Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
O n the morning of the last full day of the house party, Percy woke with the sun in his eyes and an insistent pressure in his manhood. He flopped to his stomach with a strangled groan.
Last night with Marina had been heavenly. Percy hadn't known it was possible to derive such satisfaction from pleasuring a woman. He'd longed for his own release, of course, but when he'd seen the peaceful, sleepy expression on Marina's face after her climax, he'd found he had no urgency to press for more. And when he'd returned to his own rooms, he could not bear the idea of taking himself in hand, of relieving the pressure himself. It simply hadn't felt right.
He was suffering the effects of that decision now—had been suffering them all night, really. After the eon it took him to fall asleep, he'd been plagued by torturous and sublime sensual dreams, all featuring the soft embrace of a clever-tongued woman with gleaming brown eyes. His bed linens looked as though he'd spent the night wrestling.
He could have slept for another week, ideally with Marina beside him, worn out from several vigorous bouts of lovemaking.
Instead, Percy had to get up and— ugh— socialize. And, worse, do business.
There was only one person he wished to socialize with at the moment, and only one type of business he wished to attend to with her. Unfortunately, Percy was instead scheduled to meet with Martin Fitzgerald.
With quite a bit of grumbling and an extreme reluctance that had his valet looking at him sidelong more than once, Percy roused himself, dressed for the day, and headed downstairs. He directed a maid to bring a tray or two of breakfast to his study, enough for three gentlemen.
The only upside to this morning's meeting was that the evening prior, previous to the whole to-do with the dancing and the abandonment in the garden, Percy had pulled Joseph to the side to discuss Packley's scheme.
Joseph had the useful habit of asking pertinent questions that never would have occurred to Percy; they simply had different ways of approaching problems that made them an extremely good team, when it came to attempting to account for all possible problems. They'd done this dozens of times before, over mathematical conundrums at Eton, for philosophical essays at university, and for both men's business dealings since each had inherited his title.
Percy had laid out Packley's proposition, explaining both the benefits and his misgivings, though he kept Marina's name out of it. He wasn't quite comfortable, even this morning, with his desire to get into a business endeavor for her sake, and certainly wasn't ready to share such feelings with his friend.
The night previously, Joseph had raised a speculative eyebrow when Percy reported the sum that Packley had estimated for the first year's profits, then frowned thoughtfully as Percy finished his report on the conundrum.
"You like the plan," Joseph had said simply after a moment's contemplation. "But you don't trust Packley. That's the problem."
As soon as Joseph laid it out so plainly, it was obvious. Lord, but it was good to have his friends around him.
"Damn, man, that's precisely it," said Percy. "Though," he added, in a somewhat less pleased tone, "knowing the problem doesn't tell me how to solve it."
Joseph had again paused to think. "What if," he said carefully, "the risk was mitigated by the addition of someone else you did trust."
So they had hatched a plan. It was a plan that—and Percy had to admit, this was a not insignificant part of its appeal—was sure to irritate the hell out of Packley.
Just the thought was cheering, even as exhaustion tugged at Percy's bones.
When he arrived in the study, Joseph was already waiting for him, reading the newspaper, and sipping a steaming cup of tea.
"Is that my paper you've stolen?" Percy mumbled good-naturedly.
"I've always said you were the most hospitable of us," said Joseph mildly, not looking up from what he was reading. This further boosted Percy's mood; the last few years had seen his friend becoming remarkably serious, so any showing of humor was a welcome reminder that the old Joseph still lurked in there somewhere.
"Give me what you're finished with, at least," he groused back, accepting the international pages from Joseph.
Percy was halfway through a rather dry article on the rising prices of French butter when the maid, accompanied by a footman to help with the heavy lifting, brought in trays laden with tea, coffee, cream, and samplings from the breakfast table. Percy had only just finished preparing himself a plate when Packley arrived, and he was forced to set it aside before he could take a single bite.
Still, best to get this over with.
"Good morning, Your Grace," said Packley in that somewhat oily, fawning tone of his. "Allow me to reiterate how very pleased I am that you've asked to meet with—" When Packley spotted Joseph, he broke off with a frown. "What's he doing here?"
Percy raised an eyebrow and Packley rapidly backtracked.
"I mean, I do beg your pardon, Your Grace—both Your Graces, of course. I was merely surprised to see His Grace the Duke of Culton. You must forgive me. I am most dreadfully sorry. Do forgive me, do."
Abstractly, Percy wondered if Packley was as long-winded when he wrote as when he spoke. If so, the man must spend a fortune in ink , he thought. If their plan went through, they'd have to consider that in the expense accounting.
"Think nothing of it, Packley," said Joseph softly, which Percy thought was very magnanimous of him.
"Thank you, indeed, Your Grace—" began Packley, but Percy cut him off. If they left the man to his own devices, he'd go on half the day, and Percy was much more interested in spending time with the other Fitzgerald cousin.
"Packley," he said sharply, which shut the earl up immediately. "I've come to my decision. I will invest in your ice importation business—" Packley perked up, reminding Percy somewhat of a puppy who had been offered a treat. "— if ," he added with emphasis, "Culton is invited to invest as well, as an equal third."
Packley's expression fell. Percy could practically see the calculations going on in his head: did he push back, as he clearly wished to do, or did he go along to avoid risking potential offense to either of the dukes in the room?
