Chapter Thirty
Gabriel walked into his mother’s home with such hatred in his heart that he feared for his soul.
It could not be moral for him to despise any one as much as he did his own mother.
He’d spent his childhood trying to cater to her whims, satisfy her needs, and do anything—everything—to earn the love that Janelle gave so easily.
It never worked. But rather than cut her from his life, he parsed his time and his patience as best he could.
He answered her demands when his work allowed, he bartered with her when he needed to, and he did his best to give her the respect due a parent despite his complete disgust of everything she valued.
How dare she try to pull Janelle into her clutches?
How dare she touch the one pure thing in his life and try to destroy it?
And now it was time for a well-earned reckoning.
He would have her out of his life once and for all.
And he would get Janelle the apothecary shop, too, and never speak to the bitch again.
Such was the force of his fury that when he appeared on her doorstep at nearly noon, he was tempted to kick the portal down. Instead, he used the knocker with excessive force, knowing he was waking her from her sleep.
A maid answered the door. A true maid this time. Or perhaps he should call her a housekeeper for her gaze was hard, her age somewhere in the middle years, and a scar ran from temple down the side of her face into her jaw. He knew her immediately.
“Mrs. Jimenez,” he said, dipping his chin. “I’ve come to speak with my mother.”
“It’s too early. You know that.” Her response was short and to the point, as usual.
Mrs. Jimenez had come to his mother’s home when he was a teenager.
Her wound had been a livid red then. Her mood as well.
She been cross with him then and, obviously, nothing had changed except the color of her scar.
He pushed into the house. “I don’t care. I’ll speak to her in her bed if need be, and to hell with whomever is in there with her.”
He did not put his hands on Mrs. Jimenez. He had some control of his temper, but that did not stop the woman from stepping directly into his path, her jaw firm and her eyes flashing in fury. “It’s not about what you want,” she all but hissed. “This is her house, and you’ll mind your manners.”
“She has not minded hers,” he countered. “And I am done forgiving it.”
Mrs. Jimenez had a hard right cross. He’d had occasion to experience it. He saw her fist tighten the moment he set a foot on the stairs.
“I can best you,” he said, his voice low. “I do not wish to, but I will.”
“I would get my licks in,” she countered.
“You might,” he agreed. Then he turned his cold eyes on her.
He allowed all his rage to show then. Not just for how his mother had ignored him throughout the years, but how she allowed others like Mrs. Jimenez to take out their grievances upon him.
He’d been the only male who was not a customer, and some of her servants had focused all their fury on him. “But I would win in the end.”
Her face contorted then in a slow, evil smile.
“That’s what all you men think, but not with her.
” Her chin jerked upward to where he saw his mother standing as if she were Venus stepped from the sea.
Golden curls, pouty lips, and eyes that widened as if in surprised innocence. “In her house, she wins. Every time.”
“Not today.” He looked up to his mother. “I have things to say, Mama, and you will hear them.”
“Oh, la di dah,” the woman returned with an airy wave of her hand. “So important, so manly. I would be impressed if you weren’t acting like a brute.” She looked to the housekeeper. “I’ll have tea in the parlor. He can say his little things there.”
Gabriel ground his teeth together. It never worked to approach his mother with anything but a cool head. Any show of emotion gave her the upper hand. He knew that, and yet he was not a man of stone. By interfering with Janelle, she had gone too far.
He walked with measured fury into the parlor.
He had no desire to sit in any of those chairs.
God knew what kind of mess had been on them.
But he did not want to stand at attention while his mother lounged before him, so he perched on the edge of the cleanest-looking chair.
And if she felt insulted for his lack of manners, then all the better.
His mother didn’t comment except with a raised brow. Mrs. Jimenez gave him her back as she brought tea in a single cup on a beautiful tray. She set it before his mother, then casually kicked him as she walked past him.
He was prepared for it. Indeed, he remembered countless such blows from when the woman had first come to serve his mother. At the last second, he twisted his foot so that hers caught the hard point of his boot. She howled in reaction.
“You kicked me!” she screeched. “You filthy brute!” She raised her arm to strike him, but he stopped her with a hard stare.
