Later that evening

Somewhere in England

The knife embedded next to the man's head, reverberating from the force and sending a whirring sound to Moreland's ear. It had clipped an ear, causing his visitor to whimper against the wall.

Even this sound Moreland found he could not take heart in, for at every turn it seemed no one was capable of a simple task. Only half-assed attempts.

"I did what you asked."

The whisper angered Moreland. "If you had done what I ordered - if you truly had any notion of my generosity and patience thus far with your flaming incompetence - then I would not currently be found in my present mood."

He shook against Moreland's body and Moreland drew back, glaring down through narrowed eyes.

"Do you think I am joking when I speak with you?" Moreland drawled, grasping the hilt of the knife and twisting so the board groaned and cracked. "Is there some part of my speech that you have failed to understand? I had thought that I made myself perfectly clear before."

"T..the f...flame should have t...taken out the entire stables, but the staff and all his t...tenants -"

Moreland's hand slammed down on the other side of his prey and Moreland watched as the damned weasel sunk back, cringing from the sound. It made Moreland's lip curl in disgust.

Had he, in fact, outlasted his usefulness?

"One damned job, is what I have given you. One you have been lolly-gagging about with -"

"The boy had seen me," he murmured, his eyes shifting nervously. "What was I supposed to have done? I would have been caught -"

"Are you trying to flaunt your incompetence further in hopes it will make me lethal?" Moreland sneered, leaning down to whisper in the ear that had a cut deep within its curve. "Because you are succeeding on that account, I can assure you."

Silence reigned, and message delivered, Moreland yanked the handle of the knife out. The blade felt hefty in his palm, the end newly sharpened. Moreland looked to the hole where the knife had lodged itself before deciding it would need to be sharpened again.

"Wha -" Moreland's eyes jerked to the man as he broke off. Clearing his throat, he began again. "What is your game with the earl? What has he done?"

Moreland narrowed his eyes. He wiped the knife on his black breeches before shoving it into the back of his trousers.

"Not that it is any of your business," Moreland said, walking away from the man and letting him believe he was safe, that he had evaded the devil - for now, "but perhaps you will find some...motivation, shall we say, from the retelling."

His smile must have been chilling, indeed, for the man swallowed heavily. The sound reverberating in the quiet.

"He betrayed me."

"I...I beg your pardon?"

"People like you have been cheating me for decades. After all, what has society done for those who bleed for them? Ones whose knuckles have cracked from a bitter winter or ones whose bellies remain empty?" Moreland laughed bitterly, giving the man a look from the corner of his eyes. He hadn't meant to say so much, hadn't meant to show how slighted he had begun to feel.

Choking back the emotion, the indignation, Moreland continued, "So, you see, I took it to heart, you could say. What would be more righteous - more comeupance - than to cheat those same gentlemen?" Moreland gave a pointed look at his quarry before releasing the man from his intense focus. "Ones whom did nothing more for the world at large rather than be born to a more advantageous whore than the rest of us?"

Moreland sat upon the only chair in the dank room, crossing his arms as he gave his guest his undivided attention.

"I bought horseflesh and entered them in races. Had some of the best breeds residing in my stables. The previous earl, Benjamin, began to notice that when I was entered in races, strange things would...happen."

Moreland flashed a toothy grin. "Unfortunate mishaps. And it was hardly my issue that the gullible idiots invested in the wrong stock. Didn't see the underworld of their society as anything more than a species to be pitied. Unfortunately for them, one can't renege on one's investments. Not in your world."

Moreland stopped, sitting up straight and his boots thudding on the ground. "Or in mine."

The man stared at him, no doubt calculating the odds of his own investments under account.

As well he should.

"But Benjamin knew I was running a game, and he wasn't one to play by my rules, so to speak. In one day, all the business I had drummed up was gone. The races I had entered were closed to me. This was done to me," Moreland swept a hand around his face, "in recompense by those pompous, self-entitled arseholes. And they couldn't even do it themselves."

Moreland felt his temper flare. The chair groaned under him, and he realized the arms of the chair had broken off in his hands from the force of his grip.

"They had to hire street thugs to do it."

Moreland unclenched his hands with effort, letting the shards of the chair crash to the floor.

"So the son pays for the sins of the father, then?"

Moreland smiled. "I see you have caught on. Perhaps you still are of use to me after all."

The man's eyes glinted for a moment, and Moreland narrowed his eyes. His head tilted, studying the man before him.

"His stables still thrived. His name is still bandied about in homes as someone worth admiring for his hard work. HA," Moreland said, coming to a stand and beginning to pace. "As if an earl would know anything of the like."

Revenge filled his breast a new.

"And for what? Why did he nosy into my affairs?" Moreland didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one as he continued, fighting a losing battle to control his angry words. "A misguided sense of honor and duty. For those fops of Englishman who are no more loyal to anyone than a married man's wife."

"Now, see here -"

Moreland rolled his eyes, coming to a stand. The man's self-righteous speech, no doubt, trundled off.

Something told Moreland that his wary associate was a desperate man. And a desperate man...

Well, Moreland knew from experience what a man like that would do. One slighted by society. One never being able to measure up.

"I...I wonder if perhaps this isn't a better outcome, then." Moreland glanced to him once more, Moreland's brow raised high.

"You wanted Claymore to know he has an enemy. Now that the stables are laid to waste -"

He glanced at Moreland.

"For the most part, I mean. Claymore will act and act quickly. The earl will be on the edge, make a mistake, and at the opportune moment, you can snatch up your victory. After all," he gave a tentative smile at Moreland, "you have waited all this time, what's a little more? It will be all the sweeter for it."

Moreland chuckled darkly. "As yours will be?"

His brows crinkled. "I don't know what you mean."

But he did, Moreland knew.

The man in front of him was just as desperate as Moreland himself.

Moreland smiled, finding his good humor restored.

Seeing Moreland's smile, he glanced about warily and Moreland was hoping the man was wondering how much Moreland knew. How much he could guess.

Good, Moreland thought. While he admired determination, gumption, greed, Moreland knew it wouldn't do for the man to become overconfident.

It wouldn't end well.

Benjamin Claymore's grave attested to it.

And it had been all too easy, really. Moreland was almost disappointed.

His boots kicked up loose bits of gravel beneath his feet as he twisted to face his companion and adversary.

Moreland had known Benjamin would be drawn into a compassionate act. It had been a simple matter of fiddling with the previous Crowley's carriage - William and Arabella Crowley having no idea that their spindle beneath had been cracked.

Granted, he hadn't quite meant for both of them to die. A minor annoyance, but one that had rewarded him greatly.

Benjamin had taken the bait.

He had come to comfort the brother of the previous earl of Crowley just like Moreland had hoped. Benjamin had always been weakened by that emotion. Caring. A sense of right and wrong. A sense of honor, responsibility.

One all too prevalent in his son, Lord Greyson.

"You are sure he cares for her, then?"

Moreland didn't need to clarify his words. The man understood well enough as he stiffened.

Moreland fought to hide his gleeful grin at the telling gesture.

"Yes. He snuck into her chambers late in the evening. Or so I was told," the man held himself straight, his jaw clenched over the mumbled words. "Came out half an hour later. No mistaking what had taken place."

He had bedded her then.

Or at least enough to shatter the lady's reputation, Moreland knew.

But it wasn't enough. No, Moreland wanted more pain, more suffering. To strike where Greyson loved most.

Moreland had done it before.

And he would do it again.

Moreland grinned. "Tomorrow evening. You strike."

***

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