He then moved his hand to the back of her skull and slammed her forehead down on the desk.
She slithered, unconscious, to the floor.
Through the now quiet and deserted space, Loren sauntered up to Mayda’s room.
Standing at the foot of her bed, where she was pressed to the headboard, covers to her mouth, weeping silently, he asked, “It’s fifteen normal, twenty up the arse, five for the suckling, five for eating, no?”
She stared at him in horror for a moment before she slowly nodded her head.
Loren rifled through the paper notes King Noctorno had instituted several years ago, one of his many brilliant ideas.
Carrying coin was burdensome.
This was far better.
He tossed three twenty-pound notes on her bed, then regarded the dead men on her floor.
As such, he pulled out another two bills, both hundreds, and threw those down too.
“Thank you for a memorable evening,” he said.
And then he walked away.
* * * *
The Next Morning
“Loren, I simply cannot believe I have to tell you again, you are not at liberty to kill people willy-nilly,” his father admonished.
“They’d stolen my wallet.”
“Yes, that happens at Avon Bordello. Everyone knows that,” Ansley Copeland returned. “As such, you have two choices. Don’t go to Avon Bordello. Or don’t go to Avon Bordello.”
“I sense, Father, that they will not be stealing another man’s wallet in order to extort a higher charge for their services as they detain him and expose him to his wife, his children, his employers, his commanding officer, or simply detaining him from his life until he agrees to pay for his own release. All of this on the weak excuse they provide to the constabulary that he intended to partake of their services for free, when he had no such intention at all.”
“It’s my understanding the constabulary was as aware as everyone else about this situation and working to sort it,” Ansley retorted.
Briefly, Loren thought about what he knew the constables would find in Winnow’s desk.
He then replied, “I’ve saved them that trouble.”
Ansley blew out a breath.
Loren was seated at the front of his father’s desk, hunched down, legs stretched in front of him, booted ankles crossed, elbows to the arms, fingers steepled before him.
His father was behind the desk, scowling at his son.
“Winnow Dupont is furious,” Ansley noted.
“Winnow Dupont is an unscrupulous crook,” Loren said quietly. “And sometime this morning, if she hasn’t been already, Winnow Dupont will be detained by the authorities and asked to explain some of the activities she gets up to in Avon.”
The regard his father was treating his son to changed.
“Did you…go there in order to…handle this?” Ansley asked.
Loren started studying his fingernails.
Ansley waited.
When the silence stretched, Loren broke it.
“The constabulary sometimes dawdles,” he murmured his answer.
Ansley’s voice was rising. “That’s because they must act within the letter of the law!”
Loren straightened in his chair and leveled his attention on his sire.
“Is it not the letter of the law that a man has the right to defend his own person?”
“Yes, however—”
“And is it not the letter of the law that a man has the right to defend his property, in this case, my purse?”
“Son—”
“They connived to steal from me, detain me, and I can assure you, Father, that the men who confronted me at the door to the lovely creature’s rooms were not there to politely ask me to sit down over a smooth whisky with Winnow and sort these matters. They intended me harm. I defended myself. A possession of mine was stolen from me. I retrieved it. That is the end of the matter. I’ve already talked to the inspector. They’ve put a line under it. It’s done.”
“You killed five men and dealt cuts that I’m told will visibly scar two others for life.”
“Then they shan’t forget the lesson they learned last night, shall they?”
“You had a friend detained by her, didn’t you?” his father demanded to know.
“Farrell made a stupid mistake, visiting his favorite to say good-bye before his wedding. He is now without a fiancée, a woman, incidentally, he loved deeply. Though what he’s gained is an angry father who is demanding he and his family cover the costs of the deposits set for a wedding that did not happen. Unfortunately, Farrell feels it is only proper he do so. Profoundly unfortunately, his lost fiancée had extravagant tastes.”
Ansley’s gaze turned to the ceiling.
“Are we done?” Loren asked.
Ansley’s gaze returned to his son.
And when he spoke, he did it softly.
“You cannot right every wrong, my beloved boy.”
On that, Loren stood.
And his only reply was, “How soon we forget.”
“Learn from a father’s mistakes.”
“That is your mistake, old man,” Loren replied good-naturedly. “Thinking they were mistakes.”
After delivering that, even though his father opened his mouth to say more, Loren turned and walked away.
* * * *
Ansley Copeland
The Duke of Dalton
He was still at his desk when his post was brought to him that afternoon.