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As Sterling had thought might be the case, by the time he and Elizabeth, along with Mr. Stanley, had arrived by carriage at Whitlow House, Melborne and Lincoln were also there. They had been accompanied by Robert Granger, their friend Plymouth’s heir.
Sterling, like the other Ruthless Dukes, had little time for Granger, who was ten years their junior and something of a fop. The clothing he wore today, a pale blue superfine, red waistcoat, white pantaloons, and a paisley patterned neckcloth in severalshades of green, was testament to that. His dark hair was also far longer than was fashionable.
Melborne had taken Sterling briefly aside and explained that he and the other Ruthless Dukes had decided Granger’s stubborn insistence in accompanying them would give them all the perfect opportunity to observe Granger’s reaction to knowing his cousin, Spencer Granger, the previous Duke of Plymouth, had been murdered.
Sterling could find no argument with that.
Those three dukes were accompanied by two other men, sent by the Prince Regent, Melborne also explained, who were instructed to arrest the Earl of Whitlow and bring him in for questioning.
“Unhand me, you oafs!” Whitlow wrenched his arms free of those men before turning to scowl. “Perhaps you might care to explain why I have three of Prinny’s lackeys in my sitting room and a brightly colored peacock?” His gaze raked scathingly over Robert Granger.
“We’re hardly that,” Lincoln dismissed. “And you have not been granted the privilege of addressing him as Prinny.”
“You are right. Popinjay is a far better name for him,” the earl derided.
“I trust you two gentlemen are listening to all of this?” Melborne drawled. “That you will duly pass the comments along to your employer?”
“Their employer?” Whitlow prompted sharply.
One of the unnamed gentlemen puffed out his chest. “We ’as theprivilegeof being employed by, and on the business of, ’Is Majesty, the Prince Regent.”
Whitlow swallowed audibly before turning his accusing gaze upon the only woman in the room. “I might have known you would find your way back into Bristol’s bed at the earliest opportunity. I warned Thomas you were no better than a who—”The rest of the word was cut off by Sterling’s fist making contact with the earl’s chin, knocking the older man to the carpeted floor.
Sterling stood over him. “Youare nothing more than a murderer and a thief and therefore unworthy of even breathing the same air as Elizabeth.”
The earl wiped the blood from his lips as he rose slowly back to his feet. “I have done nothing more than try to enforce good manners and breeding into the gel.”
Sterling eyed him with distaste. “You have beaten, and half-starved her. We had thought you might also have received remuneration for arranging to have our friend Plymouth murdered at Waterloo. Not now, Granger,” he bit out as the younger man gasped before taking a threatening step toward Whitlow.
A shocked visceral reaction that proved his innocence in his cousin’s murder?
Hardly, but it was a start.
The younger man gave him a narrow-eyed glare which promised further conversation on this subject, but otherwise remained silent.
“We have since learned,” Sterling continued firmly, “that you committed filicide by murdering your own son. You also killed his lawyer. All so that you might steal your son’s inheritance.” It was a bold accusation to have made so soon into the conversation, but Sterling really had no stomach for bandying words with a man as despicable as Whitlow.
Whitlow’s head reared back. “You cannot prove—”
Mr. Stanley spoke up. “I assure you,Ihave gathered all the evidence necessary, including an eyewitness, for you to be charged and found guilty of all your crimes.”
“There was no eyewitness,” Whitlow dismissed triumphantly.
“Mr. Shaeffer’s clerk did not succumb to his injuries, dire as they were,” Mr. Stanley took pleasure in informing him. “He recalls recognizing a man on horseback seconds before their coach was run off the road. You were the man he saw.”
“I was told there were no survivors,” Whitlow accused.
“That is probably because, to a man like you, your informant would not have thought you would be in the least interested in whether a mere clerk had lived or died,” Mr. Stanley derided.
The earl gave them all a scathing glance. “You have no proof that any of what you are accusing me of took place.”
“We have the proof of Thomas’s will,” Elizabeth assured.
“I doubt that.”
“Because you have it locked away in the safe in your study?” Elizabeth said knowingly.
“Hold your tongue, missy—” The earl broke off the moment he realized what he had done, because Elizabeth, the woman he utterly despised, had challenge him so boldly.
