“You're a hard man to kill,” Cecil said. “I finally realized I was going to have to do it myself.”

Charles supposed he should have paid more attention to his cousin's fixation with dead bugs. “What the hell do you think you're doing, Cecil?” he demanded.

“Ensuring my place as the next Earl of Billington.”

Charles just stared at him. “But you're not even next in line to inherit. If you kill me, the tittle goes to Phillip.”

“Phillip is dead.”

Charles felt sick. He'd never liked Phillip, but he'd never wished him ill. “What did you do to him?” he asked hoarsely.

“Me? I did nothing. Our dear cousin's gambling debts did him in. I believe one of his moneylenders finally ran out of patience. He was fished out of the Thames just yesterday.”

“And I suppose you had nothing to do with his debts.”

Cecil shrugged. “I might have steered Phillip in the direction of a game or two. But always at his request.”

Charles swore under his breath. He should have watched out for his cousin, realized that his gambling habit was becoming a dangerous problem. He might have been able to counteract Cecil's influence. “Phillip should have come to me,” he said. “I would have helped him.”

“Don't scold yourself, cuz,” Cecil said with a clucking sound. “There's really very little you could have done for dear Phillip. I have a feeling those moneylenders would have gotten to him no matter how promptly he repaid his debts.”

Bile rose in Charles's throat as he realized what Cecil meant. “You killed him,” he whispered. “You threw him in the Thames and made it look like the moneylenders did him in.”

“Rather clever, don't you think? It's taken over a year to execute; after all, I needed to make certain Phillip's connections with London's underbelly were common knowledge. I laid my plans out very carefully.” His face grew ugly. “But then you ruined it all.”

“By being born?” Charles asked, baffled.

“By marrying that stupid vicar's daughter. I wasn't going to kill you, you know. I never cared about the title. It was just the money I was after. I was biding my time until your thirtieth birthday. I have been rejoicing over your father's will since the day it was read. Nobody thought you'd actually obey his terms. You've been acting out just to spite him your entire life.”

“And then I married Ellie,” Charles said in a dull voice.

“And then I had to kill you. It was as simple as that. I saw it coming when you began to court her, so I tampered with your curricle, but all that gave you were a few bruises. And then I engineered your fall from the ladder—that was difficult to do, I'll tell you. I had to work very quickly. I wouldn't have been able to do it if the ladder hadn't been in a bit of disrepair to begin with.”

Charles remembered the searing pain he'd felt when his skin had been sliced open by the splintered ladder, and he shook with rage.