Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Did you think I would not come for you, Penwike? Did you think that I would sit in my study and let you destroy my reputation?” Richard demanded.
“Face it, Hawksford. It is already destroyed,” Penwike said with a smirk on his face. “I didn’t know it could be this easy.”
“It’s been tainted, yes, but once people realize that you were spreading the lies out of, let me see, jealousy or simply pure resentment, what do you think will happen?”
Richard did what he threatened to do—storm into Penwike’s house without waiting for the marquess’s butler to announce him.
No footman could contain him, either. Each was trembling at the sight of his size and state.
He kept his voice low, but he could not help the growl that came with it.
His anger simmered and was in danger of exploding right there in front of his enemy’s crystal decanters.
When he encountered Penwike, the marquess seemed strangely calm. No, he was merely a bastard, one who was used to doing ill to others. A confrontation was nothing to him. He was at his desk, drinking what looked like brandy. His surroundings smelled of tobacco and dust.
“People will think what they want to think,” he said simply, his eyes somewhat glazed and focused on something behind Richard.
“I was expecting you earlier, but I guess family men have to make arrangements before they can leave the house. And what slowed you down, Your Grace? A bastard? Your uninteresting wife?”
Uninteresting? That was the last word anyone could use to describe Victoria. She was a beauty with a sharp tongue who had only mellowed because of Melody. Her choice to stay inside the house was not because she cowered among the ton; she hated them.
“What did you say?” the duke asked.
Again, he held on to his anger. He didn’t grab the man’s throat. Instead, he remained standing a few feet away from the oily marquess.
“You know what I said, unless your hearing has been affected by the pressures you seem to be feeling at home,” Penwike jeered, before he finished his drink with one gulp.
“Enough! I am not here to trade insults with you, Penwike,” Richard groused. “I know I cannot fight with men who hide behind scandal sheets.”
“Me? You think it was me who sent a tip to the scandal sheets? You are the man who thinks you can end decades of bloodshed with a conversation and land. That is pure arrogance or stupidity; it could be both!”
“Then, have at me. You don’t need to use my family as a pawn to continue this ridiculous game of ancestral tally marks,” Richard retorted, feeling his jaw hurt at the pressure of containing his anger.
“Call off your men. Withdraw or change your statement for the scandal sheets. Let us end this here. You may not see the benefit of this now since you don’t have a family yet. ”
Richard wanted to continue saying that with family you care about, one becomes more afraid of consequences and threats. Yet, he mentioned family to see what Penwike’s reaction would be to the idea of having a child.
Penwike merely laughed.
“Ah. But it isn’t my fault you decided to have a bastard,” the marquess drawled, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Now, you’re bargaining with me. A duke of your status pleading for his bastard.
So, I was right. Wasn’t I? You brought your little girl to your home to have your wife discover her.
I thought the duchess was a smarter woman than that, unless you two are covering for each other for the sake of reputation.
She wants to stay with you now that you are a duke, even after you’ve made a child with some whore in God knows where.
Why wreck your life for some bastard? I know I’ll never do that. Never.”
Richard froze. The words might be meant to hurt him, but they also alerted him to the fact that Penwike did not seem to know that he was talking about his own child. His suspicious interest in them was nothing more than the result of his desire to bring Hawksford down.
There was nothing to suggest guilt or pain. Then again, Penwike was not the sort of person who would feel guilt about any of this.
He doesn’t know. He truly thinks he had a son who was sent to an orphanage.
The realization was still jarring, although he had considered the possibility that Penwike had no idea. The marquess might have thought that he himself had a bastard somewhere—a son—but he considered Melody as Richard’s sin.
“You think the child is mine,” Richard said in a monotone.
“Who else can she be?” Penwike yelled, the first one to let go of his emotions.
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 away from 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.