you’d managed to kill him it might have mitigated this disaster. ”
“They were both in Scotland, taking the girl with them,” Christopher said in a sulky voice. At least this particular interview was going far better than he’d anticipated. It was a balm, after the total failure of his plans for Miranda Rohan.
“Ah, I see. So let me understand this. You were to seduce the Rohans’ sister, marry her, and kill the older brother when he challenged you to a duel. Yet you have failed me on every level. Am I correct?”
“I did seduce the girl. ” Christopher’s voice was defensive. “She just refused to marry me. ”
“T
hen you clearly must have botched the job. Did you rape her?”
“I didn’t have to. Once she knew it was inevitable she stopped fighting. ”
Rochdale shook his head. “I chose you for your handsome face, your reputation as a lover, and your deadliness with a sword. I’m sorely disappointed in you, St. John. You may leave me. ”
Initial relief flooded through him, followed by dismay. He’d been half afraid Rochdale would have … He wasn’t sure what he’d been afraid of. It had been silly. “But what about the money?” he said, trying not to let the panic show in his voice. “You promised me five hundred pounds to abduct her, and then I’d have her marriage settlement. Since I don’t have that I’d think a thousand pounds would be a more reasonable recompense. ”
Rochdale laughed softly, a sound that sent a chill down St. John’s backbone. “You forget who you’re dealing with. Your reward for a thoroughly botched job is the knowledge that I won’t arrange for you to be gutted in some alleyway when you least expect it. And you know I can. I have a goodly portion of London’s criminal class at my beck and call. ”
A cold sweat broke out on Christopher’s forehead. “At least the five hundred pounds. ” His voice a whine now. “I’m out of pocket for the cottage, the carriage, any number of things …”
“Then you shouldn’t have failed. ” His voice was like silk. “Leopold, see him out. ”
The servant had appeared silently behind them, and St. John jumped, startled. One look at the man’s impassive face and he knew he was bested. He opened his mouth to hurl a threat, a recrimination, but Rochdale’s voice stopped him.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. Killing you here would be so inconvenient. ”
Christopher closed his mouth with a snap. And followed Leopold though the dark house, out into the cold, cruel streets of London in the rain.
If you want a job done well you’d best do it yourself. Wasn’t that what the old saying was? Not that the Earl of Rochdale listened to old sayings, but in this case it was true. He’d chosen the best weapon he could, and the idiot had failed him.
Author: Anne Stuart
His wants had been simple. The Rohans had destroyed his only sister, bringing about her death. He’d wanted to return the favor, with the hopeful side-benefit of killing Benedick Rohan, the architecture of Genevieve’s destruction. Though he could have been just as happy at the thought of Benedick living with the knowledge that his precious little sister was trapped in a life of misery with a gazetted fortune hunter and womanizer.
