He slammed his palms onto his desk and rose to a standing position. Richard was still a few inches taller than the man, but the marquess possessed a nervous energy that could be of use to him in a fight. The duke was well aware. He had been trained to get to know his enemies.
“Why else would you call her your family? Why else would you risk your reputation for her? You married a Brighton girl because you know their mother is desperate for any kind of marriage. You found one that you can just leave behind anytime you want. She is a willing nursemaid to your bastard. It’s pathetic.”
Penwike looked like he was in a state of frenzy, with his eyes wide open and unblinking. He moved and breathed unsteadily.
“It’s not just your reputation I am after, Hawksford,” the marquess continued. “I also want to see the dismay on your wife’s face when she realizes how you were using her to disguise your filth as something good. It’s enough, though, huh, Hawksford? Someone has to strip you of your title.”
“Listen. I know you don’t like me, Penwike, but think about this. The child is not my own. She feels like mine, and I am willing to take care of her for the rest of her life, but I have not been unfaithful to my wife. So, if you want to strip all who have been unfaithful to their wives of their titles, go ahead. You will have to deal with many members of the ton. Perhaps, there is a need to clean up. Do include men who take advantage of women, too,” Richard countered
“Ha. That’s what I don’t like about you. Your family has been feuding with mine for years, and you’ve made your own mistakes. Had your number of women. Yet, you still act as if you are better than me, better than all of us.”
“I never said I was better,” Richard gritted out. “However, I do try. I wasn’t with other women after I got married. That is something I can tell you with a clear conscience.”
“Then, you should be ready for your grave when I do get to kill you,” Penwike said, looking maniacal. “You deserve to rot with the rest of the Westons.”
Richard did not even flinch at the threat. He had lived in fear for most of his life. Looking at Penwike now, he could only see a bitter, weak man who would continue hurting people if he let him destroy Hawksford. Penwike will always be a target.
“Is that all you know? Destruction? I guess I cannot blame you. Generations of our family thought it was the right idea to continue squabbling over every little thing. Don’t you think you should begin to think about creating—making something out of what you have? Be better.”
Richard knew that it was futile to talk this way with Penwike, but nobody could say that he didn’t try. It was a wonder that he was able to keep his temper at bay, while his opponent looked like he was going to burst into a million pieces.
“You pompous fool!” Penwike screamed, rushing toward him, his fist raised as if ready to pummel the duke.
Richard was ready for him.
In a blur of motion, the duke was finally able to set his anger into action. He had held on to the fury that lingered within him, white and hot and boiling now. He easily dodged Penwike’s swing and was quick enough to recover and deliver his own punch. His fist connected with the marquess’s jaw with a sickening crunch.
Perhaps he would feel the sting on his knuckles when he reached home. For now, he could barely feel anything other than the satisfaction of seeing Penwike’s head snap back. His body staggered, crashing against his desk before he slumped to the floor. His glass fell next to him, breaking into small splinters. He rolled onto some of them, groaning at the pain.
Richard stood over Penwike, panting even though he was not tired. He was breathless from trying to control himself. This was what control looked like at that moment. His fists were still clenched, ready for Penwike if he decided to fight back.
The marquess groaned, his hand reached for his nose, where blood dripped. His eyes revealed terror before it was replaced by fury.
“I tried to make things easy for you. Remember when I came to you a year ago with contracts I drafted with my solicitor? It could have ended there,” Richard growled. “But no, you have your own plans. You wanted more out of me, and you want to squeeze everything from this feud. Then, you found a way to hurt me. You thought that finally you saw a crack in my foundation, that I broke my wife’s trust and the vows I made with her. Stay awayfrom her, Penwike. Stay away from my wife and my child. Do not even dare mention their names. Do you understand me?”
“You could not buy me then. You cannot threaten me now,” Penwike snarled.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Victoria could see that the confrontation with Penwike left Richard rattled to the bone.
He had won that fight, but he’d told her that he could not be complacent.
Because of recent events, Hawksford House had become a garrison. At least it felt that way since there were more men watching over near the entrances. They were disguised as additional staff in the house.
Victoria saw that Richard was part of this new throbbing network, with him as the heart at the center. He haunted his own halls and was still up at odd hours to ensure half his men were ready at any time.
Meanwhile, she had to focus on Melody while worrying about Richard’s frame of mind. He no longer stayed for long to spend time in chatter and play with them. If he were ever there,he would be tense and silent. It was almost like he expected anything could happen. She could not blame him at all. No. She could not.
Of course, she should be allowed not to like it. The distance between them was not physical. He was in the house. The gap carried with it an unbearable silence. Even at night, he felt cold and ready to snap at any given moment.
On the fourth day, she was already trembling with frustration. She had to eat breakfast without her husband’s presence once more. So, she retreated to the nursery from where she called Mrs. Hughes. Normally, she liked having the baby all day, and the nursemaid took over at night. But she had a mission for which she could not bring the baby.
“Mrs. Hughes, please tend to Melody this afternoon,” she said.
“Of course, Your Grace. You do need to rest, too. If I may be so bold as to tell you this: you are looking a little pale.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Yes, I believe some rest is overdue. I do love having Melody near me at all times,” she said almost regretfully.
