In the Arms of a Marquess(100)

“Constance?” He shook his head. “All you could say now, and you begin with her?”

Octavia could not be aboard this ship now. If Styles had her here, he would not delay in threatening. They had come too far for that now.

“Why did you do it, Walker? Why did you use Constance to get at me? You could have done so easily in any number of other ways. You have.”

A thin smile curved his lips. “I took enormous satisfaction in having her, Ben. Having the woman you never had the courage to take.”

Ben had never noticed before how Styles thrust out his chest when he spoke, like a fighting cock.

“Jack would despise you for what you have done to her. Even more so than because you murdered him.”

Styles’s eyes flickered darkly in the shadows, but he did not speak.

“You did not intend to kill him, did you? It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“Of course it was an accident.”

The back of Ben’s neck prickled, his muscles tensing. Styles’s voice had quivered upon the words, but his hand slipped into his coat pocket.

“But you give yourself too much credit, you know. I would have had Constance anyway. That it affected you poorly only sweetened the conquest.”

“Misusing a woman already infatuated with you is not a conquest, Walker. It is selfish cruelty.”

He pursed his lips. “Bitter words. Spoken from personal experience, Ben?” He leaned his shoulder against the doorpost as though perfectly at ease. “Now tell me the truth. We are hiding nothing from one another any longer, after all. Is the indifference on your part a show, or does the fair Miss Pierce have you as twisted about her little finger as you have her about yours?”

“If you harm her, Walker, I will hunt you down like an animal and kill you with my own hands.”

“Ah. I suppose that does justice as an answer.” He smiled. “But aren’t you here now to kill me?”

Styles must not have her. Crispin’s fears were yet unfounded. Ben drew in a steadying breath and shook his head. “I am not.”

“Then you’d best get off this ship, because I, on the other hand, am quite prepared to kill you.” He drew a pistol from his pocket. Decorated with silver and ivory about the butt, it gleamed in the dim light. Slowly, he pulled his thumb back and cocked it.

“I understand this ship belongs to Crispin and Nathans.”

“Playing it a bit too cool, aren’t you, Ben? I am quite sincere in my intentions, you know.”

“You would have killed me years ago if you intended to, like you killed my father.”

“You only became a true hindrance to me when you learned of this business.” Styles waved the pistol, taking in the ship with the gesture. “And when I killed your father, I rid Britain of a dangerous man.”

“Dangerous? My father was a gentleman-politician. He hadn’t a dangerous bone in his body.”

“Indian-lovers should not rule Britain’s interests in the East, Ben. Jack knew that, despite your father’s infatuation.”

Ben stilled. So this was it. What he had suspected, now so clearly stated upon his old friend’s twisted lips.

“Jack did not care about India, Walker. He was perfectly happy with his brandy and birding. Politics were the farthest thing from his interests.”

Quiet descended in the space between them, the only sounds the creaking of boards and the lap of water against the hull, and the muted noise of commerce on the quay without.

“I could have influenced him.” Styles’s voice was gravelly. Alien.

“You murdered my father because you wished for greater control over his heir?”

“I brought a quick end to the greatest threat British interests in the East have seen in a century.”

“You wished to halt him from pushing through Parliament the bill that would have put the Company back into the hands of traders who—”

“Who had gone native. Like your father and his cronies. Men like those are a danger to England. A danger to us all.”

Ben stilled, certainty creeping through him like an opiate, twining in his limbs, numbing him.

“When did you begin this trade in humans, Walker?”

“A year after the fire.”

“A year after you murdered your best friend, a man who loved you like a brother.”

Styles’s nostrils flared, his breath forced now. “I never meant to hurt Jack.”

“Why didn’t you save him?”

A pause. “I tried.”

“Tell me how you tried. You owe me at least that.”

Styles bared his teeth in a scowl, but Ben knew he would speak. He had loved Jack, and whatever he and Ben were to each other now, they had shared that love.

“I set the fire in your father’s chamber, but it spread too rapidly. I pulled Jack from the bed. I dragged him.” He looked away into the deep shadows. “He was drunk. He would not come. He kept saying he was on the field at Waterloo amidst cannon shot, with Arthur.”

“So you left him to die, with my father and six innocent people.”

His gaze slewed back, sharp and glittering. “I hated you for what I had done. For a time, I did wish to kill you.”

“But then your arrogance overcame your grief. You thought you could influence me.”