Some had called it cowardice, and some had called it a certain sort of terrifying bravery that none had witnessed before.
Some thought Napoleon was a great man.
Tom did not.
He’d seen the empirical terror of the people of France, and the others all over Europe who had fallen under the emperor’s crushing power: the starvation, the mass death, the young men willing to march in column for the emperor, who would never rise again. All for a man who longed to control all of Europe.
It wouldn’t work, of course. Any man who learned a bit about history knew that. All emperors fell. And Napoleon would; there was no question in his mind.
But Blackwood… Blackwood had come home a changed man. Tom knew that. His family had rejected him. Half of society wanted nothing to do with him. And here he was, a man suggesting accidents and murder.
Tom smiled slowly at him. “You’re a man right after my own heart, Your Grace.”
“It’s why we’re friends,” Blackwood drawled.
Tom nodded. “Indeed, Your Grace. It is.”
Chapter 17
In more than the decade that it had been opened, Tom’s club had never been raided.
And so, when the magistrate and enforcing officers burst through the door, literally breaking it down, Tom and Blackwood jolted from the chairs in his office, swung looks of alarm at each other, and knew without a doubt that something wild was happening downstairs.
A raid was the only explanation for the cacophony of men shouting below and the sound of furniture being broken up.
He and Blackwood dashed for the door.
They went out into the hall and raced down the wide steps to the foyer. Men were filtering through the space, looking left, looking right.
“Where is she?” demanded the Earl of Greystone. “Where is my daughter? These men have kidnapped her.”
Blackwood arched a brow. “I do beg your pardon, Greystone, but I think that you are accusing the wrong fellows. Your daughter has not been kidnapped.”
The magistrate stopped. “That is not at all what the earl suggests. The earl suggested that a young lady has been kidnapped, a young lady, high borne and brought to this lascivious place. Such an action cannot be tolerated.”
Tom let out a sigh. “The lady has not been kidnapped. She has come here of her own free will.”
The earl sneered. “Of course, that’s what you would say since you are her kidnapper.”
The magistrate hesitated for a second as he took a longer look at the Duke of Blackwood, who could not be mistaken for a rough man of the East End. “Excuse me, but may I inquire as to your name, sir?”
“Of course, you may inquire. I am Garret Layton, the Duke of Blackwood and this is my dear friend Thomas Courtney, the Earl of Glenbroch. Do you have any further questions?”
The man looked as if he had been doused in ice water and he all but jumped back, bowing.
“No. None at all, Your Grace, but the earl came to me and assured me that his daughter had been forced out of his house against her will.”
Blackwood reverted to what a duke should do. He looked bored then sighed. “If anyone was doing kidnapping, it was the earl here. He doesn’t like that his daughter wishes to marry a bit of rough, you see.”
“A bit of—” The magistrate tensed, suddenly clearly unsure as what to do.
Suddenly two gentlemen appeared out of the yellow salon.
“This is the young lady. She looks a lady even if she’s dressed a whore,” one said.
Elizabeth’s eyes were wide, filled with terror as the two men muscled her into the hallway. She was resisting every step, gritting, “Let go of me,” with every breath.
His admiration for her only grew with that.