Peter recoiled as if burned. “You cannot manipulate me into feeling a pity for you that you do not deserve, nor granting a forgiveness that I have no intention of giving. I don’t give a damn that my father was blackmailing you. No doubt it was deserved, or you would not have considered paying a blackguard like my father money to keep his mouth shut.”
When the duke made to speak, Peter slashed a hand through the air, cutting him off. Fixing a hard stare at the dying man, he said, “You will listen to what I have to say now. All you have will soon pass into my hands. I want you to know, here and now, that it will all go to waste. The fields will go fallow, this manor will fall down in ruin. I will not marry, will not produce a child. After I’m gone, the title will revert back to the crown.” He took a menacing step closer, letting every ounce of hate that was in his heart burn through. “Everything you now love will be turned to dust before I take my last breath. I wanted you to know that before you died, for you to look on the face of the boy you once damned, and see a man who no longer needs you. And you have no one to blame but your own cold heart.”
Dane’s face leached of all color. Not waiting for a response, Peter turned and strode for the garden door. He yanked it open, needing fresh air—and nearly fell over Miss Hartley. Again.
Truly, the woman had an uncanny knack for being in the wrong doorway at the wrong time.
***
Lenora just managed to avoid Mr. Ashford as he threw open the door and made to storm through. Again? Did the man never look where he was going? She glared up at him, intending to put him in his place. Really, this was getting ridiculous.
The look on his face, however, stopped her cold.
The pale blue of his eyes fairly blazed with a furious fire. His entire being was drawn taut, from the tense lines of his shoulders to the clenched hands at his side. Instinctively her gaze shifted to the duke still seated in the wingback chair behind him.
Her heart stalled in her chest.
Pushing past Mr. Ashford, Lenora hurried to the older man’s side. He was as pale as death, deep grooves etching his face. “Your Grace,” she said, kneeling beside him and taking up his fingers. They were ice cold. “Your Grace, are you well? Do you wish me to call for Clara? Do you wish for a physician?”
The man seemed to rally at her words. His face cleared and he gave her a trembling smile. Even so, there was something haunted in his eyes, as if his soul had been shredded and was now in tatters. “I’m fine, child,” he said, his voice uneven and faint. He patted her hand. “Just a bit fatigued. If you can call for the butler, I’ll have him return me to my rooms.”
“Of course,” she said at once, rushing to the bell pull. As she made certain of the older man’s comfort, she was aware of Mr. Ashford standing silently by the garden door. Keeping her countenance calm and pleasant through the ordeal, as soon as the duke was safely out of the room, Lenora rounded on Mr. Ashford.
“What did you do that so upset His Grace?” she demanded.
He looked momentarily taken aback by her vehemence. She advanced on him.
“The duke is a sick man who has experienced more than his fair share of grief,” she continued. “I will not have you upsetting him further. He deserves to live out the rest of his life in peace.”
In an instant, disdain took over the man’s features. “You have no idea what that man deserves,” he said through gritted teeth.
The answer so stunned Lenora that she stopped and stared at him. There was a wealth of meaning in those angry words.
“I do not pretend to know what has happened between you in the past,” she said slowly, carefully, as if he were a powder keg about to go off, “and I certainly will not pry—”
“Then don’t,” he said, cutting her off. “I have my reasons, Miss Hartley, for giving that man no quarter. Let us leave it at that. Now,” he continued, opening the garden door and moving aside, “shall we join the others?”
So stunned was she by the change of topic that she immediately began moving for the door. As she moved to step past him, however, she stopped. Without a word, she turned and made for the chair Lady Tesh had vacated.
“Have you forgotten something, Miss Hartley? Or do you think I enjoy holding doors for indecisive young ladies?”
The words were said with such condescension that for a moment Lenora’s muscles seized in anger. Reaching down with exaggerated care, she grabbed the bag from the floor and held it aloft. “Not that it is any of your concern, but Lady Tesh sent me back for her reticule. Now,” she said, hurrying back across the room to stalk past him, “if you’ll excuse me.”
A sudden hand on her arm had her stumbling to a stunned halt. He paused, looking torn. Then, in a low voice, “That was not well done of me.”
She gaped at him. “Is that an apology?”
To her shock, he flushed with embarrassment. “In a manner of speaking.”
A surprised laugh escaped her, quite against her will. His eyes flew to her face, hurt plain to see before he shuttered it and dropped her arm like a hot poker.
“Yes, well,” he grumbled, clearing his throat and heading out the door.
Mortification boiled up, hot and uncomfortable. Now it was her turn to reach for him. He tensed under her fingers but did not pull away.
“I didn’t mean to laugh,” she said. “I was merely surprised.”
He looked at her, the glower back on his face. “Is that an apology?”
