“Not yet. The wedding is in two days.” Norman replied, voice low. “But what she is or will be is no concern of yours.”
“Ah, but see—there you’re mistaken, Your Grace,” Brown said, placing both gloved hands on the back of the nearest chair, leaning in slightly as though confiding in an old friend. “Becauseher fortune, which now intersects rather neatly with yours,isof concern to me. Or shall we say... interest.”
Norman did not respond. He let silence speak for him. It did a better job than any words.
Brown’s smirk faltered but did not fade. “I’ve come, Your Grace, as a reasonable man. I know what you owe me. And I understand things change when one is soon to be married into wealth.”
“Do they, Mr. Brown?”
“Come now,” Brown chortled, but his voice lacked mirth. “A woman like that comes with an impressive dowry. More than enough, I’d wager, to settle our little matter. In fact... I dare say I ought to be compensated for thedelayin payment. A duke dragging his heels—shocking business. I believe double the sum would be just enough.”
Norman’s gaze narrowed, cold and hard as flint.
How dare he?The sheer audacity of the man—to think he could manipulate Norman so brazenly.
“You’re here to blackmail me.”
Brown tutted. “Such an ugly word, Your Grace. I prefer... negotiation. A fair one at that, I’d say.”
“You prefer to overstep. And extortion, by the way, remains a crime. A serious one. The sort that can land a man in prison, or worse—on a ship to the colonies.”
Brown straightened, smoothing his lapel. “Surely,youwould not resort to dragging this into court, Your Grace. That would cause quite the stir. A duke, entangled in debt with the likes of me? Think of the scandal. Your name, her name—her father’sname—all dragged through the mud. You wouldn’t risk your reputation, not so early in this marriage.”
Norman slowly stepped away from the hearth.
“And here you stand, in my house,” Norman said, his voice dripping with contempt, “presuming I give a damn about the ton’s opinion. The only thing I care about is my betrothed. No threat coming from you would change that.”
“Oh, but you must, Your Grace.” Brown’s words oozed with delight, his voice thick with barely restrained amusement. “Your father certainly did. And unless I’m mistaken... the apple rarely falls far from the tree. Or am I wrong?”
That smirking bastard. Norman’s fingers twitched with the urge to seize Brown by his collar and haul him through the studio, down the stairs, and out into the street—to purge every trace of him from his home.
He stopped just before Brown, gaze level, unreadable.
“My father,” he said evenly, “may have chosen to turn the other cheek. He may have thought it better to yield than confront vermin. But I am not my father.”
He closed the distance between them in one measured step, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “You’ll learn that soon enough.”
Brown swallowed, his false smile growing brittle.
“I do not flinch at scandal. I do not fear dirt. And I certainly do not negotiate with thieves.” Norman’s voice rose with each word, the heat of his anger licking at his temples like flames.
A muscle jumped in Brown’s jaw as he swallowed, yet his gaze burned with unyielding conviction. “You owe me.” Each word landed like a hammer blow.
Norman’s expression did not shift. “I owe younothing. You were paid what was agreed. And if you believe fabricating records or whispering threats will change that, you’ve misjudged the man before you. You’ll get precisely what my father owed you—not a penny more.”
Brown’s eyes glittered. “You think I don’t have the documents? I’ve kept everything. Signatures, letters. If I show them to the right people?—”
“Then do it.”
That stopped him.
Norman leaned forward, close enough to see the way Brown’s pupils twitched. “But understand this—if you choose to open that door, I will walk through it with a torch. And when I do, I will make certain you burn as I stand by and watch.”
Brown stepped back, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
