Page 68 of Lover Forbidden (The Black Dagger Brotherhood #23)

Conrahd Mainscowl the Elder hovered in the doorway of Whestmorel’s bedroom.

The male was still laid out upon the monogrammed duvet, but sometime during the day, his clothing had been removed and replaced with satin bedclothes that were like a dark stain upon the paler sheetings.

The room had also been darkened, and something else had changed: There was a strange scent on the air.

A sickly sweet undertow that lingered in the sinuses.

As alarm bells continued to ring in Conrahd’s mind, he took pains to calm himself with rational considerations.

There had been many opportunities to take control of the movement along the way.

Slipups of Whestmorel’s leadership. Suspicions among the ranks.

And then leaving Jenshen behind in that hidden room at their “leader’s” house, still alive, just to punish the male for asking questions.

Alive .

That had been the most egregious fault thus far.

There had been no reason to leave that loose end.

If Whestmorel wanted the male out because he was a weak link, then kill him.

But no, the ego had always been more important to their supposed overlord.

He’d known damn well the Brotherhood would soon enough take possession of that mansion as the treasonous plot had come to fruition, and he’d been determined to provide them with proof of his cruelty, proof of his aggression…

that he could torture someone to within an inch of death and walk away.

Of course, he’d taken for granted that Jenshen would expire before he was discovered, but who could know whether that actually had occurred.

And what a loose end.

Following that? This move out here to this glass house on the shores of Lake George.

They needed to be underground in a bunker, not drinking bourbon and staring out over the view like there was any kind of imperial horizon to contemplate.

There was not a nything to regard. Yet. There was nothing but plans and work, and the reach-out to the Omega’s son.

Which had clearly not gone well.

Not that there were any details.

So now they were here, with Whestmorel overcome with some kind of exhaustion, and no communication, no plan.

“How goes he?”

Conrahd sensed the remaining members of the inner consortium standing behind him, and in the silence, he weighed his options.

He might be able to assume power now, if he killed Whestmorel by smothering him with a pillow.

But his sense was that the coalition was failing, the gentlemales lined up behind him rightfully concerned that two of their ilk had been killed recently, especially last night.

This was getting far too bloody for their constitutions.

Their participation was required, however. Their money was needed, their support was paramount, their commitment the only way to make any of this plot work.

Though there were many others on the periphery, these were the core of the plot.

“He is just resting,” Conrahd lied. “The meeting went very well indeed, and the Omega’s son and he will be in touch promptly to coordinate the raid on the Audience House.”

There was a grumble that could have meant anything.

“We must bear up, fellows,” he said levelly. “We shall give him the day to rest, and come nightfall the next, all will be well.”

With any luck, Whestmorel would die of whatever ailed him and then the road would be clear to do this properly.

And if not? Then needs must and all that.

Conrahd pivoted around and smiled at his comrades. “Come, let us enjoy a bourbon by the fire.”

As he led them off to the study, he was certain they would follow him, for they wanted to be led out of this whole situation.

Separated from their families, enemies of the King and the Black Dagger Brotherhood, they were in way over their heads and all they wanted was relief.

So he would provide it to them—as he himself took solace in knowing that if Whestmorel did not die…

Conrahd, unlike the others, was not above getting his hands dirty.

Very, very dirty.

“Worry not, gentlemales,” he said as he went over to Whestmorel’s display of rare, collectible bottles. “Everything is in hand.”