unlikely to be merely one of Ferrar’s friends. However, now that Ferrar’s dead, that’s neither here nor there, but we’ll certainly take Larkins’s body with Ferrar’s-it might help convince the earl that he needs to do whatever he can to assist us.”
There were a number of volunteers eager to help convince the earl, but Royce kept the group to four-Christian, the other most senior peer, and Delborough and Gareth, both of whom could with authority bear witness to Ferrar’s deeds, and those of the Black Cobra, in India.
When Devil tried to insist that he, too, should go, Minerva narrowed her eyes at him. “You”-she waved an imperious finger indicating all the Cynsters and Gyles Chillingworth-“will ride back to Somersham Place immediately. None of you might be seriously incapacitated, but I can see cuts-great heavens! I can see
Seven large men stared back at her. Minerva didn’t budge, didn’t bat an eyelash.
Nor did the ladies gathered around her, who, as the silence stretched, brought their gazes, too, to bear on the recalcitrant males…until they broke.
With one last dark look, Devil inclined his head. “Very well.” He glanced at Royce, who’d been studying the ceiling. “We’ll see you tomorrow, no doubt.”
“I’ll send word later tonight, once we’ve learned what we can from Shrewton and-I hope-heard from Monteith’s party. They should be at Bedford tonight.”
Devil raised a hand in salute, and led the others out.
Royce followed with Delborough, Gareth, and Christian, bound for Shrewton Hall.
The other members of the Bastion Club and Jack Hendon exchanged glances, excused themselves, and retreated to the billiard room, no doubt to mull over the happenings of the day while knocking balls about the table.
Minerva and the other ladies watched the male retreat with approval. As the door closed behind the last pair of broad shoulders, as one they turned to Emily.
“We’d love to hear of your travels,” Minerva said.
Letitia sank into the chair Gareth had vacated. “Tell all,” she advised. “Start at the beginning-when did you go to India?-and more importantly, why?”
Emily looked from eager face to interested eyes, and saw no reason not to comply.
In a cold stone room off the laundry of Shrewton Hall, near Wymondham, the Earl of Shrewton stood staring down at the body of his favorite son.
Roderick Ferrar’s body lay on its back on one of the room’s benches. The earl’s servants had laid Larkins’s body on another bench nearby, yet the earl had given no sign of even noticing Larkins. From the moment he’d led them- Royce, Christian, Delborough, Gareth, and the earl’s elder son, Viscount Kilworth-into the room, the earl’s attention had fixed on his son’s remains.
The shock on the earl’s face was there for all to read.
Kilworth, too, was visibly shaken. “We didn’t even know he was in the country.”
“Who did this?” The earl swung to face Royce. “Who killed my son?”
“A friend of his known as the Black Cobra.” Succinctly, Royce explained their interest in the Black Cobra cult and its leaders. “We were following your son because he’d fetched and was carrying a copy of a letter from the Black Cobra that the Black Cobra wants back. The original of that letter is signed with the Black Cobra’s distinctive mark, and sealed with your family seal.” Royce indicated the seal ring on Ferrar’s finger.
Head lowering so they could no longer see his eyes, the earl said nothing.
Royce swung to the other body. “The day before, Larkins-your son’s man-seized another copy of the letter, and he, too, was killed.”
The earl made a dismissive gesture. “I want to know who killed my son.”
“They were killed with identical daggers,” Royce said, “of a type used by the Black Cobra cult’s assassins. The Black Cobra killed your son, or ordered him to be killed. So we have a common goal in that both you and I want to know who the Black Cobra is.”
Royce paused, then, including Kilworth with a glance, asked, “Do you know who the Black Cobra is?”
The earl snorted. “Of course not-I have no interest in any foreign mumbo jumbo.”
“There’s not much of that about the Black Cobra cult-they’re solely interested in acquiring money and power, and are very willing to use terror and vile deeds to gain both.” Royce kept his gaze fixed on the earl. “Do you or Kilworth know the names of any of Roderick’s friends in Bombay? Has he mentioned anyone as associate or friend, who might be involved, or might know more?”
The earl stiffened and lifted his head. “I know nothing about any cult-it’s ridiculous to even suggest my son was involved with such people.”
“Your son’s seal is on the letter,” Royce coolly reminded him. “There’s no doubt of his involvement at some level. The original of that letter, with Roderick’s seal, will be delivered to me shortly, and given the interest at the highest levels that the depredations of the Black Cobra cult has engendered, that letter will, sooner or later, find its way into the public domain. Any assistance your family can provide in identifying the Black Cobra-the man who killed your son-will, naturally, mitigate any adverse implications.”
Gareth glanced at Delborough, and Christian beside him, and saw they, too, were suppressing satisfied smiles. There was steel beneath Royce’s smooth tones, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind what would happen if the family did not assist. Yet no threat had actually been uttered.
Well versed in such subtleties, the earl heard the warning. His face mottled as he glared. “This is nonsense! My son has been killed, that’s all there is to it.” Swinging on his heel, he pushed past Christian and stalked out.
Leaving Kilworth, who even physically was very unlike his sire, a tallish, slender gentleman with dark eyes-not the pale cold blue of his father and brother-to try to smooth over the moment.
“He’s in shock,” Kilworth said, as if in exculpation, then added, “Well, so am I.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But Roderick was his favorite, you see.” His tone made it clear that if it had been he lying dead on the bench, he doubted his father would be half as exercised. He gestured to the door. “Come. I’ll see you to your horses.”
As he walked beside Royce down the long corridors, Kilworth kept talking-he was the sort of man who did. The rest of them were happy to listen.
“We knew nothing, you see-last we heard he was off to India to make his fortune. He wasn’t one for writing letters. Well, we had no idea he’d even come home.” He glanced at Royce. “Did he just arrive?”
“He landed in Southampton on the sixth of this month,” Delborough said.
“Oh.” Kilworth’s expressive face fell, then he grimaced. “As you can see, we aren’t close-weren’t. Roderick and me. But still…I’m surprised he didn’t contact the old man.”
“You’re sure he didn’t?” Christian asked.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Kilworth saw their doubts, and smiled. “The servants never liked Roderick, but they like me, so they always tell me…things like that. None of us here knew Roderick was in England, of that I am completely sure.”
They’d reached their horses, held by grooms in a side courtyard.
Kilworth halted, waited while they mounted, then he looked up at Royce. “I doubt you’ll get anything from the old man, and the harder you push, the more he’ll dig in his heels and bluster. But…I’ll contact those of Roderick’s friends I know of here, in England, and ask if any of them have heard what he was up to in India, and if he mentioned who were his closest friends there.”
“Thank you.” Royce inclined his head. “You’ll find me at Elveden Grange until this is over.”
Kilworth frowned. “It isn’t over?”
Royce shook his head as he turned his horse. “Not by a very long chalk.”
They returned to Elveden Grange to discover that the ladies had held dinner back for them. The instant they walked into the drawing room, Minerva rose and directed the whole company to the dining room. Over a relaxing meal they reported on the earl’s recalcitrance, and the possibility that Kilworth might manage to learn more.
“The countess is long dead, and his sisters are older and have been married and living in their own households for years,” Minerva said. “I doubt they would know anything.”
“Roderick was his father’s favorite for a very good reason-father and son were cut from the same cloth.” Letitia
