Pulling away, he checked the barrel—of course it was empty. He remembered the weekends his father took Roderick out to teach him to shoot, walking right past Cassian as if he did not exist.
The one boy who had a father never lived long enough to be one.
When the news of his father’s and older brother’s deaths had found him in Italy, it had come by a letter from his father’s solicitor. A man as cold and calculating as his father had been.
It is my onus to make you aware that since you were on your rambunctious roamings, your father and brother perished in an accident while returning from Manchester.
When you receive this missive, you must come directly to me upon your return to settle your father’s estate, facilitate the transfer of the ducal title and dukedom to you, and arrange for their burial.
Adolphus Green.
Solicitor.
Cocking the gun haphazardly over his shoulder, he searched the cabinet again, seeing if there were bullets stored. “Andrews, please send in a purchasing request for the bullets for this rifle.”
“I will do so on the morrow. Is there a reason you came here, Your Grace?” Andrews asked.
“Macabre memories, I suppose,” Cassian replied while grasping his mother’s book firmly. Looking around, he said, “Tomorrow, box up all the rest of these books and throw them out. Burn them for all I care. Also, send for fresh stationery and writing materials, I need to correspond with my solicitor.”
“That will be done, Your Grace,” Andrews said as he fixed his robe. Grasping his lamp, he headed to the door, “Have a good night, sir.”
When the butler departed, Cassian rested the gun and the book on the table, then went off to his father’s sideboard. If he remembered correctly, the man stored premium Madeira wine and Jamaican rum in there.
Fishing the bottles out, he took two with him while reminding himself to get Andrews to share the rest with the staff. Grasping the gun and books, he headed to his rooms and kicked the door closed behind him with his heel.
The next time he saw that room, it would be clear of all the haunting memories and the lingering specter of his father.
I shall exorcise you out of my life, out of this house.
Inside his room, he rested the book and the gun on his end-table, before he popped the bottle of rum, took a sniff, and jerked his head away.
“Good god, the smell alone can put me over a barrel.” After the fumes petered off, he put the bottle to his mouth and took a bracing mouthful.
It scorched his windpipe and set his stomach afire.
Peering at the dark bottle, he shrugged. “Just enough to go to sleep. You cannot be drunk tomorrow, you have a new wife, remember. Then again…” he took another sip. “She’ll probably be too preoccupied with avoiding me to even notice.”
CHAPTER 8
During what felt like a somber breakfast the following morning, Cecilia tried to rid herself of the strange feeling that had settled upon her. She felt oddly disoriented, but yet level-headed enough to realize that it was only the shock of being newly married to London’s worst rake dawning on her.
Half an hour after nine and with no sign of Cassian, she remembered what Abigail had told her and resigned herself to the notion that she might not see Cassian for some time.
And it ought not matter to her. He was probably relieved to have some time away from her, too.
Here and there, she saw the butler and two footmen carting boxes from one of the hallways to the other, and she grew curious. Finished with her meal, she stepped out in time to come across Mr. Andrews.
“Andrews,” she stopped him. “What is going on?”
“His Grace has ordered me to clean out his late father’s study and that I ought to either throw these books out or burn them,” he said.
Cecilia rocked on her heels. “Burn them? Is he mad! You cannot burn books. What have we turned into? Are we theancient Romans destroying the temple of Apollo and the Library of Pergamon? Are we heathens!”
The butler’s lips flickered, “Are you counter-ordering me not to destroy them, Your Grace?”
“Of course, I am ordering you to save them!” she answered vehemently. “Please tell me where my husband’s chambers are. I think I need to have a word with him. Now.”
Andrews called a footman over and handed him the book, ordering him to retrieve the books from the cart and place them in the foyer.
