The magistrate would need evidence if he hoped to convict Mr Layton.
She was about to suggest he might trust her with the information, suggest she climb into his conveyance, but then Mr Bradley smiled, and it struck her as odd.
On first impressions, she’d found the man aloof, condescending in manner, indifferent to anything other than his books. Now, his affable tone and obvious interest in their investigation rang false.
Perhaps he’d had time to reflect on the matter, but he confirmed her suspicions when he said, “Unless you think you have the means to follow logical thinking. In which case, I can point out the relevant passages t
o you, Mrs Beckford. If you’d care to step inside.”
A woman with a need to prove her worth might relish the prospect of learning his secrets. A woman with a need to feel equal to a man might let flattery overcome common sense.
“Do you refer to the letters in your possession or the copy of Vathek left on your desk?” she said to test a theory. “You’d marked certain pages, though if it was sent to your brother two years ago, one wonders why it still holds your interest.”
A darkness passed over the man’s features. “As a scholar of human weakness, I find the reasons for the character’s deplorable actions fascinating.”
“I know a few pertinent lines but am ignorant of the tale.”
“It explores how a man’s pathetic quest for power and pleasure brings about his downfall.” His gaze hardened, and his top lip curled into a sneer. “As a woman who shares the author’s surname, your lack of knowledge surprises me.”
The hint of mockery in his voice roused her ire. “I think we both know my name is not Mrs Beckford.”
As he shuffled to the edge of his seat, his hunched figure took on a sinister air. “Yes, Miss Vale, of that I am aware.”
She pasted a false smile, tried to hold Mr Bradley’s impenetrable gaze, though every bone in her body urged her to run. “And how would you know that, sir, if you were not at the heart of this unfathomable mess?”
It took him a few seconds to reply. “I love those who can smile in trouble, who gather strength from distress, grow brave by reflection.” A wry smile touched his lips. “They’re the words of Thomas Paine though I echo the sentiment.”
Verity raised her chin. “I did not, for one moment, suspect they were your words. How can a man so devious rouse thoughts that touch on love?”
His eyes flashed hot, and he firmed his jaw. “Were I not plagued by this disfigurement, I might have shown you love, Miss Vale. I would have held your cousin accountable for the debt, and breached your maidenhead where Wincote failed.”
The world stopped. A strange stiffness commanded her muscles. “Wincote told you he was responsible for the attack in my chamber?”
She clutched her stomach as the memory burst to vivid life in her mind. It was one thing to believe a man guilty, another to have one’s suspicions confirmed.
“Told me?” Mr Bradley’s countenance revealed a look of supreme superiority. “Who do you think orchestrated the event? Agreements must be kept, Miss Vale, and your cousin owed a great deal of money. His dithering over the sale of your virtue proved most interesting.”
Verity fought back tears. “You disgust me, sir.” She had the sudden need to itch, to scratch her skin raw.
“A tiresome remark, Miss Vale. One I have heard a hundred times before.” He pulled a pistol from the depths of his coat and aimed the weapon at her head. “Get into the carriage, my dear. Mr Layton is desperate to see you. As I said, agreements must be kept and your cousin died without settling his debt.”
She stared at the weapon, shook her head and suppressed the need to scream. “You won’t shoot me, not here.”
Mr Bradley arched a brow. “I am hidden inside the dark confines of an unmarked carriage. Based on the evidence, Layton will get the blame.”
Verity glanced up at the coachman, who kept his gaze trained ahead.
“A hired lackey,” Mr Bradley whispered. “One I’m afraid to say will meet his maker before the day is out.” The faint sign of amusement slipped to reveal an ugly, menacing glare. “Time is of the essence. Get into the carriage, Miss Vale, else I shall send word to Layton and have him draw a blade across Mr Trent’s interfering neck.”
Lawrence!
Verity screwed her eyes shut as an indescribable pain tore through her heart. “You’re lying.” He had to be. A man of Mr Bradley’s awkward frame could not overpower a man like Mr Trent.
“And there’s the dilemma.” He opened the carriage door. “Are you climbing inside, or must I shoot you, Miss Vale?” He cocked the weapon as a means of intimidation.
With her mind a whirl of confusion, Verity glanced up and locked gazes with Miss Trimble. She hoped her desperation lived in every strained line on her face.
“You present a persuasive argument, Mr Bradley.” Verity gripped the door, paused and cast an alarmed Miss Trimble another fearful stare, before entering the confined space occupied by the Brethren devil.