The boating club was an early Georgian mansion, from 1715 he believed, now turned into a clubhouse; its grey-colored brick and ash wood walls stood out against the line of trees surrounding the two-story building. Tall columns of cream-colored marble rose up to Corinthian capitals where they met the painted ceiling.
Doffing his hat and cloak to the footman at the door, he asked, “Where are the lords this afternoon?”
“In King Henry the Eighth's parlor, Your Grace,” the footman bowed.
Nodding, he strode through the extensive foyer and up to the levels above, bypassing a corridor of seascape paintings, padded down the Aubusson runner, and entered the parlor to the left. The parlor was as gaudy and overdone as what he’d imagined the inside of Windsor Castle would look like.
Everything inside it was shimmering with gold or brass gilt; there were gold thread tapestries and wall hangings, chairs covered with velvet and sarsenet with animal furs, sable and mink thrown over the backs of them.
“Good god, my eyes are already starting to hurt,” he grunted.
His gaze swept over the lords milling around, drinking in groups of three or four, when he spotted Felton casually talking to Rutledge. The man could have easily merged with the wallpaper behind him as his jacket and waistcoat were so richly embroidered, but if one looked closely, it was faded, and the threads were pulling.
“Duke Valhaven,” Rutledge flashed a tight smile. “How nice to see you. I am surprised to see you twice this month. Please tell, what is causing you to be so visible lately?”
“You.” Edward did not have the patience—nor the time—to beat around the bush. “We need to talk, now.”
The smile did not slip off Rutledge’s face, but it turned brittle. “A moment ago, you looked amenable, now your tone sounded, well, murderous. Are you going to finish what you started with the pistol at the hunting party, Your Grace?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Edward’s tone was icy. “Now, follow me.”
“And if I do not?” Rutledge’s voice grew edgy.
Felton warned, “I do not think it is in your best interest to disobey his order, Rutledge.”
Seeing that he was outnumbered, Rutledge fixed his jaw and nodded; Edward turned on his heel and strode out to an empty room down the corridor.
Closing the door with his heel, Edward said, “I have spoken to you about the young woman you ruined, Miss Penelope, and clearly you have decided to just leave her as a notch on your bedpost. I will not have that.”
A muscle jumped in Rutledge’s jaw. “What matter is it of yours what I do in the bedchamber?”
“Usually? Nothing. But not when it involves an innocent woman who fell for your lies,” Edward snapped. “Have you noconscience man? Is there any scrap of morality left in that foul cesspool of depravity?”
Face mottling, Rutledge jammed a finger into Edward’s chest, “How rich is it foryouto chastise me about my tastes when rumors about your predilection are still immortalized in the ton’s memory?”
“That might be true, but tell me one recount of me using an innocent girl?” Edward baited him. When no answer came forward, he lifted his top lip in disgust. “That is what I thought. Now, you have two options, marry that girl for a year, or every scrap of possessions you have will belong to me, including that club.”
The Viscount paled. “What do you mean?”
Plucking the papers from his jacket, he handed them over. “I know your creditor, Rutledge, the man who keeps bailing your boat while it keeps sinking.
“Grimes was exceptionally welcome to accept my proposal to buy your properties at a mark above value or even better, to gut you like a fish when you default on his payments.If, however, you do marry the girl, you shall have a year's stay before you pay him back; enough time to make some smart investments, I’d say,” Edward said calmly. “You choose.”
“You spoke with Grimes,” Rutledge went ashy.
“I have.”
Taking the letters, the indolent rake read them over, his face going bloodless by every breath and his fingers trembling to the point he almost ripped the paper in half.
“I know you are half a million pounds in debt, Rutledge,” Edward pressed. “Just do the right thing and save your life.”
Intense consideration crossed Rutledge’s face, and the very moment Edward thought he had found the upper hand, Rutledge sneered. “I see what this is. A pathetic attempt to curry favor with the chit’s sister that your brother is courting. I will not fall for it, nor will I be marrying her just to divorce.”
Forcing himself not to grind his back molars to the root, Edward calmly said, “No morality then.”
Rutledge let the papers flutter to the ground before he ground his heel into one of them and stalked out, leaving Edward to suck in a long, low breath before sagging on the wall behind him.
The checkmate he’d been sure was in his grasp now crumbled before his face. What was there more to do?
