I have never been so close to outright murder. I do not know how much I can hear before I break his neck.
Jeremy clasped his hands behind his back, letting his fingers grip the material of his coat sleeves instead of gripping Simon’s neck. He felt his heart racing, muscles tensing. He was a taut bowstring, and the arrow of his rage was aimed at Simon.
“You will publicly humiliate Lady Harriet. Once we've obtained the Opera House, of course. Humiliate her with some flagrant act of callous adultery. The kind of thing I am sure you are a past master at. She does not think of me in the same way that you do. As an adversary. When you discard her, I will ensure that I am there to show compassion and empathy. I will pick up the pieces, and she will be mine.”
It was monstrous, and once upon a time, Jeremy might have considered it a fair trade.
How many women have I left in my wake, broken-hearted and bereft? What difference would one more make? It should be aneasy decision. My fate lies before me. I only have to say yes, and all I have striven for will be mine.
“Well? I did not think it would be such a difficult decision as this,” Simon said, “I even have a contract drawn up so that you can see how sincere I am.”
He rose and went to a sideboard, opening a drawer and producing a piece of paper. He presented it to Jeremy, who took it. His hand trembled, making the paper shake. It said what Simon had promised it would. It gave Jeremy complete control. Simon ignored the trembling, returned to the sideboard, and picked up an ink pot and a pen.
“We could sign it now. You will note the clause at the bottom that nullifies the contract in the event you marry Harriet. My solicitor raised his eyebrows at that, hardly usual, but...” Simon shrugged, “...useful.”
Jeremy could bear it no longer. With a swipe of one fist, he knocked the ink pot from Simon’s dainty hand. It shattered against the floor in a black explosion. With his other hand, he seized the front of Simon’s shirt and propelled him across the room to slam into the wall. Jeremy’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl, both hands now on Simon’s collar, twisting the material tight.
“How dare you!” he hissed.
“I dare because I can! Do you want my mother’s Opera House or not?” the man spluttered, eyes as wide as dinner plates.
“You think I would sell Harriet for it?” Jeremy demanded.
“Yes.Iwould,” Simon replied, matter-of-factly.
Just sign it and be done! By tomorrow, you could be the owner of one ofthemost prestigious sites in all of England and begin work on transforming it. By this time next year, you could take your place among the great men of the Penhaligon line. Do it!
A future without Harriet. Perhaps she would fall for Simon's act and reject the husband her brother had chosen for her in favor of him. Perhaps she wouldn't and would end up married to de Rouvroy. It did not matter. She would not be Jeremy's wife. She would vanish from his life as though she had never existed.
I… I cannot. The price is too high to be fair. I do not want to be the founder and owner of the El Dorado at the expense of Harriet Tisdale…
The anger left him. Jeremy felt a crystal clarity and arrow-straight focus. He suddenly smiled, releasing Simon. He looked around, saw the contract on the floor, and picked it back up. Then he ripped it across the middle and let the two halves flutter back to the floor. One of them settled onto the spilled ink, which began to seep through, obscuring the writing.
“No, thanks, old chap!” he said, mimicking Simon's false bonhomie, “I think that ownership of an Opera House is, perhaps, not for me after all. Good luck in luring forward another partner, though, eh?”
He slapped Simon's shoulder in a comradely gesture, rocking the other man on his feet.
“I will not say that you were wrong about how Harriet and I met. But I will say that no one else knows, so if it becomes public knowledge, I will know precisely where it came from. Won't I?”
Simon's jaw worked soundlessly.
“And, God as my witness, I will rain down vengeance the likes you have never imagined in the unlikely event such a revelation might come to light...Linwood,” Jeremy finished, stepping closer to emphasize the disparity in height between them.
“El… Eloise knows,” Simon stammered.
“Then keep her in line, old boy,” Jeremy patted his shoulder once more.
He started for the door, flinging it open, and was halfway to the front door when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.
“I think you should reconsider!” Simon cried out.
“Nothing to reconsider. Easiest decision of my life,” Jeremy replied as the door was opened for him by a footman.
He strode out of the house and felt as though he were a new man. The old obsessions fell away like a discarded coat that nolonger fitted properly. He felt light. Everywhere he looked, his eye picked out color, shade, and shapes. He saw pictures as his eye framed the vistas of the city, saw the faces of passersby, felt the urge to stop them and draw them.
It was as though the artist in him was now fully awake after being forced to sleep, deep in his mind. Now that part of him stretched and marveled at the world around him, wanting to capture it. To create. Part of him was afraid, yes,deathlyafraid. Afraid that he would prove incompetent, a failure. That he would be the first Penhaligon in a long time to fail, to be forgotten.
He suppressed the fear as he boarded his carriage and gave the destination to his driver.
