The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(82)

“You cannot have me . . . arrested!” Sir James sputtered indignantly. “Think of the scandal. Your mother and sister. Why, it would—”

“Enough! I can do whatever I damn well please, James, including having you sent to the hulks, if I bloody well choose.”

He needed to speak with James alone. As much as he wished otherwise, this was family business and no one should overhear it. He turned to Hollister’s man. “Watch the entrance to the alley.” The man nodded, took a few steps toward the street, and turned his back.

Simon narrowed his eyes on James. “Give me one good reason not to strangle you here and now.”

James pushed away from the brick wall, straightened his clothing. “Sybil would never forgive you. And not even peers are able get away with murder.”

“They can if they’re smart about it. I daresay I’d be lauded as a hero in this case.” Simon crossed his arms to keep from throttling James. “I cannot believe you thought this scheme would work. I should just put a ball in your bloody duplicitous heart.”

“So do it!” the other man shot back, throwing up his hands. “I have nothing left to live for. We’re completely done for. You’ve taken all our money, and I’m forced to depend on the kindness of relatives like a . . . a damned spinster aunt. You—”

“So the answer is to blackmail me? Hell, James, what else could I do? You spend every farthing you get your hands on. You’re determined to drag my sister down with you, and I will not have it. You’ll not bankrupt the estate. Not as long as I am the head of the family.”

“As if we all need a reminder you are the mighty and powerful Earl of Winchester,” James sneered.

Simon’s jaw clenched tightly. Shouldn’t his brother-in-law be begging for forgiveness right now? He took a calming breath. “Who put you up to this? I know this was not your idea.”

“How do you know that? I am more clever than you give me credit for!”

“I give you precisely the credit you deserve, you notorious nincompoop. Now tell me who you have been working with.”

“Why should I tell you anything?”

Simon stalked forward, wrapped a fist around James’s cravat, and shoved him against the rough brick. “Because if you do not, I will cut off your bollocks and feed them to the pigs. Start explaining, James.”

James pressed his lips together, spite glittering in his eyes.

“Fine,” Simon said, calmly. He released his hold—only to plow a fist in James’s belly. The man doubled over, wheezing. Simon straightened his cuffs and waited for him to recover.

“Piss. Off,” James rasped.

Simon wrapped his fingers around James’s throat, yanking the man upright and slamming him into the brick. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

James said nothing, his gaze openly hostile, so Simon leaned in to snarl, “I shall squeeze your throat until you tell me what I want to know. If you do not tell me, I’ll cut off your supply of air.”

“You would not dare,” James returned, though his gaze darted over Simon’s shoulder nervously, as if looking for assistance.

“Wouldn’t I?” Simon tightened his fist across James’s windpipe and James yelped. “It’s the perfect place to kill you. They shall find your body in this alley and assume you were set upon by a thief or ruffian. No one will ever suspect me.” James began to struggle, but Simon was considerably larger and stronger. His brother-in-law turned a nice shade of red.

“Let me go, you madman!”

“No chance,” Simon bit out. “Not until you tell me who.” To illustrate his point, he pressed even harder.

James’s eyes bulged. “All right! Let me go and I’ll tell you,” he whispered.

“Now, you maggot. Or I’ll strangle you where you stand.”

“Cranford!” James shouted as best he could. “It was Cranford. Now let me go!”

Simon froze, unable to breathe. Cranford? Blackmailing Simon and Maggie? God above, why? He relaxed his grip on James, and James slumped against the wall to suck in air.

“Cranford?” Simon repeated and sorted what he knew of both men. “You and Cranford cooked up this scheme? How in hell did that come about?”

“We’re friends.” James stuck up his chin. “Have been for a long time. In fact, he’s brokered many a deal for me over the past few years. He’s got good ideas and always knows where the solid investments can be made.”

“James, you’ve never made a solid investment in your life. Have you been . . . giving Cranford money?”

“Only when the opportunity arises. Can’t get in every time, you see. And it ain’t his fault when the business fails. He’s a solid chap.”

Everlasting hell. Cranford had been bilking James out of money for years, it seemed. No, make that Winchester money. “No, he’s not. Cranford is a liar, a rapist, and possibly a murderer. Now we know he’s a swindler and a blackmailer, too. Jesus, James.” Simon pinched the bridge of his nose.

“A . . . rapist? A murderer? No, that can’t be right.”

“Tell me how you were to contact him after today’s payment.”

James shook his head. “I wasn’t. Said he would contact me when he got back from Paris.”