Page 20 of The Devil’s Waltz

“Of course you do,” Christian murmured. It was a lie, of course. Chippie might hand over the cash, but he’d do everything within his power to get it back, and he’d choose his assassins a little more carefully next time.

On the other hand, Christian had absolutely no intention of relinquishing his hold on adoring little Hetty.

Why should he, when he could have the fifty thousand pounds and her, as well?

And once he had her, Chippie would definitely think twice about having her husband slaughtered.

No, he’d have no choice but to accept him into the family.

Though somehow Christian doubted they’d be spending much happy time together, even when the children came along.

She’d be a viscountess, which was what she wanted.

He’d have enough money to live as he pleased, though he wasn’t sure his young bride would find it as amenable.

If she grew tiresome he could send her to live with her devoted father for long periods at a time, taking her noisy brats with her, while he concentrated on dragon baiting.

He was moving way too fast—he had to secure the lady first. And by the time they were married Annelise would be long gone, off to some other needy family.

“Stay here and I’ll go get the money.”

“I think I’ll come with you. I feel the need to stretch my legs.”

“You think I’m going to allow you to see where I keep my emergency funds?” Chippie demanded.

“And it is an emergency, is it not? I also know that you would change the location of your secret stash regularly, so you’ll be giving away no secrets. Unless you have one of your black slaves chained with it to keep it safe.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Josiah said stiffly. “And I’d appreciate it if you stopped mentioning that. If word of my former life reached society it could be devastating.”

“Former? I gather it was an ongoing concern.”

“I’ve retired,” Chippie said.

“Of course you have,” Christian replied, not believing a word. “Shall we go? Your guests must be wondering where their host is, and Miss Hetty might come to check on her dear father.”

Josiah Chippie didn’t like to lose. “There’s a word for people like you,” he said darkly.

“The word is blackmailer,” Christian said. “Though I prefer businessman.”

“We’ll go through the garden,” Josiah said.

“We’ll go through the house,” Christian corrected.

“I imagine you have at least one man stationed outside the house at all times, and it would simply take a gesture from you to have him attack. And then we’d have another bloody corpse to deal with, and it still wouldn’t be mine.

Accept the inevitable and cut your losses. ”

Chippie glared at him. He rose and walked over to the fireplace, fiddling with the books. A small section of shelving swung out, revealing a tiny compartment filled with neat packages. Chippie reached his hand inside, and Christian spoke.

“I wouldn’t go for that pistol if I were you. If it’s been in there for long it will no longer be properly primed, and think of the noise it would make. And I think it should be quite clear that I’m not about to go quietly.”

Chippie turned back with his hands full of neatly bundled sacks. “I accept defeat when I must If this is what it takes to get rid of you then I consider the price small enough.”

Now, that was a total lie on every account, Christian thought, as Chippie counted out the sacks.

He wasn’t the sort of man who ever accepted defeat, and he wouldn’t part with a penny unless he had no other choice.

At the moment he realized that he had no choice, but Christian expected that to be only temporary. Which required him to act quickly.

“It’s quite a bit to carry around—are you certain you’re safe on the streets with it? I could send a link boy with you...”

“I’ll be fine.” It was a hefty sum of money, one that he couldn’t very well tuck into his fashionable pockets, but he certainly wasn’t about to have Chippie send someone with him, someone who’d doubtless try to relieve him of his bounty.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to beg the favor of a bag to carry it in, though. I’ll be sure to have it returned.”

Chippie made a low, growling noise, rather like that of a hungry polar bear, but he simply nodded, tossing a small, embroidered sack across the desk. “Consider it my parting gift,” he said. And there was no mistaking the murderous look in his small, dark eyes.

Christian rose, stretching lazily, and gave his future father-in-law his most fetching smile. “I’m pleased we’ve come to an understanding,” he said. “I knew we would deal well together, as one businessman to another,”

“Get out of here,” Chippie snapped.

Christian Montcalm scooped up the money, placed it in the soft velvet bag and gave Chippie a mocking bow.

He could see Chippie’s eyes dart back to the open panel, doubtless considering whether to risk using the gun, but he clearly thought better of it. He’d try something soon, though, and the quicker Christian put his plan into motion the better.

“Good evening, sir,” he murmured.

“Goodbye,” Chippie snarled. He stood there, motionless, as Christian Montcalm sauntered gracefully out of the room.

William Dickinson knew when a cause was lost. He’d known even before he’d traveled to London, but he’d risked everything for one last glimpse of her.

He was from yeoman stock, an old family of impeccable lineage with no aspirations beyond the careful managing of his estate and the surrounding villages.

His father was the local squire, a good man and one William hoped to emulate.

And in truth, Hetty was too far above him to spend her life as the wife of a country gentleman—too beautiful and too wealthy for such a simple man.

He knew it, accepted it. But he couldn’t help dreaming.

If she really did come to meet him, as Miss Kempton said she would, then he could tell her goodbye. Give her up to a grander future than he could ever provide.

But not with someone like Christian Montcalm. He’d heard the rumors, and a man like that wasn’t worthy of a treasure like Hetty. She’d be better off in the country than tied to a scoundrel like him.

Josiah Chippie wasn’t going to let that happen, though. If he wouldn’t let his only child throw herself away on a wealthy country family, he’d hardly let her go to an impoverished rakehell with a title that wasn’t even his yet.

Will sat down on the marble bench, then turned to keep his eyesight away from the offending statue. For some reason Chippie thought these obscene Greek marbles made him refined. With Chippie it was a lost cause.

It was a wonder that Hetty was as sweet and delicate as she was, but she could thank her mother for that.

The poor woman had always looked a little afraid of her mostly absent husband, but she had raised her daughter well until her sudden, unexpected death.

Hetty could look almost as high as she wanted for a good marriage, and Will had long ago accepted that fact.

He just wanted to say goodbye. To wish her Godspeed. To tell her he’d accepted her decision gracefully, knew she didn’t love him, and in fact, that he had moved on himself and would be marrying Miss Augusta Davies (or at least, as soon as he asked her, since she’d been chasing him for years now).

When he saw Hetty coming toward him his heart leaped in his throat. He rose, turning his back on the stable, straightening his already neat clothing, his graceful departing speech all prepared.

She slipped into the garden, closing the door behind her. She was a vision of pink and lace and glittering gems, her artful tangle of blond curls like a halo, her perfect rosebud lips pouting, and angelic blue eyes wide with love, and he melted.

“Oh, bloody Christ, Hetty!” he exploded. “I can’t live without you!” And ignoring his promise to Miss Kempton, his vows to himself, his duty to his parents, and his sense of honor and decorum, he swept Hetty into his arms and planted his mouth on hers in one long, bracing kiss.

Her response was not what he would have expected. She tore herself out of his arms and burst into noisy tears.

Guilt swamped him. “Oh, Hetty, darling, I beg your pardon. I should have never...please forgive me. I thought I could control myself...I ought to be horsewhipped...I’m a wretched?—”

She looked up, and her tear-filled eyes were smiling, and she put her hand against his lips, silencing his babbling apologies. “You do still love me, Will!” she breathed happily. And she flung her arms around his neck, kissing him back.