In the end, Packley's better angels did not triumph. "I'm not sure we need an additional partner," he hedged, keeping his eyes firmly locked on Percy, as if by avoiding looking at Joseph, the other man would disappear. "The addition of a third would diminish the profits afforded to each partner…"
Percy slashed a hand through the air, cutting through these objections. "These are my terms, Packley. You wish me to invest considerable time, money, and resources to a scheme in which I have no previous experience. Despite what you promise about profits, it is a massive expenditure, with the risks that always come with such things. I want Culton in."
Percy's voice was firm, but Packley's expression remained mulish. Joseph watched quietly, as if observing a chess match.
"Including him won't increase your experience or diminish risks," protested Packley, tone a bit whiny. "It will only diminish our profits."
If it were up to him, Percy might have left it at that, just withdrawn from the project and sent Packley on his way. After all, Haddington didn't need the money that badly; the estate was well on its way to thriving, and nobody would mind if it took Percy another year or two to modernize the house, particularly since the whole family would be in London for Lucy's Season.
But Joseph had never before asked to join in on one of Percy's businesses, which caused Percy to think that perhaps his friend did need the blunt. And, yes, Percy could admit it to himself—he wanted to do it for Marina, because she had looked out for him when she'd had no real reason to do so. And because Percy could only imagine how unpleasant a man like Packley was likely to become when he didn't get his way, and how unkindly he was likely to take out that displeasure on those subordinate to him, like his younger, female cousin.
So Percy would have a little more forbearance than he might normally have offered to this irritating little man. Still, though, he could not let Packley entirely off the hook.
"Allow me to be clearer, then," Percy said, with a tight, displeased smile. "I wish to have Culton on the project because I trust him. I will not get into business of this magnitude without a man I trust." He let the implication of this hang in the air.
Percy had, honestly, expected this to cow Packley, had expected him to default back to the stammering, apologetic version of himself. Instead, though, Packley became enraged, face turning a violent shade of red.
"Oh, I can't be trusted, can I?" he seethed. "I wonder where you got that idea. I wonder who has been whispering in your ear about me. Christ, I should have married that cousin of mine off the moment I inherited. God only knows she's more trouble than she's worth. And no better than she ought to be, apparently, if she's been skulking around—"
" Stop. Talking."
Percy was standing—he had no recollection of getting to his feet—and the desk between them was the only thing that stopped him from physically choking the words out of Packley with his bare hands. It had been one thing for Packley to get angry, to be offended at Percy's insinuation. But it was another thing entirely for him to cast aspersions against Marina's character, to make thinly veiled insinuations about her virtue…
The thought of his lovely, bright Marina being forced to live under the edict of this petty, small, weasel of a man made Percy see red.
"You will not," Percy grit out, practically trembling with rage, "speak about Lady Marina that way." "Hell," he added, "you will not speak about any woman that way, let alone one under your care. Do you understand me? If I hear even the faintest implication that you have been disparaging your cousin, I will see you ruined. It won't even be difficult—who do you think the ton respects more, the Duke of Haddington or the Earl of Packley?"
"And," he said, before Packley could open his mouth to argue because if Packley dared to do so, Percy was certain he would strike the man. "If you think I can't ruin you without harming Lady Marina or her sister, you are vastly underestimating my influence." He paused, drawing in a breath. The veil of rage was starting to lift, ever so slightly, from his eyes and he saw Packley, looking shocked, cowed, and just a bit curious.
"Do I make myself entirely clear?"
Packley regarded Percy for a moment longer, mouth slightly agape, before nodding. "Yes, Your Grace," he said. "I understand perfectly." There was a strange note in Packley's tone that Percy couldn't quite put his finger on, but, somehow, it made him hate the man all the more. Packley turned to Joseph and offered a small bow. "I would of course be most pleased to have you in our endeavor, Your Grace. I will have my solicitor send the relevant paperwork to your man of business as soon as I return to London."
Joseph, who had been watching the proceedings with a canny eye, nodded briefly. "Thank you, Packley. I appreciate your taking me on." It was a testament to Joseph's skill for propriety that he managed to say this without a shred of irony.
Packley, who was far less gracious than Joseph, just nodded stiffly. He turned to Percy. "Is that all, Your Grace?" he asked, voice strained.
"I'll have my solicitor speak to yours," Percy said, just as terse. "Now get out." He could not manage one moment longer of being even halfway civil to Martin Fitzgerald.
Packley bowed—a far shallower bow than the one he'd offered when he'd arrived, Percy noted—and left.
Percy snatched the now-lukewarm cup of tea at his elbow and drank it down in a gulp, wishing it were whisky. Alas, it was just gone ten in the morning, which was a bit early to be indulging in spirits, no matter the magnitude of the irritation he'd just endured.
"So," said Joseph said after a long moment of silence. "Lady Marina Fitzgerald?"
"No," grit out Percy, the word tasting like broken glass. "No, it's not—it's just a flirtation." A flash of the satiny texture of Marina's cheek as he'd brushed the hair away, her expression soft and sated, shot through Percy's mind. "It's nothing, but she doesn't deserve to be spoken about that way."
No one did, Percy told himself. Christ, he'd gut anyone who tried to speak thusly about Lucy. It was abominable that Marina's relation, who should have looked to protect her, would even think of doing such a thing. Percy's reaction wasn't personal—it was basic gentlemanly behavior, to stand up for a woman that way.
Percy poured himself another cup of tea, this one still steaming from the pot.
"If you say so," said Joseph, tone exceedingly mild. Percy didn't buy that for a minute.
"It's nothing," he said again, gulping down the tea. He didn't know if it was the hot beverage or the words that scalded his throat on the way down.