Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(80)

“From all appearances,” Lillian said sardonically, “your son was already doing that before the trial.”

Lillian had a singular talent for pushing people over the edge. Waring was no exception.

“He’s a convicted criminal!” Waring charged toward her. “How dare you believe him over me!”

Westcliff reached them in three strides, but Matthew had already moved in front of Lillian, protecting her from Waring’s wrath.

“Mr. Waring,” Daisy said in the tumult, “please collect yourself. Surely you can see that you’re doing your own cause no good with this behavior.” Her calm lucidity seemed to reach through his fury.

Waring gave Daisy an oddly beseeching stare. “My son is dead. Phaelan is to blame.”

“This won’t bring him back,” she said quietly. “It won’t serve his memory.”

“It will bring me peace,” Waring cried.

Daisy’s expression was grave, her gaze pitying. “Are you certain of that?”

They could all see it didn’t matter. He was beyond reason.

“I’ve waited many years and traveled thousands of miles for this moment,” Waring said. “I won’t be denied. You’ve seen the papers, Westcliff. Even you are not above the law. The constables are under orders to use force if necessary. You will surrender him to me now, tonight.”

“I don’t think so.” Westcliff’s eyes were as hard as rock. “It would be madness to travel on a night like this. Spring storms in Hampshire can be violent and unpredictable. You will stay the night at StonyCrossPark while I consider what is to be done.”

The constables looked vaguely relieved at this suggestion, as no sensible man would want to venture into the deluge.

“And give Phaelan the opportunity to escape once again?” Waring asked contemptuously. “No. You will hand him into my custody.”

“You have my word he will not flee,” Westcliff said readily.

“Your word is useless to me,” Waring retorted. “It is obvious you have taken his side.”

An English gentleman’s word was everything. It was the highest possible insult to distrust it. Matthew was surprised Westcliff didn’t detonate on the spot. His taut cheeks vibrated with outrage.

“Now you’ve done it,” Lillian muttered, sounding rather awestruck. Even in her worst arguments with her husband, she had never dared to impugn his honor.

“You will remove this man,” Westcliff told Waring in a lethal tone, “over my dead body.”

In that moment Matthew realized the situation had gone far enough. He saw Waring’s hand dip into his coat pocket, the fabric sagging with some heavy object, and he saw the butt of a pistol. Of course. A gun was sound insurance in the event the constables proved ineffective.

“Wait,” Matthew said. He would say or do whatever was necessary to keep the pistol from being brought out. Once that happened, the confrontation would escalate to a degree of danger from which it would be impossible for anyone to back down. “I’ll go with you.” He stared at Waring, willing him to relax. “The process has been set in motion. God knows I can’t avoid it.”

“No,” Daisy cried, throwing her arms around his neck. “You won’t be safe with him.”

“We’ll leave right now,” Matthew told Waring, while he carefully disengaged Daisy’s grasp and pushed her behind the shield of his body.

“I can’t allow—” Westcliff began.

Matthew interrupted firmly. “It’s better this way.” He wanted the half-crazed Waring and the two constables away from StonyCrossPark. “I’ll go with them, and everything will be resolved in London. This isn’t the time or place for dispute.”

The earl swore quietly. An able tactician, Westcliff understood that for the moment he did not have the upper hand. This was not a battle that could be won by brute force. It would require money, legalities, and political wire-pulling.

“I’m coming to London with you,” Westcliff said curtly.

“Impossible,” Waring replied. “The carriage seats four. It will accommodate only myself, the constables, and the prisoner.”

“I will follow in my carriage.”

“I will accompany you,” Thomas Bowman said decisively.

Westcliff pulled Matthew aside, keeping his hand on his shoulder in a brotherly clasp as he spoke quietly. “I know the Bow Street magistrate quite well. I will see that you are brought before him as soon as we reach London—and at my request you will be discharged at once. We will stay at my private residence while we wait for a formal requisition from the American ambassador. In the meantime I will assemble a regiment of lawyers and every bit of political influence at my disposal.”

Matthew could barely trust himself to speak. “Thank you,” he managed.

“My lord,” Daisy whispered, “will they succeed in extraditing Matthew?”

Westcliff’s features hardened in arrogant certainty. “Absolutely not.”

Daisy let out a huff of unsteady laughter. “Well,” she said, “I am willing to take your word, my lord, even if Mr. Waring is not.”

“By the time I’m finished with Waring…” Westcliff muttered, and shook his head. “Pardon. I will tell the servants to ready my carriage.”