Page 7 of All Duke and Bothered

No one replied, looking around.

“To hell with it! Nine!” cried the Viscount of Bridgemere.

Bridgemere was a younger man, well known for his lewdness. No one expected him to ever marry as he spent not a single night outside of a brothel. Chances were the man was rotten with French pox. Preston’s jaw clenched even tighter. Miss Beckett deserved what was coming to her. She was guilty in Spencer’s death, too. Had she not led him on, had she been honest with his brother that she never had any feelings for him, Spencer would have backed off. Lord Neville wouldn’t have sent men to rough him up.

He would still live.

And yet, Preston hated the thought of her being with the Earl of Leighborough or the Viscount of Bridgemere or any of the other men in the room.

“Nine thousand,” said Eastbourne, the echo of a smile appearing on his face for the first time. “My, my. A little more, and you might get out of here with a profit, Lord Beckett. Will anyone give me all ten? Or will Miss Beckett’s hand be won by the viscount?”

The men looked around, and the earl raised his hand again, but before he could say anything, Preston stood up, removed a letter from his red leather document folder, and raised the paper high up into the air.

“I have something else to bid,” he said calmly.

He felt a hundred pairs of eyes land on him, but there was only one man whose reaction interested him. Lord Beckett. The man’s eyes widened as he looked at the folded paper in Preston’s hand.

Eastbourne’s hawk eyes narrowed at him. “What is this?”

“The sworn testimony of someone who bore witness to a certain deal Lord Beckett did with Mister B.”

Beckett paled.

Satisfaction spilled warmly through Preston’s chest. Everyone knew Mister B was Thorne Blackmore, a man notorious for taking care of dark deeds no man of honor would consider. The testimony was that of a servant from Tyche who had heard Beckett looking for Thorne Blackmore to deal with Spencer.

Beckett broke into a sprint and, pushing gentlemen aside, elbowed his way through the crowd. When he stopped before Preston, he was breathing hard, his yellowish eyes bulging, a thin drop of saliva trembling on his bottom lip with every breath. How Preston despised this man. How he hated him. His brother’s killer. The man who had forever hung the boulder of guilt around Preston’s neck, the boulder he would not be able to lift as long as he lived.

Because nothing would get Spencer back.

Beckett’s eyes were locked on the paper Preston still held high and out of his reach.

“Who is it from?” Beckett demanded. “What’s in it? I demand that you show it to me.”

“No. I will protect my witness.”

The shorter man swallowed and nodded. “Right. May I talk to you in private, then, Duke?”

“No, you may not. I want your commitment now. For my silence, you will give me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Beckett closed his eyes for several deep and fast breaths. Preston rejoiced in the torment of this man. Let him suffer. His revenge would be sweet.

“Why are you doing it?” Beckett asked, desperation in his face as he looked at Preston again.

“Because then you can’t marry her off to one of the gentlemen in this room and get your money. And you know why you don’t deserve it. You know why you deserve to be ruined.” Preston was going to take away Beckett’s last chance to pay off his debt to Eastbourne. The marriage contract would be drawn so that Penelope’s father would never get a penny from him. Not one acre of land. Nothing.

If Preston started a criminal case against Beckett, he could claim it was murder. And murder, even for noblemen, was a hanging offense. The baron didn’t have the money to hire an attorney to defend himself at court. Preston had all the money in the world to hire the best attorneys in England and prove Beckett’s crime.

The testimony was just the first piece of evidence. Preston’s team would be able to find more.

Because Beckett was guilty.

As though in confirmation of that, the baron hung his head low in submission.

“Yes,” he said. “The Duke of Grandhampton’s bid wins.”

The room erupted in cries of outrage. As Preston returned the letter to the red leather folder, Eastbourne came through the crowd with an uncharacteristically angry expression. Icy-cold malice spread through Preston’s body as he watched Beckett desperately trying to explain to his creditor that they wouldn’t be getting their money today.

Good, he thought. And then, Spencer, brother, I will avenge you. Even if my own soul will burn in hell for all eternity, yours will be avenged on this earth.