The Earl of Tremley chuckled. “Of course you don’t.”
West was mere days older than Tremley; he’d known the earl for his entire life, and hated him for nearly that long. But now Tremley was one of King William’s most trusted advisors, with tens of thousands of acres of the lushest land in Suffolk that earned him close to fifty thousand pounds a year. He was rich as a fictional king and had the ear of a real one.
West deliberately kept his focus on Georgiana, something about her helping to keep him calm. “What do you want?”
Tremley feigned shock. “So cold. You should show more respect to your betters.”
“You should be grateful that I resist pummeling you in public,” West said, taking his gaze from Georgiana, not liking the idea that his unwelcome companion might discover his interest.
“Big words. As though you would take such a risk.”
West grew more irritated, loathing the fear that whispered through him at Tremley’s words. Hating it. “I’ll ask again. Why are you here?”
“I noticed your column last week.”
He stilled. “I write a great deal of columns.”
“This one was in favor of abolition of the death penalty for theft. A brazen choice, for someone so… close to the situation.”
West did not reply. There was nothing to say here, in this room filled with people who did not worry about their futures. Who were not terrified of their pasts.
Who did not wait, every day, to be discovered. Punished.
Hanged.
Lady Georgiana spun away on the arm of her future husband, lost in the crowd as Tremley sighed. “It is so tiresome, having to threaten you. If only you would accept that this is our arrangement – I command, you act – it would make our conversations much more palatable.”
West looked to his enemy. “I own five of the most successful newspapers on the globe. You grow ever closer to destruction at the stroke of my pen.”
Tremley’s tone went cold and direct. “You own them thanks to my benevolence. That pen stroke would be your last, and you know it. Even if you got your law passed.”
As though he would ever forget that Tremley held such power.
As though he would forget that the earl was the only person in the world who knew his secrets, and could punish him for them.
Tremley had secrets of his own, however – dark secrets that would see him dancing on the end of a rope if West was correct. But until he had proof… he had no weapon against this man who held his life in his hands.
“I’ll ask again,” he said, finally. “What do you want?”
“There is a war on in Greece.”
“This is the modern world. There’s always a war on somewhere,” West said.
“This one is nearly over. I want the News of London to come out against the peace.”
A vision flashed, Tremley’s file in his office, filled with nervous speculation from men who were terrified of their names being published. Speculation about this war. About others. “You want me to oppose Greek independence.” When Tremley did not reply, he added, “We had soldiers on the ground there. They fought and died for this democracy.”
“And here you are,” Tremley said, the words snide and unpleasant, “alive and well. And free.”
West did not miss the earl’s point. At any moment, with a word from this man, West could be destroyed. Sent to prison for a lifetime.
Worse.
“I won’t write it,” West said.
“You don’t have a choice,” Tremley said. “You are my lapdog. And you had best remember it.”
The truth of the statement made it infinitely more infuriating.
But it would not be true for long, if he found what he was looking for.
West’s fist clenched at his side. He was desperate to use it, to pummel this man as hard as he’d wanted to when they were children, and he’d spent his days being taunted and teased. Hurt. Nearly killed.
He’d escaped, come to London, built a goddamn empire. And still, when with Tremley, he was the boy he’d once been.
A memory flashed, tearing through the darkness on a horse worth triple his life. Five times it. His sister bundled in his lap. The promise of the future. The promise of safety. Of a life worth living for both of them.
He was tired of living in fear of that memory.
He turned away from the conversation, feeling trapped, as he always did. Owned. Desperate for something that would destroy this man now, before he was forced to do his bidding another time.
“Why?” he asked, “Why sway public opinion away from peace?”
“That’s not your concern.”
West was willing to wager that Tremley was breaking any number of laws of king and country, and that was his concern. And the concern of his readers. And the concern of his king.
But most importantly, proof of it was enough to keep his secrets safe. Forever.
Alas, proof was not easily come by in this world of gossip and lies.
It had to be found. Bought, if possible.
Bargained, if necessary.
And there was only one man who had enough power to get what West himself had not been able to find.
“You shall do it,” the earl insisted.
He did not speak, refusing to voice his agreement to whatever it was Tremley asked. He had done the earl’s bidding before, but never anything that would so clearly derail the crown. Never anything that would so clearly risk English lives.
“You shall do it.” Tremley repeated, firmer this time. Angrier.