For Piper’s sake alone, he prayed the duke would somehow capitulate to the power of social convention here when all of London hadn’t been able to bend him. While it would be a pleasure to apply force, he was aware that Harry and Fiona hadn’t imbued him dominion over the household to make or enforce such a demand.
Be that as it may, there was satisfaction in goading Rutledge, and the bold mandate earned him the reward he sought. A reaction. The duke’s pale eyes hardened with malice, his nostrils flared, and the slightest curl lifted his lip. Connor considered it a win to have unsettled to any degree a man known to be unflappable.
Pressing his advantage, he summoned a sneer of his own and let the storm of hostility and fury raging within reflect in his eyes. He might not be able to intimidate the man, but he might make the duke consider his actions with care.
Rutledge tensed and huffed with what might have been amusement. An outward show of swagger, yet Connor saw his eyes shift to the side ever so briefly. Another victory.
“You might have authority over these men, however you haven’t the power to evict me from Dinton Grange. I’m a guest of Lady Sedmou—”
“Who is, herself, trespassing upon this property.”
“You will stop interrupting me,” Rutledge spat out, finally losing a fraction more of his glacial constraint.
“Ye dare to make demands of me?” he taunted.
“Mr. MacKintosh,” Celeste spoke up, regaining some of her nerve. “I do not trespass here. Dinton Grange is my home.”
“I believe we’ve already had this discussion, Lady Sedmouth.” Connor cast her a glare that had her retreating a step. “Ye will both vacate this property. Wi’ naught but what ye came wi’.”
Celeste clasped a hand to her throat with an offended gasp at his insinuation. Rutledge said nothing, though his jaw clenched and unclenched. As did his fists. Connor watched them, hoping to see them fly. Much to his chagrin, the duke visibly relaxed and turned away. He sauntered into the adjacent drawing room, leaving them to follow.
Connor did, only because he wasn’t finished. The duke’s retinue were quicker to respond. The guards stationed themselves around the room while the stablemaster had the good sense to flee. The crimson drawing room roused visions of blood and mayhem, along with a resurgence of Connor’s need to avenge Piper. He stayed the urge, waiting for an opening that wouldn’t get him killed in turn, and more importantly, betray Piper’s presence.
Lady Sedmouth perched on a davenport of plush vermillion velvet, a tea tray laid out on the table before her. She must have had it delivered before the raucous in the hall interrupted her.
Rutledge found his way to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port. He swung back to Connor, calm and collected once again, though his eyes spewed venom enough to kill a man. He sipped his drink.
“Nice suit. Turnbull and Asser?” Rutledge drawled. “I hadn’t imagined them talented enough to make a gentleman out of any piece of rabble.”
“He’s gifted,” Connor shot back. “Perhaps ye should try him, since Poole is obviously no’ up to the task.”
The duke’s nostrils flared. “Once I’ve retrieved my wayward fiancée and my purpose here is accomplished, I will leave of my own accord. Not before.”
“Ye’ve misplaced yer fiancée? And such fine company ye are.” Connor crossed his arms over his chest and clucked his tongue, hoping to provoke him anew. “Who is she?”
“Lady Sedmouth’s daughter, Lady Phillipa Brudenall. The marquis’s sister,” he added when Connor did nothing more than stare blankly.
He widened his eyes then with mock surprise. “Sister? Harry has a sister? I dinnae even ken,” he quipped lightly, while he inwardly fumed at the sound of her name on his lips. “Too bad that. I’d like to meet a lass wi’ the refined taste to abstain from yer company.”
For the first time something warmer than a block of ice flared in the duke’s eyes, and a flush of red crept up the tendons bulging in his neck.
“And ye believe she’s here?” Connor persisted. “How is that? I’ve been in residence for several months and there’s no’ once been a true lady hereabouts since my sister departed.”
Celeste’s face mottled at the slight. “His Grace has it on good authority that she is here.”
“What better authority is there than the person in charge of Dinton Grange at the moment?” Connor pressed. “Surely Harry would have mentioned a sister in residence before leaving a bachelor like myself alone wi’ her. Imagine the scandal.”
Rutledge remained ominously silent.
“Have ye quizzed Mrs. Davies on the matter? I swear naught gets past that woman’s notice. The servants?” Connor turned to the footmen at the door. “Lads? Any of ye seen this Lady Flippa about?”
“Her name is Phillipa,” Celeste ground out as the men shook their heads. “And for your information, the servants here know they would be promptly sacked were they to withhold such information from me.”
“Ye’ve no’ questioned them? At all?” Connor’s query held none of the mockery of his previous questions. His astonishment was genuine.
Rutledge, too, frowned at the viscountess. “Surely I misunderstand, Lady Sedmouth. Are you saying that you haven’t interrogated the servants here regarding Lady Phillipa’s disappearance? In all this time?”
Celeste dismissed the question with a flick of her wrist and sipped her tea. “Now you sound like Aylesbury. He was forever harping in his letters about whether I questioned them…once he discovered she was missing, that is. I finally told him I had, to cease his ranting.”
