Page 46 of The Chef and the Countess

Troy shrugged. “I told the truth. I would never stoop to start a fire. On the other hand, did I hire a couple of dodgy lads to do it? Now that is the question.”

William scrubbed his hand down his face in exasperation. What in hell was he going to do with this boy? “I have made a deal, one to my advantage monetarily speaking, and I don’t want it spiked. Hallahan has connections on the street and within the aristocracy. I discovered that the fair-haired spectacled bloke with him last week is the nephew of the Duke of Gransford and son to Viscount Hawkestone. Gransford is a powerful man, the family is close to the queen, and Hawkestone runs an influential progressive group within the House of Lords. I do not need that kind of scrutiny.”

“So what?”

“By God, you’re thick. No one can know of my double life, which could ruin me financially and in society. And with Hallahan’s connections on the streets, the last thing I need is a war between rookery bosses. Stay away from Hallahan, his business, and your cousin!”

“And I am allowed to let this stand? He hit me!” Troy whined.

“To hell with waiting until summer to arrange a marriage for you. You will be wedded by next month. I will find a strong-willed young lady to keep you in line. Your days and nights of running the streets are over. Grow up.” William had just the lady in mind—the daughter of an acquaintance. Mr. Silas Foster was an American steel magnate, and was in London on business. William had heard that the daughter had traveled with him, and was looking for a husband. He would contact Foster right away and broach the subject.

“And if you jeopardize this deal, I will cut you off,” William continued. “Your mother will be livid when she hears what you did, dragging Celia to that pub owner. I should have discovered where in Spitalfields you took her and brought her back here the next day. What a blasted mess.”

Troy scoffed. “But you did not bring her back, not that she would have come. You were glad to be rid of her, admit it. And you won’t toss me out. You need me to produce an heir. Keep pushing me, Father, and I will make sure there is never an heir to carry on the title. Remember that. You may force me to wed, but the wife? I will never bed her. Push me too far, and I will ensure there are no children. None at all.”

William glared at Troy with a mixture of admiration and revulsion. The boy possessed a backbone when the moment called for it, but William loathed being threatened—first by Hallahan and now by his only son.

“Stay away from Spitalfields.”

“No, I will not make such a promise. I will continue to do as I please. Now, I am going to the kitchen to locate a slab of meat for my eye. Then I will return, and we will discuss prospective brides.” Troy stood and exited the room.

William slumped in his chair. Troy would exact some form of revenge, and he could not stop it. He should never have let it be known that he yearned for an heir--that shifted the power to his son. Perhaps he was getting too old for this game. Should he warn Hallahan?

No. He’d let the chips fall where they might.