“I am not a child anymore,” he said. The tone of his voice was all that was needed. Her eyes blazed fury, but her blow did not land. Instead, she flounced out of the room.
“Is that what you’ve come to?” his mother drawled as she sipped her tea. “Quarreling with the servants? This is the paragon of virtue I have raised?”
She didn’t raise him at all. She’d used him as her whims required. And his heart held only disdain for her now. God, he wanted out of this house. He’d thought arriving here before the usual crowd descended would make things easier. It had not.
Best get to the point.
“Why would you try to cut Miss Caddick from Lord Benedict? What do you care who she marries?”
His mother sipped her tea, saying nothing. She didn’t even look up. Eventually, he sighed.
“Mother? How long do you intend to ignore me? I can write some of Lord Benedict’s correspondence while I wait.”
She fluttered her eyes as she looked up from her tea. “Oh? Are we to talk then? I thought you were saying things.”
Bantering with her was a losing game. He drew a set of documents out of his pocket and dropped them on the table between them. She didn’t move, but her gaze landed on the neat rows of words. True to form, though, she said nothing. She wasn’t one to show her hand early.
“That is the deed to an excellent building a mile west of where the Rose Garden currently stands. It’s well constructed, the roof is new, and it’s perfect for use as a whorehouse.
Even better, it’s got a side room for gambling and a beautifully appointed suite above stairs, perfect for Madame Florina.
I’ve seen to every detail. Even fixed several holes in the walls.
You should be rat-free now. I would get all new furnishings if I were you, but that is your choice.
You can spend the extra thousand pounds how you choose. ”
“A thousand pounds and a building. My goodness, what brings me such good fortune?”
He met her gaze with an icy stare of his own. “You will deed me the Rose Garden and the building that houses My Lady’s Apothecary.”
Her laughter was high-pitched and hard. Over the years, he had heard all her different laughs from the faked casual to the sultry seductress. This one held true humor which was why it came out hard. It meant he’d surprised her, and she did not like to be surprised.
He waited until she quieted.
“The price is fair, I made sure of that. Both of your buildings are falling to ruin. It will cost more than you can imagine to have them fixed. But with the new building, you will have everything you need with absolutely no effort.” His lips curled.
“And I know how you prefer making no effort whatsoever.”
“What do you know about my efforts?” she asked, sneering.
“Only what I heard grunting every night of my childhood.”
She threw her cup of tea at his face. It was a quick flick of her wrist, a show of temper when she preferred to be the cool one. She was not so calm then, and he was pleased that he had scored a hit in their game of hatred. It didn’t save his face or his clothes from the brew, but it was something.
She’d missed the papers, so that was good.
“Call your man of affairs.” No woman could officially sign papers herself, but her man of affairs could. “Sign the papers, so that we can be done with this.” He didn’t mean done with this conversation. He meant they were done forever. He would never step a foot in her house or her whorehouse again.
She sat back in her chair, her arms going out to the side like a queen on her throne.
Once, he’d thought the pose impressive. Now it was all he could do not to roll his eyes.
When she spoke, it was with ponderous weight and pretended power.
He had heard kings and queens with less strength in their voice.
“You have no power over me. I will not agree, and you are a fool to think I would.”
“The Rose Garden is falling to ruins. The Apothecary, too, for all that there is a garden in the center. You have no interest in repairing it, so in a few year’s time, it will be rubble about your ankles and worth a fraction of what it is now.”
“It is mine. And I can hire roofers and rat catchers as well as anyone else.”
“You can, but you don’t. It’s a bother you hate.”
“You’d be surprised what I will make an effort to do.”
Perhaps. If she were well motivated. “I have never interfered with your affairs before, Mother. Never once spoken about your petulance, your tempers, or your…illness.” She had no illness that he knew of, but that never stopped rumors from spreading.
“I can see to it that you never have another protector again.”
“As if I need that.”
“You would, if the roof fell in at the Rose Garden. And that is nothing to say of the disease that runs rampant there. I know your customers, Mother. It would be easy enough to direct them elsewhere.”
“And then I shall end up on your doorstep, my doting son. I shall sit in Lord Benedict’s office and wail at how you have abused me.”