Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A fter Rosaline left, a black mood descended over the London townhouse.
The servants walked on tiptoes around their master, who was an ogre to everyone, most of all himself.
He sat in his study, brooding in the biting cold, refusing to light the fire and drinking himself into a stupor.
No wonder she has left me. What woman would stay after such a dismissal of everything she represents?
His thoughts, his dreams, every waking moment were filled with Rosaline. He’d missed her from the moment she had left, and yet his foolish, stubborn heart had let her walk away as though she meant nothing to him.
Adam swirled his port, watching the cut glass catch the light of the single candle that burned on his desk. He had finally collapsed into a chair, having paced for so long the soles of his feet were burning.
I must get that letter. And once it is found I shall find my wife and keep her with me until I have convinced her how much I need her.
He drank down the last of the port and placed the glass gently on the desk. There was a pile of correspondence that he had not yet had the heart to review, and he staggered to his feet, walking to it unsteadily.
There were two letters from his solicitor, no doubt commending him on his work with the tenants, all of which had been achieved by Rosaline.
“Much good may it do them,” he muttered bitterly snapping open the seal on the final letter with a grimace.
It was from Claridge, yet another missive from the man asking him to attend three functions before the end of the season.
Claridge spoke of his gratitude for Adam introducing him to Lauriston. The obsequious nature of the letter formed a bitter taste at the back of Adam’s mouth.
Claridge continued, listing several of Adam’s peers, and the ‘joy’ he would feel when the Claridge name could be forever linked to theirs after Adam had made the necessary introductions.
Adam read the letter over again, his fingers tightening on the paper, his skin hot with suppressed rage.
This is not to be borne. I shall not dance to this man ’ s tune for the remainder of my life.
He crumpled the letter in his fist as he checked the clock on the mantel.
It was almost five in the morning, but Adam had no need for sleep.
He would ready himself and be on his way at first light, that should catch Claridge unawares and perhaps allow Adam to guess where the blackguard kept the letter.
It must be in Claridge House somewhere, it ’ s just a matter of discovering where.
He ripped at the cravat around his throat, walked to the door of the study, and stalked to the stairs, ringing the bell as soon as he was in his bedchamber for his valet to attend him.
There was not a moment to lose.
The carriage ride to the Claridge townhouse was strangely calming, as Adam looked out of the window at the mist curling through the London streets.
The sun had failed to penetrate the peasouper of a fog that they were experiencing, but it would have burned off by midday.
Adam checked his fob watch. Twelve hours since Rosaline had walked out of the door. If he were honest with himself, he could probably count the minutes too.
Damn the woman to hell.
The carriage jolted violently to the side as it went over something discarded in the road. Rosaline hated any jostling of the carriage—her entire body would become tense.
He hated to see it, wishing there were a way for him to protect her from her past so that she was never troubled by it again.
He drummed his fingers on the bench as finally the driver called out that they had arrived.
Adam had taken time to dress and sober up, so it was now almost nine o’clock. It was still an unreasonably early hour to call upon a man of the ton, many of whom did not rise until midday.
No matter—it was not as though he owed Claridge any politeness anyway.
He walked up the steps, giving his card to a rather startled butler. After a brief hesitation, the man showed him into a parlor room off the main entrance hall.
“Shall I have the fire lit, Your Grace?” the butler asked.
“Yes. Thank you,” Adam muttered as the man withdrew.
The room itself was very cold, as though it had not been used for many weeks. Adam didn’t want the distraction of a crackling flame.
Crack, crack, crack. The last sound that David heard before he perished.
Adam couldn’t let that take over his mind, not with Claridge there. He had to be alert.
Yet the parlor was too cold, and it would seem peculiar for him not to request some warmth from the footman.
A fire now burned merrily beside him and although it warmed away the ache in his leg where he sat a few feet away from it, the sound was crisp. Too crisp.
Focus, Oldstone .
Now was not the time for weakness.
It was a full half hour before he heard rapid footsteps approaching.
Adam had considered skulking around the house in the intervening time to give Claridge’s study another once over, but when he had opened the door to do so it was to find the butler standing guard outside.
Adam remained seated as he heard Claridge’s footsteps approach as he opened the door.
“Your Grace,” Claridge said, none too warmly, his eyes glancing over Adam in confusion. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
The man had a cut on his jaw where his valet must have nicked him— my, my, they were in haste this morning.
“Lord Claridge,” Adam said lazily. “I felt it was important for me to come in person so that we could discuss the business of your letters.”
Claridge’s eyes flicked about the room rather nervously.
He smoothed his hands down his jacket, fingers fidgeting. He was more agitated than Adam had seen him, all the faux confidence evaporating in a moment.
“Very well,” Claridge stammered. “Coffee will be brought in shortly.”
“Thank you.”
Adam had already drunk a cup or two that morning, partly due to his lack of sleep, but mostly to make his mind sharper after his fourth glass of port.
