“True,” he conceded. “But it is my concern where I shove my prick. And I won’t do it.”
Bev’s eyes narrowed and he cupped a hand up to his ear. “I think I misheard you.”
“Our agreement was that I’d manage Solange’s for you, not whore for you. If it comes down to that, I’ll leave.”
“Well, see—that’s a problem.”
Hugo refused to be baited and play Bev’s fool.
When he didn’t reply, Bev smiled unpleasantly. “You’ve made a deal with me. That means you don’t get to decide when our arrangement is over, Hugo—I’m the one who makes that decision.”
“Are you going to force me to fuck him?”
“Nah, I’ll just have a chat with your pretty young wife and tell her what her husband does for his crust.”
Hugo was only startled for a second. And then he gave a dismissive bark of laughter. “You think she doesn’t already know what I do?”
“As a matter of fact, I know she don’t.” Bev chuckled. “Such a friendly, trustin’ little bird—came all the way down from some godforsaken island in Scotland with her clever husband, who spends his days playin’ the ’Change.”
“You stay the hell away from her!” Hugo was halfway across the desk when Bev produced a small pistol from thin air.
The older man clucked his tongue. “Now, now, don’t get emotional, Hugo. Ain’t no place for that in business. Why, if I were to get emotional, I might be offended that you’d attack me after all I done for you. If I got emotional, I might find my finger twitchin’ on this trigger. All sorts o’ bad things might happen if I were to let my emotions control me.” His thin lips tightened. “You might disappear. So might that wife of yours and the big lad who’s touched in the upper works.”
Hugo stared.
“Aye, I know about your little household. I know about the ginger-hackled boy and his patent.” He grinned. “I might be interested in putting a bit o’ blunt into such a clever device.” His smile disappeared in a heartbeat. “Now, you listen to me, you uppity sod: you get your arse in here when the old duke returns and you give him the bloody ride of his life.”
Hugo stared at the other man and considered his motives. Trying to extort money from a royal duke for patronizing a whorehouse would be like trying to extort money from the average person for breathing. The entire nation knew the royal dukes patronized whores—not to mention kept mistresses and fathered bastard children on them.
But it would be an entirely different story if one of them were discovered with a man. His mind boggled at the power Bev would have over the duke if he could get proof of sodomy.
“You’re going to try to extort money from him—or is it something else? A royal favor?”
Bev just smiled at Hugo’s accusation. “That’s none of your affair, mab. The only thing you need to worry about is gettin’ your prick hard and into his arse. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“And if I refuse then you’ll tell my wife what I do for a living.”
“Nah, I won’t tell her.” Bev leaned across the desk, his eyes like twin pits that led straight down to Hell. “I’ll kill her.”
Chapter 33
Martha was tossing and turning when she heard the door to Hugo’s bedroom close. She sat up and peered at the clock on her nightstand; it was after two in the morning. Poor Hugo must be exhausted.
But as tired as he was, he always came to her. He had spoken in earnest on their wedding night when he’d told her they would share the same bed every night.
Martha listened to the sounds of him moving around his dressing room and imagined his reaction to her news. She laid a hand over her midriff; it was far too early to feel anything, of course, but it just made her feel close to her baby to touch her stomach. Which was silly since she was already as close to her unborn child as a person could get.
She smiled at that thought and yawned yet again. Her eyelids were so heavy she couldn’t keep them up. She’d just sleep for a minute, until Hugo came in…
Martha jerked, awakened from a deep sleep by … something. She opened her eyes to darkness and silence and felt the bed beside her; it was empty. She pushed herself up and leaned close to the clock: it was after three. And she was alone in their bed. Not once since they’d married had they not slept together.
Martha chewed her lip. She’d just take a peek in his room; she wouldn’t wake him if he were sleeping. He’d barely had any sleep last night and was probably exhausted.
She pushed back the covers, swung her legs off the bed, and shoved her feet into her slippers before shrugging into her dressing gown and tiptoeing toward the connecting door. She laid her ear against it for a moment; all was quiet.
Martha twisted the knob and pushed. Nothing happened. She twisted harder and leaned her shoulder against the door. It didn’t budge.
That was … odd. Perhaps one of the servants had accidentally locked it and that’s why Hugo hadn’t come in. He knew that she always locked the door to the corridor because he found it amusing that she was so worried about servants walking in on them when they were in flagrante, as he liked to say.
That’s what must have happened.
She unlocked the door to the corridor and padded down the hall to Hugo’s bedchamber. His door wasn’t locked so Martha slowly pushed it open. Hugo hadn’t drawn the drapes and the faint light from the square illuminated the room.
“Hugo?” she whispered, shuffling toward the bed, which was in the shadows. Only when she reached the foot end could she see it was empty.
Martha frowned. Had he not come home? Then who would have been in his room at two o’clock in the morning? Her skin prickled. What if
