A slow smile crept up his face. “After noting your return to the hotel, I ventured to Brunswick Square, entered the house as Layton left. Poor Wincote was so drunk he needed help to bed.”
Verity drew in a sharp breath. “It was you, in the square last night.”
“Who else? I’ve kept a close eye on you since you barged into my home with questions about the Brethren.”
Anger surfaced again. “Where is Mr Trent?”
“Who can say? No doubt he is racing about town on a mission to find Layton.” Mr Bradley stepped into the room. “Either way, he will be too late to save you.”
“What? You intend to k-kill me? Are you insane?” Sheer terror took command of her muscles. The shaking started in her knees and continued until she couldn’t keep her shoulders still. No amount of courage could prepare her for an encounter with Satan’s hellhound. “For wh-what purpose? You had no need to call at the hotel. You could have disposed of Mr Layton, and no one would be any the wiser.”
If she could just keep him talking, think of a plan.
But she felt sick to the pit of her stomach.
“Ah, when it comes to studying men’s weaknesses, Mr Trent is a rather interesting specimen,” he said, shifting the subject away from his motives. “Strong of will. Eager for justice.” Mr Bradley removed his top hat and placed it on the side table. “Commendable traits for one of inadequate lineage.”
Verity raised her chin. “Mr Trent has more to recommend him than any man I’ve ever met.” He would be a loyal and loving husband. A man his children would respect, his wife adore. “One only need compare him to his brother to know one’s worth is not dependent on one’s bloodline.”
“Charles Farrow? Oh, his lustful appetite was his downfall.” Mr Bradley tugged at the fingers of his black gloves, removed them a
nd placed them next to his hat. “When it came to courage, the man was lacking. He paid the ultimate price.”
“And so you had Wincote and Layton kill him.”
The fiend looked at her as if she were a simpleton. “No, Miss Vale, I killed Charles Farrow. Wincote and Layton believed the man took his own life when he could no longer pay the blackmail demand.”
Nausea caused her to heave. “You speak as if you’re proud of murder.”
He paused. “Yes, there is an element of pride involved. I consider it a service to my country. Men like Farrow cannot inherit, cannot sit in the House of Lords and make decisions about our welfare while more intelligent men, better candidates, watch from the gallery. And who will value Lord Layton’s opinion once they discover the depths of his son’s depravity?”
So, they were getting closer to this deviant’s motive. Still, Sebastian Vale was not a peer, and nor was Joseph Bradley. She recalled what Lawrence had told her about Mr Bradley’s father—the third son of a viscount banished to the Americas.
“Your grandfather was equally weak and undeserving of his position.”
The man’s incredulous stare lasted a few seconds. “That harlot’s mouth is as loose as her drawers. But yes, who wants a tyrant making the laws of the land? Who wants any man with questionable morals holding a position in society?”
“I assume your uncle inherited the viscountcy.”
“An adequate replacement,” Mr Bradley acknowledged coldly. His gaze moved about the room as if assessing the best way to tackle the issue of murder.
The need to clutch her stomach and weep, the need to beg this man to reconsider his evil ways caused inner turmoil. Raw nerves sent horrific visions bursting into her mind. He wouldn’t risk shooting her. So, he would stab her, then. There would be blood. Lots of blood.
Stall him.
The words whispered in her mind.
“If I am to die here, I would know the reason you took my cousin’s life.”
Mr Bradley narrowed his gaze. “Vale was so keen to join our club. He came here with Farrow for a night of debauchery, and I had Wincote set the scene. Men use and abuse women without a thought. But what if that woman should end up dead in their bed?” He seemed to take pleasure from regaling the story. “Would courage prevail? Would we see the real nature of a man’s worth?”
“You killed a woman so you might blackmail them?” She turned her head, retched and emptied the meagre contents of her stomach onto the floor.
“A worthless creature I can assure you. But a fascinating study in how men fare when faced with a blackmail demand. When men’s souls are on trial, one does what one must. Wincote and Layton were in need of the money. I cared only about observing the men’s reactions, deciding if the world would be a better place without them.”
Verity straightened and wiped her mouth with her hand. “Is that what the Brethren stand for? Sickening games of devilry and torture?”
“The Brethren?” Mr Bradley scoffed. “Wincote came up with the name when searching for gullible men. I decided it might be amusing to make them brand their chests. A testament to their loyalty.”