Basil Rhodes was coming down the front steps of his Cork Street house when he saw Sebastian walking toward him and drew up abruptly.
“Good heavens,” said the Regent’s natural son with one of his wide, impish grins. “Whatever happened to your face?”
“It seems someone doesn’t like me asking questions.”
The grin widened. “Don’t tell me you’re here to harangue me about these dreadful murders again. And at such a godforsaken hour of the morning! I’m only up because I have an appointment with someone I must see before he leaves town.”
“Fortuitous,” said Sebastian, coming up to him. “As it happens, I’ve discovered what your fight with Laura McInnis in the middle of Bond Street last Saturday was about.”
Rhodes gave an exaggerated jerk, his hair falling into his eyes as he looked sideways. “Have you now?”
“Mmm. Seems she had the effrontery to tell your betrothed about both the infant you abandoned and your habit of raping whatever women might catch your fancy if they’re in no position to either fight back or retaliate. That’s why you went after Lady McInnis—because you were mad as hell at her.”
Rhodes stared at him a moment, then huffed a deep breath. “You think I should have allowed that bloody woman to run around making wild accusations about me without confronting her or making any attempt to defend myself, do you? Let her convince Veronica I’m some ghastly cross between Bluebeard and Henry VIII?”
“The middle of Bond Street does seem a rather strange choice for a conversation of that nature.”
“Strange? It was damned awkward, that’s what it was. The truth is, I encountered her unexpectedly, quite by chance, lost my temper, and lit into her. I’m not saying I’m proud of it—it was a damned stupid thing to have done.”
“Yes,” said Sebastian.
Rather than be offended, Rhodes rocked back on his heels and laughed. “Well, at least we can agree on that. I’ll admit I’m no saint, but it’s not like I ever claimed to be. And it’s outside of enough, her carrying her ridiculous tales to Veronica.”
“You’re saying you didn’t dump your child on a woman with a reputation for quietly eliminating her customers’ inconvenient offspring?”
Rhodes raised one finger in the manner of a debater making a point. “Two things. First of all, I only had that blasted silly housemaid’s word for it that the brat was mine—and I hope you know better than to believe that rubbish Lady McInnis was spewing about me forcing myself on the chit. I know a virgin when I have one, and believe me, Lizzy was no virgin.” He put up another finger. “Secondly, I had no idea Prue Blackadder has a habit of eliminating the babes entrusted to her care. Her name was given to me by several friends who’ve found themselves in a similar situation. I paid through the nose to have her take the brat, and you can’t deny that Pleasant Farm is a lovely place. How was I to know most of her charges don’t live long enough to appreciate it?”
“How, indeed?” said Sebastian, his gaze on an ice cart rattling past them. “You’re fortunate Mrs. Goodlakes appears to believe your protestations of innocence.”
Rhodes’s nearly lashless pale blue eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I understand she’s quite wealthy.”
“She is, yes. But as it happens, so am I. And I’ll take leave to tell you I resent the implications of that statement.”
“I assumed you would.”
A muscle jumped along Rhodes’s suddenly tightened jaw. “I hope you don’t intend to go spreading these wild rumors about me yourself. I really don’t think that would be wise, if you understand my meaning?”
“Oh?” said Sebastian. “Are you threatening me?”
“No, no, no,” said Rhodes. “Only giving you a little hint. There, I’ve said enough. And now you must excuse me.” Then he gave Sebastian a wink, flashed a wide smile, and walked away, whistling an off-key tune as he swayed back and forth in the manner of a man who hasn’t a care in the world.