Page 22 of A Momentary Marriage

James raised his brows, saying in a silky tone, “I’m not even what?” His brother-in-law simply glared at him, not answering. “I’ll tell you what I am, Archie. I am the man who controls the trust Sir Laurence left for his wife and children. And I won’t permit you or anyone else to squander it.”

“It’s not fair,” Salstone repeated, turning toward Claude. “You know it’s not. Why should we have to go begging to him for money that should be ours?”

“Fair doesn’t matter. Haven’t you learned that yet?” Claude shook his head in disgust. “Really, Archie, have you no sense? You insult the man’s wife at dinner, then ask him for money?”

“Don’t act as if you weren’t all thinking the same thing! She’s a nobody. I don’t care if he wants to pick up Montclair’s leavings, but to—”

James burst up from his chair, grabbing a handful of Archie’s ascot and shirt, and shoved him back onto the dining table. Salstone landed with a thud, knocking over the decanter and sending port streaming across the damask. James leaned on the other man, holding him to the table with one hand, his entire weight behind it, and with the other hand twisting the material in a choking grip.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare even say her name.” He rapped Archie’s head against the table for good measure.

“James!” Walter grabbed one arm and Claude the other, pulling him back. “Stop. Let go. You’ll kill him.”

“That’s what I’d like to do.” James released Salstone.

Salstone, coughing, stood up. “You’re a bloody lunatic.”

“And you’re a bloody fool, Archie,” Claude said dispassionately.

James ignored their exchange. “Get out.”

“What?” Salstone stared.

“You heard me.” James bit off the words. “I want you out of this house.”

“You can’t toss me out. This is Patricia’s home.”

“Patricia may stay. You are leaving.”

“James, wait . . . think . . . the scandal,” Walter began.

“I don’t care about the bloody scandal!” James turned and strode away.

Behind him he heard Salstone begin to bluster and Claude’s scornful reply, “What the hell did you expect, Archie? He told you.”

Then he was out the door, leaving them behind. Demosthenes, waiting patiently in the hall, followed him. James took the back door onto the terrace, going across it to the steps into the garden. He sat down on the top step, gazing into the darkness. Customarily, he would make a round of the garden with his dog last thing before retiring, but tonight the spurt of rage had drained him, leaving him shaken and dizzy.

This disease was making him a stranger to himself.

Archie Salstone could drive a saint to murder, and there was no way James could have let the insult to Laura stand. But it wasn’t like him to be violent. He had always been able to take care of any enemy with a few acidic words. These days, however, anger bubbled in him, seeking release.

Demosthenes, after a single puzzled glance at his master, sat down beside James and stared into the garden with him. James looped his arm around the dog. “Ah, Dem, have I done Laura a grave disfavor?”

He was not an impulsive man normally, yet with Laura, he had jumped in without thinking. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it; it wasn’t his inclination to examine his inner motives or deep desires. If he wanted something of beauty, he acquired it. If he sought pleasure, he bought it. If something needed to be done, he made sure it was.

It hadn’t occurred to him until tonight that he had put Laura in an uncomfortable situation. He had known Claude was bound to resent her, but then his sister and her husband had tried their knives on her at supper. James was accustomed to his family’s sniping and usually got in as many shots as he received—well, in truth, probably more. But when they’d started on Laura . . . Anger boiled up inside him again.

Perhaps he should send Laura to his London house, where she would be away from the bitter tongues of his relations. But the idea left him feeling empty. Irritating as Laura’s poking and prying was, he perversely enjoyed it, too. And though he would have denied it, he had meant it, at least a little, when he said he didn’t want to die alone.

It was peculiar that a virtual stranger could quell the icy fear seeking to take root in his chest. But somehow he felt more at ease when he looked into Laura’s calm face, her steady blue gaze. He didn’t want to send her away.

Laura had shown tonight that she could handle his relatives’ barbs. She had the advantage on them in intelligence. And in chucking out Salstone just now, he’d gotten rid of the worst one. She would have to deal with them after he died anyway. Might as well figure out how to do so while he was still here to step in.

God knows how long he would have the strength to do so. The confrontation with Salstone, coming on the heels of the journey, had left him exhausted. Two months ago, he would have scarcely noticed it. Now he could not summon the energy to even walk the garden with Dem. Indeed, climbing the stairs to bed seemed an enormous effort at the moment.

But, of course, he had to. He must use the steam treatment for his cough tonight. He’d already gone two nights without it while he was at the inn. He hadn’t noticed that the treatment had eased his cough, and more than once, he’d thought of simply giving up the tiresome practice. But of course he hadn’t. He could not have given up the struggle any more than he could have changed the color of his eyes. He would keep on until the bitter end. It was what one did.

James stood up and started into the house.