The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

Damn. He had to get Henry's money while Anastasia was still living at Medford Manor, under his roof and his guidance. He had to eliminate all the obstacles. They were cluttering his path. Especially Anastasia.

First things first. One obstacle at a time.

Shifting his weight, George peered into the billiards room, waiting for just the right moment to catch Bates's eye.

The magistrate must have sensed something because he missed his shot, then glanced up to find George studying him from the doorway. Ever so slightly, George angled his head in the direction of the French doors, indicating to Bates that he wanted to see him alone.

Bates gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"That's enough for me," he announced, tugging his waistcoat down over his portly belly and backing away from the table. "My luck is definitely not here today. Perhaps I'll do better at the gaming table."

A few grumbling retorts followed, but on the whole the men accepted Bates's quitting without question and resumed their play.

Bates checked the doorway again, noticed that it was now empty. Confirming that everyone's attention was no longer on him, he ambled toward the rear of the billiards room and strolled through the French doors. There, he paused, whistling as he idly surveyed the grounds.

As if by chance, George joined him, coming around the side of the manor and greeting his guest.

The two men walked off, chatting amiably.

"What's wrong?" Bates murmured when they were beyond hearing range. "I thought we'd taken care of your problem when we spoke last night. I told you I'd find you a new source. And I will."

"There's another problem I need to discuss with you—one I couldn't get into at the ball," George replied.

"Which is?"

"Meade."

A sigh. "Is he giving you trouble again? What is it this time—stealing the goods or tampering with them?"

"Worse. He's refusing to deliver my merchandise without a hefty pay increase. He's also making some threatening noises that sound disturbingly like blackmail. And that is something I will not tolerate."

No, but you'll inflict it, Bates thought bitterly. Aloud, all he said was, "What do you need?"

"An arrest warrant." George pursed his lips. "I need something to hold over Meade's head. A warrant would do the trick nicely. The charges are certainly real enough. The bastard is guilty of smuggling, privateering, maybe worse. You've conveniently overlooked all that to suit our purposes. Well, now our purposes have changed. And, as we both know, Meade is terrified of being sent to the gallows."

"So if you remind him that we can send him there, you ensure his cooperation." Bates nodded his balding head. "A sound idea. Consider it done."

George came to a halt. "When can you get it to me?"

"Is tomorrow soon enough? I can have my messenger deliver it by nightfall."

"Tomorrow is fine. I'll pay Meade a visit the next morning, wave the warrant in his face." A bitter smile. "That will do a great deal toward ensuring his cooperation, and his flexibility about payment."

"Then it's settled." Bates relaxed, as he always did when he'd satisfied Medford's demands. In truth, he hated dealing with the man. It made him jittery every time the viscount sent for him. But he owed Medford, and would continue to owe him as long as he wanted to keep his position of power.

How many times had he berated himself for accepting Medford's first offer, thus allowing the snake to have this much control over his life? But it was too late now. Medford's support, his connections, were what had ensured that Bates received—and kept—his appointment as magistrate of, not one, but three thriving districts, including this one in Kent. Undermining Medford would cost him everything: his reputation, his appointment, and, knowing Medford, perhaps even more.

The prospects were chilling.

"Your party is a rousing success," Bates commented, switching to the safer ground of casual conversation. "Your niece was welcomed with open arms by nearly every unattached man, as well as many of the attached ones. And the added attraction of having Breanna among us again—" A chuckle. "If I weren't so old, I'd give Sheldrake some competition myself. I'd happily choose either of the women he's pursuing."

George's head snapped up. "Either of the women he's pursuing?"

Instantly, Bates realized his error. "Not to worry. He spent most of the evening with Breanna."

"And the rest of it with Anastasia," George amended bitterly.

"I'm sure he was just being cordial. I wouldn't give it a thought."