Livia snorted. How he enjoys this.

“Yet I can trust you, can I not?” John held Bram’s gaze with his own. Neither of them were fooled by his smile.

“As much as you can trust yourself,” answered Bram. He did not wait for John to offer a toast, but drank down his brandy in one swallow.

More leisurely, John sipped at his drink. “We ought to arrange an excursion, you and I. It has been far too long since we kept company. Perhaps an assembly, or the theater. You were ever an enthusiast of the theater.”

“Actresses and opera dancers,” Bram said. “The plays themselves bored me.”

Refined as always, sighed Livia.

“It was Edmund who actually watched the plays,” added Bram.

John studied the bottom of his glass as if it held a miniature marvel. “If not the theater, then some other diversion.”

“Of late, the city has become less diverting. Had to find other means of occupying myself.” After setting down his glass on a small table, Bram pulled folded pieces of paper from his coat’s inside pocket. Mutely, he held them out to John.

John took the papers, frowning, and unfolded them. His frown dissolved as he read their contents. “But this is marvelous.” He grinned. “I trust you received no trouble for your efforts.”

“None.”

In truth, the only trouble he had experienced came from that long-disused machine of his conscience. Rusty and corroded, it had groaned as he had used his Devil’s gift of persuasion to gain entrance into a minister’s home and private study. The papers were easily secured, just as easily spirited away, with Livia acting as sentinel.

He hadn’t wanted to pilfer the documents. Outright theft was not one of his many crimes. Only Livia had convinced him to act.

Sin is often required to ensure success, she had argued.

Ruthless, that’s what you are, he had answered.

In everything. There had been no shame in her voice. It verged on admirable, her merciless resolve. She would permit no obstacle to subvert her will.

Now he had handed over a packet of stolen documents to John. It seemed to have the desired effect.

John continued to scan the papers, his gaze sharp and rapacious. “With this information in my possession, I shall be much closer to my goal.” He glanced up at Bram. “You’ve my gratitude.”

“Is that all?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d want suitable compensations.”

This isn’t what we agreed upon, Livia interjected with alarm.

Rather than look hurt or angry at Bram’s demand, John smiled. He seemed to approve of Bram’s greed. “Name something you desire, and it shall be yours.”

Bram’s eyebrow arched. “Far-reaching claim.”

John held out his hands, brandishing the marks of flame on his skin. “It is a claim I can make with all assurance. If I can rely upon your support, the pleasures and privileges you have enjoyed will seem miniscule in comparison.”

With disinterest, Bram examined the title page of a nearby book. The frontispiece promised a long and phenomenally dull treatise on methods of governance, written by a gentleman with far too much education. He thumbed through the pages and found not a single illustration, only an abundance of long words and foreign phrases. Carelessly, he tossed the book over his shoulder. It landed with a thud and John winced.

“Give me your word,” Bram said, “that I shall have precisely what you promise.”

We were only going to draw him out, Livia protested, her voice turning strident.

“Give me yours,” came John’s immediate answer. “Betrayal is thick around us, and I’ve only use for those I can trust.”

“You have it,” Bram replied after a moment.

No! Livia’s shout echoed in Bram’s head, and he struggled to keep from scowling.

Still, John looked dubious.

With a sigh, Bram bent and pulled a poniard from his boot. John stepped back, yet a pistol suddenly appeared in his hand, retrieved from somewhere on the desk.

Livia’s cursing nearly drowned out Bram’s own thoughts. Her frustration at being powerless seethed through him.

“A gun’s damned prosaic for a man with the Devil’s mark on his flesh,” Bram drawled.

“The gifts he has bestowed upon me are elegant and subtle.”

“Elegant and subtle can’t rip a hole in a man’s chest. Thus, the pistol. But it’s unnecessary, at least where I’m concerned. If it’s a blood oath you require . . .” He drew the tip of the poniard across his hand. Bright crimson welled. “Here it is.”

Smiling, John tucked the pistol into the back waistband of his breeches. He took the offered blade from Bram and made a cut across his own palm. Their hands clasped.

Stop, stop, stop! This is the wrong choice! Did nothing penetrate your obstinate skull? We have to fight John, fight the Dark One! You cannot—

“There’s proof,” Bram said, and John started. Bram had not realized he had all but shouted his words, trying to drown out Livia’s excoriation.

Satisfied, John stepped away. He took a kerchief from a pocket in his waistcoat and wrapped it around his cut hand.

“The gesture is appreciated,” he murmured. “And if you knew my intent, you would understand such an action’s necessity.”

“I cannot know your intent unless you tell me. The reading of thoughts is your bailiwick.”

“That night outside Leo’s home, Mr. Holliday gave me another gift.” John’s words were laden with boasting. “I’ve but to look upon a man, or woman, and I know how they might benefit or harm me. As if a parchment scroll of their attributes appeared in my hands, visible only to me.”

“So this,” Bram raised his cut hand, “was unnecessary.”

John smiled, rueful. “As with my other gift, it does not apply to Hellraisers.” He narrowed his eyes. “What of you? Did not our patron bestow some further power to you that night?”

I stepped between you and the Dark One’s magic, Livia murmured. That may be why we are anchored to one another. His power had an unforeseen consequence—it bound us together.

But John didn’t know that. He had no idea about Livia’s whereabouts, particularly that she haunted Bram.

“All my falsehoods are believed,” Bram improvised.

“Like yours, this ability doesn’t extend to Hellraisers.”

“What a wondrous creature, is Mr. Holliday.” John’s smirk faded quickly. “Have you any word of Whit or Leo?”

“None.”

“That’s as it should be. I’ve made arrangements.”

Bram’s blood iced. “What sort of arrangements?”

“Nothing you need worry about. Even so, we’ll stay vigilant. I do not want them interfering with my plans.”

“The plans you still haven’t disclosed to me.”

“’Tis quite simple, truly. The key to supremacy in England is in Parliament.”

“I thought the king ruled the country.”

John scoffed. “He’s made too many concessions. Piece by piece, the royal authority has fallen away. The king is barely more than a figurehead. No, the cornerstone is Parliament.” He spoke like a scholar explaining a simple fact to a very dense pupil. “All that is required of me is to seize control of the entire body, and place myself in the central position of power.”

“Sounds difficult. And time consuming.”

“For an ordinary man. I am not ordinary.”

He’s the Dark One’s pawn, Livia spat. And now, so are you.

Bram clenched his hand into a fist, stemming the flow of blood, though it continued to well through his fingers. “To what end?”

“To every end. The country will belong to me. Every part of it will be mine, including its military.” Anticipation sharpened his words and his gaze. “I shall lay claim on other nations’ territories, their commodities. Russian timber. Hanoverian silver mines.”

“And if they protest these proposed acquisitions?”

John shrugged. “Then I shall make war upon them.”

Bram kept his posture loose, leaning back against a bookshelf and folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve been part of England’s military. We barely beat the French in the Colonies. What’s to say that these already overburdened and poorly paid soldiers and sailors could take on the armies and navies of France, the Hapsburgs, and everyone else?”