An ache pierced his chest at the thought, a dark abyss beckoning him. She was the one person that he’d felt a connection with, ever.
“Damn it,” Mac shouted before balling up the paper and hurling it across the small shop.
He had until the end of the month to pay his rent or he would be evicted, not only from his print shop but from his home. The small apartment upstairs had become his sanctuary. It was easier to live directly over his place of business so he could meet his ever-present deadlines. There was no way Mac would find the funds to pay what he owed Hutchinson without making a deal with the devil.
As if his thoughts conjured him, Cedemoor entered the cramped space before bending down and picking up the crumpled sheet of paper.
“What are you doing here?” Mac asked the other man, not in the mood for his antics.
Cedemoor was older than Mac by ten years, yet the man behaved more like a boy still at Eton or Shrewsbury.
“I was impressed with your little performance last night,” Cedemoor said, removing his hat from his balding head. “I was really thinking you had feelings for the brat.” He chuckled darkly.
Mac clenched his jaw, his hand balled into a fist. He couldn’t just stand there and allow that pompous ass to insult Letty.
“I do have feelings for her, and I won’t be a part of your sick plan?—"
“Don’t try to be noble now.” He walked closer to Mac. “We both know you need the funds, and I will provide them once my sister is ruined.”
Bile rose in Mac’s throat at the venom in Cedemoor’s words. He thought he could do it. There was part of him that wanted nothing more than to save his business, but he couldn’t sacrifice Letty. Not after Norfolk, and surely not after the previous evening.
Everything he’d told her was true; he wanted to be with her and no other.
Mac shook his head. He had thought that if he avoided his financial troubles that something would miraculously come and save him, but that would not be his fate. There was only one option left for him. “I do,” he admitted, his tongue heavy, sweat forming at the nape of his neck. “But not this way.”
“We had a deal, Meriweather!” Cedemoor shouted, his putrid breath slamming into Mac’s face.
“I won’t fucking ruin her!” Mac raised his own voice.
His mistake was agreeing to the Cedemoor’s plan of ruination in the first place. At first, he agreed blindly before he met Letty, and then everything changed.
It was no secret that the earl was not leaving his heir and only son his fortune. Cedemoor would only take possession of all that was entailed while everything that was not entailed to the title would belong to Letty.
“If you don’t have the bollocks to do it, I’ll find someone else.”
Mac took him by the lapels, pulling the smaller man into him. “Stay away from her. I won’t warn you again.” Never in Mac’s life had he ever wanted to cause harm to another person, but the thought of another man ruining Letty made him feel murderous.
The door opened, officially taking both of their attention away from the other. Mac released Cedemoor, causing the other man to stumble slightly.
Turning to face the newcomer, Mac greeted the Duke of Richmore as he entered the small shop with his gaze bouncing between Cedemoor and Mac. His large frame was intimidating, the look on his face questioning.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, concern laced in his deep voice.
Shaking his head, Mac took a step back. “No. Cedemoor here was just leaving.
He tried to control his temper, but it was impossible. Mac couldn’t believe he had ever considered helping Cedemoor in ruining Letty. How utterly daft was he?
What type of man would he be if he ruined the woman he’d fallen in love with?
Placing his hat on his head, Cedemoor glowered at Mac. “Remember what I said.”
Letting out a ragged breath, Mac’s gaze never left Cedemoor’s retreating form as he left his printing shop.
He’d been a fool to even consider his proposition. If he lost the print shop, then so be it. He’d start all over again, give it all up. For her.
She deserved better.
Ignoring Richmore, Mac walked over to the large box filled with pamphlets, picking it up. The weight was welcoming, something to distract him from his reckless decisions.
