In the Arms of a Marquess(102)

Walker cracked an astounded laugh. “You think your henchmen can subdue me?”

“Not his henchmen.” Octavia’s sweet voice rang across the deck, and Ben’s heart twisted. “Only me.”

“Ah, Miss Pierce, welcome to our party.” He raised the barrel.

She paused on the lowest step, her bright gown like an exotic flower in the gloom. Only Abha’s thick body stood between her and Styles’s weapon, but her face was serene.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said. “But I am afraid this is a party you will not enjoy very much. I have in my possession a document written by Lord Crispin admitting to his guilt and giving wonderfully precise details concerning your shared illegal business activities. Quite a few names, dates, and monetary amounts, it seems, although I admit to only scanning the latter. I haven’t a head for figures, you know.”

Ben nearly laughed. But the pistol still pointed over Abha’s shoulder, and Styles seemed paralyzed.

“In your arrogance,” Ben said quietly, “you never imagined he would turn on you, did you?”

“Lord Styles cannot be blamed, really. It is not to Lord Crispin’s advantage to have done this.” Octavia’s tone seemed pensive. “But Marcus is not an evil man at heart. Simply a weak one, I think.” She did not remove her gaze from Styles, but her lashes flickered.

“Show me the document,” Styles said.

“I may not have a head for figures, my lord, but I am not a complete idiot. Do you think I would bring it here so that you could take it from me and destroy it? Really.”

“Does she bluff like this with you, Ben?” he said in a peculiar voice, as though they were sitting across a table at the club together, glasses of brandy in their hands.

“No.” Ben’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. “Never.”

Styles’s shoulders moved up and down in a jerk of a breath. Silence streamed across deck.

“It is over, Walker,” Ben finally said. “You know it is.”

Styles’s arm dropped. The pistol cock snapped closed, echoing in the close space, and Ben released his breath.

“Abha, relieve Lord Styles of his firearm.”

The big man moved forward and took the pistol from the baron’s open palm.

“Now, if you will, Abha, escort Miss Pierce off the ship.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Ben could feel Octavia’s gaze on him as she ascended. Styles turned to him. Ben lowered his sword.

“So you will turn me in, will you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Ah. You have something else planned for me.”

“I want you to go, Walker.”

“Go?” Fear flickered in the blue eyes. “Where?”

“Wherever you wish.” Ben spoke slowly. “But go far. If I hear of you, I will let you know, and you will then be obliged to take to the road again.” He paused. “And, Walker, I have ears in many lands. Unless you prefer a life of wandering, you would be best to choose from the outset a distant location. Perhaps even one in which the people are nothing like you, where you are the alien, foreign and mistrusted. Hated.”

Styles stared at him, face white. “You cannot mean this.”

Ben laughed and shook his head. “Of course I do, old friend.”

“Isn’t the knowledge that I will be humiliated before my equals sufficient for you? That I may rot in prison?”

“You said yourself you have friends in Parliament who would not allow that. It is no doubt the reason you did not use that pistol just now. You expect your friends will wrest you out of this. But, Walker, I don’t want you to have friends ever again. I want you to know what it is to be stripped of everything you hold dear—title, status, wealth, authority over others. That is the humiliation I wish for you now because I know that will be worse for you than any other punishment.”

“And if I refuse? Or if I go then return someday?”

“Then I will do what I must.”

Boot steps sounded upon the overhead deck. Abha would have summoned help.

“Now it is your turn to decide. Choose, Walker.”

“Let me go.”

Ben nodded.

Young Jimmy and two of Sully’s other men appeared on the steps.

“Take Lord Styles to my ship at the end of the dock, Jimmy, and see that he is introduced to the master. Let Captain Agrieve know that the baron will be paying his way to Tunis with labor, and that he should drop him at the port there.”

Jimmy tugged his cap, eyes bright. “Yessir, milord.”

“And, Jimmy, remain with the ship until it disembarks. We do not want Lord Styles to miss his boat, do we?”

Jimmy smiled. “No, sir.”

Styles swung around to Ben, shock in his thick breaths. “You would not.”

“What did you think, that I would allow you to return home and pack your trunks? Visit your bank?” Ben shook his head. “Go, Walker, and do not return. And remember, if I hear of you, I will take the law into my own hands, as you are so fond of doing.”

They led him away, Styles’s back rigid, his face a hard mask of pride, even now.

For several moments Ben stood motionless, allowing the truth to settle over him. The finality. He drew in a long, deep breath. A cleansing breath, steadying himself.