Page 82 of The Virtuoso

Val took a hefty pull of the bottle and passed it to Nick. Darius lowered himself to the hammock but used it as a seat, keeping his feet on the floor.

“Somebody cut the tree,” Darius said, “and that was after they laid bonfires in the very house. There’s no telling what other mischief we’re going to have to endure. What does Hazlit add to this puzzle?”

“The rents are dutifully deposited in a Markham general account,” Val said in a hollow voice. “One that Ellen could withdraw from, but she doesn’t.”

“So there should be a pile of money there,” Nick concluded, passing the bottle to Darius.

“There’s nothing but a token amount. Frederick Markham has withdrawn every cent in the account regularly for the past five years.”

“So the good baron is bleeding his widowed cousin dry.” Nick frowned into the gathering darkness. “Bad form. You might have to call the blighter out.”

Val nodded agreement. “I might. Ellen would frown on that. It gets worse.”

Darius passed the bottle back to Val. “What could be worse than stealing from your cousin’s widow, forcing her to grub in the dirt for necessities and live out here like a social leper?”

“The rents should consist of the amounts due from the six tenant farms,” Val said. “But for the past five years, there have been seven individual deposits from seven different sources. Freddy has been charging Ellen rent on her own damned land.”

“You going to kill him?” Nick asked. “I know all manner of ways to end a life, Valentine.”

“Nick…” Darius chided, “don’t put ideas in Val’s head he’ll come to regret.”

“I am not going to kill him,” Val said taking another hefty swig. “I might, though, make him wish he were dead.”

Nick accepted the bottle from Val. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to invite him here as my very first guest, to show him what a gift he passed to me when he lost that hand of cards. I’m going to keep my friends close and my enemies closer.”

“Never should have let you spend that time in Italy.” Nick shook his head and passed Darius the whiskey. “Citing Machiavelli, plotting dark deeds when a simple cudgel to the back of the idiot’s head would do the job.”

Val smiled thinly. “It may come to that. For now, I want to refine my plans, post a note to His Grace, finish my house, and wash the filth of this day from my person.”

“We know.” Darius waggled the bottle resignedly. “Don’t wait up for you.”

***

“Did you lock the door?” Ellen murmured, cuddling closer to the man who’d just joined her in her bed. She’d left only the sheet over her body, and in the evening breeze, she’d taken a slight chill. Val gave off heat like a toasted brick, and reassurance and warmth that had nothing to do with the physical.

“I did.” He kissed her cheek. “Rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Val?”

“Beloved?”

Beloved?Oh, ye gods and little fishes, that was more than adored, desired…

“You shouldn’t say such things, but I want you to know something,” Ellen said, glad for the darkness.

“It can wait until morning.”

“I’ll lose my nerve.” Her voice broke as she wrapped an arm around his lean waist. “And you’ll hate me.”

“I’ll never hate you,” Val said, tucking her face to his shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“It’s Freddy. All the attempts to sabotage your work here. It’s him.”

“I won’t ask how you know, but I agree with you. It’s Freddy.”

“So what will you do?” Ellen let her grip on him slacken.