He settled himself further back in the armchair, watching Claridge fidget in place, as though deciding where to sit. His eyes kept glancing at a desk in the corner of the room.
Eventually, he lowered himself onto the chaise longue, looking very uneasy.
“I am glad you received my note, Your Grace,” Claridge said, regaining some of his conviction. “I am pleased that you felt it was a matter to be discussed in person. I should have come to you.”
“There are many things you should have done, Claridge. I am here to explain what you are going to stop doing.”
Claridge blinked at him. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
“You will refrain from using my influence and position to further yourself. I am not responsible for your status in life, nor will I ever be. I have spent years developing, cultivating, and building on the reputation that I inherited from my father. Why should you benefit from a legacy you played no hand in?”
“Introductions are merely—” Claridge began.
“Introductions are only that, my lord. And one must be a certain type of person to impress those with whom I spend my time. I do not believe any of the peers that you listed will be interested in your company for longer than five minutes. I know I was not prior to my wedding. And after it.”
Claridge barked a laugh. “Your Grace, I believe you are forgetting a simple fact. I can ruin your precious reputation and destroy your brother in one movement. He’ll hang if word gets out. And any legacy you have cultivated will be destroyed.”
Adam’s body tensed at the arrogant smirk on the other man’s face.
Why is he sweating so much?
As Adam watched him, Claridge’s fingers fluttered at his knee, plucking at a loose thread, his throat convulsing on a swallow.
Adam glanced at the desk Claridge had been continually looking at.
Every other piece of furniture in the room was covered in a layer of dust, but the desk was pristine. Claridge’s face was clammy now, his tongue continually licking at his lips in agitation.
By God, the letter is in this room.
Adam knew it with a certainty he couldn’t explain, but he was suddenly sure of that fact.
A sensible man would leave the letter somewhere out of sight. A disused parlor room that no one in the house would ever go in was a perfect location for such a thing.
There was a gentle knock on the door and the butler entered with a tray of coffee and tea. Adam’s gaze sharpened as Claridge was distracted, and he took the opportunity to examine the desk in more detail.
It was a Davenport, the same as his father’s. Adam knew it well, and understood just what a piece of furniture like that could conceal.
He relaxed back in his chair, carefully casual, as he watched the coffee being poured.
“Come now, Your Grace,” Claridge added as they were left alone once more. “You have a new wife, and your brother is safe for now. Do you really wish to rip all that asunder, all because of pride?”
“Ah yes, my wife,” Adam gritted out. “Your niece, who you were so desperate to be rid of, that you blackmailed me into marrying her—a fact you rejoiced in revealing to her at your soirée not two nights ago.”
To his disgust Claridge snorted, holding back a laugh.
“It is not my fault if you were not honest with her about the reasons for your marriage. You made a choice to save your brother, that was a noble thing,”
He stirred sugar into his coffee, a smirk playing across his lips as he looked at Adam over the top of his cup.
“It did not look as though she took the news well. A pity for her, really. She always was a broken little bird. Never good for anything. To be honest with you, if I hadn’t found that letter, I would have had her sent away to a nunnery. A nunnery very far away—and who knows what would have happened on that journey? Roads nowadays are quite treacherous.”
Before Adam could fully register what his body was doing, he was on his feet as Claridge looked up at him in alarm.
Adam could see the exact second when the other man realized he had made a grave error, his eyes widening, his stumpy fingers struggling to hold the delicate cup in his hand, as they began to shake.
“You bastard ,” Adam snarled as he took one step forward.
And drove his fist with a satisfying crack into Claridge’s eye.
The man roared in shock, the coffee spilling all over the patterned carpet beneath their feet as he fell to the floor, moaning, clutching his face with his hand.
Adam flexed his fingers; the pain felt justified by the sight of the man groveling at his feet.
He stepped over Claridge’s prone form and walked to the desk as swiftly as he could.
The key glimmered in the lock as he turned it and lifted the curved panel up.
It was identical to his father’s, and Adam saw the hidden lever instantly, pulling it out and watching as the entire top half of the desk lowered to reveal hidden drawers behind.
Adam glanced back at Claridge, but he was still groaning and rolling on the floor in a considerable amount of pain, a swollen lump forming above his eyebrow.
Adam reached for the first drawer he came across, and a jolt of excitement shot through his chest as he saw exactly what he had wanted to find inside.
Henry’s slanting hand was clearly visible on the front of a pure white envelope, lying diagonally in a vertical drawer of the desk.
At bloody last .
Adam immediately seized it and ripped it open, scanning the letter eagerly, his chest tightening at his brother’s words of regret and sorrow at what he had done.
Without any hesitation, he walked to the fire and threw the thing into the flames, watching it burn to ash.
It was the first time a weight was lifted from his shoulders in the presence of flames.
Fire had been David’s demise, but now, it was Henry’s salvation.
“Good day, Claridge,” Adam said as he turned, looking down at the man with all the contempt he could muster. “A pleasure doing business with you.”