Promise of Pleasure (27 page)

“About what are you babbling?” he said, feigning indifference.

“Victoria is in an uproar. I came to warn you.”

“Well, thank you. Warning received. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.”

He glared at her, being obvious that he wished she’d leave, but she didn’t budge.

“When you’re back in London, what will happen to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will we keep on together? Or are you letting me go?”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. His temper flared.

Though much of the prior evening was a drunken blur, he faintly recalled whispering many promises to Mary. He’d thought he was eager to split with Lauretta, but in the clear light of day, everything was jumbled.

In the past few hours, he hadn’t inherited a fortune. He still needed to wed Felicity, and that left him in a bind from which he didn’t know how to extricate himself.

At the moment, there were too many women wanting things from him that he either wouldn’t or couldn’t give.

He hated discord and quarreling. If he was to break with Lauretta, it wouldn’t be while he was a hung-over mess and she looked ready to kill.

“Nothing’s changing,” he insisted, and right that second, he was being truthful.

What might transpire in the next minute, in the next week, in the next month, he couldn’t guess.

“Swear it to me,” she demanded.

“I swear.”

She scoffed. “As if I’d take your word for anything.”

He grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed down onto it.

“What would you have me say, Lauretta?”

“Mary Barnes, Jordan? You were fucking Mary Barnes? Are you insane?”

He stared at her, not indicating by the most miniscule sign that he’d done as she’d accused.

“You’re trying my patience, Lauretta, and I’m too exhausted to fight with you.”

“She’s Felicity’s sister, for pity’s sake. Do you realize the hornet’s nest you’ve stirred? Victoria may refuse the match! We may not get Felicity’s dowry.”

“Then I’ll find another heiress.”

“I could shake you till your teeth rattle.”

“You’ve overstepped your bounds. You’re making me angry.”

“After all our planning, all our preparation, you jeopardize it like this? For what? Just to slip between the thighs of some little country virgin?”

“Lauretta! You go too far.”

“You’re incorrigible, Jordan, but you’re not stupid and you’re not rash. Why did you do this? Tell me!”

There was a terrible silence, as she yearned for an answer he would never give.

Very quietly, she asked, “Are you in love with her?”

Was he in
love
with Mary?

His connection to her was unusual and thrilling. She fascinated him, and he felt better when he was in her company. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop wanting to be with her.

Was that love? It had to be, but even if it was, he would never admit it to Lauretta.

Luckily, he was saved from replying by a knock on the door. He stood and went to the outer room. He peeked into the hall, seeing a footman.

“Yes?”

“You have a visitor, Lord Redvers.”

“
I
have a visitor?”

“Yes, your father.”

“Sunderland is here?”

“He awaits you in the front drawing room—at your convenience.”

What the hell could he want? Could this accursed day get any worse?

“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

The man left, and Jordan closed the door.

Feeling as if he’d aged ten years, as if he’d been beaten with clubs, he spun around. Lauretta was watching him.

“What is he doing here?” she inquired.

“I haven’t a clue.”

“You’re not going to meet with him, are you?”

“I don’t exactly have a choice.”

He was weary of her, weary of the game her presence forced him to play.

“Go home, Lauretta. Leave for London immediately.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Go anyway.”

“If there’s to be a big eruption—either with Sunderland or Victoria—you need me.”

“No. Leave—and take Paxton with you.”

She dawdled, rage wafting off her. He knew she wanted to scream, she wanted to shout, she wanted to pound him with her fists till he was a bloody heap on the floor.

Ultimately, she nodded, accepting defeat.

“As you wish.” She swept by him. “I’ll see you back in London.”

“WHAT do you want now, Sunderland?”

Edward gazed at his handsome, indolent, intractable son. The obstinate boy hadn’t even shaved. He looked like he’d just tumbled out of bed, as if he were a criminal, or a poor person living on the street.

Why would Victoria Barnes put up with him? It was a measure of her desperation to snag a title that she’d have him in her house as a guest.

Mr. Thumberton had urged Edward to make a final attempt to speak with Jordan, but on viewing Jordan’s sloppy condition, Edward’s temper boiled.

He didn’t understand Jordan and had never been able to forgive him for being who he was, for refusing to be more like his brother, who’d died so young and so needlessly. As a result, he and Jordan had no common ground upon which to move forward through any dispute.

Edward didn’t know how to talk to Jordan, and Jordan didn’t know how to listen.

“You couldn’t have bothered to shave?”

He hadn’t meant to snap, but he felt so ill-used, and Jordan replied precisely as Edward might have predicted.

“I didn’t see any reason to clean up. It wouldn’t have changed how this meeting will go. So if you traveled all this way merely to criticize my disheveled state, I’m busy. If you’ll excuse me.”

He turned to stomp out.

“I will not be dismissed by you!”

“And I will not be scolded as if I’m a lad in short pants. You didn’t answer my question: Why are you here?”

“I came to try—one last time—to dissuade you from your folly.”

“I’m perfectly happy to proceed with my
folly
—as you call it—so it’s a wasted trip.”

“You can’t marry that girl.”

“Why can’t I?”

“She’s flighty and immature; she’ll make you miserable.”

“Any woman would.”

“You’re behaving like a madman.”

“Nothing new there.”

Jordan walked to the sideboard, poured himself a whiskey, then flopped down in a chair. He gulped his liquor, appearing wretched and unkempt. He slouched in the seat, almost as if he’d like to slide to the floor and lie down.

“Tell me the truth,” Edward fumed. “Why are you doing this?”

“You know why.”

“Is it to spite me? To wound me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re succeeding.”

“Good. You treat me like a child, and if I have to wed Felicity to be shed of you, then that is what I shall do.”

“It is a mistake you’ll always regret!” Edward’s voice and wrath were rising. “I can’t let you make it!”

“How can you stop me?”

“I could have you committed to an insane asylum.”

Jordan chortled with merriment. “By all means, please try.”

“You laugh now,” Edward seethed, “but after a few months spent in Bedlam, you won’t think it’s so funny.”

“Go home, Edward. I’m sick of listening to you.”

Jordan stood and went to the sideboard again. He was pouring another drink when the door opened.

Lauretta Bainbridge poked her nose into the room.

“Hello, Eddie,” she said in her usual condescending manner. “What brings you to the country?”

“Mrs. Bainbridge!” Edward gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m entertaining your son. What do you suppose? Paxton is here, too. He’s cheating all the neighborhood wives out of their pin money.”

Edward was so enraged by her presence that little red circles formed on the edges of his vision. He wondered if he was about to have an apoplexy.

“This is a private discussion,” he shouted. “Get out!”

“Gladly, you pompous old nag. I only popped in to mention that the entire house can hear you yelling. Why don’t you put us all out of our misery and drop dead?”

She made a rude gesture and sauntered away, leaving Edward so furious that he began wheezing.

He peered at Jordan, who was loitering by the liquor bottles.

“You brought her here?” Edward was stunned. “You would insult Mrs. Barnes in such a despicable way?”

“I’m just a bundle of offense.”

Edward shook his head in disgust.

What was the point in trying to reason with Jordan? What was the point of hoping he would change?

He was who he was: a lazy, impetuous, vulgar knave who assumed that the world owed him a bloody favor.

“I’ve redrafted my will,” Edward very solemnly announced.

“What took you so long? I thought you’d disinherited me years ago.”

“You will not ever have a penny of my fortune to waste on that ... harlot.”

“That’s all right. I’ll have Felicity’s.” He calmly sipped his whiskey. “Will there be anything else? Are there more invectives you need to hurl? Or are you finished?”

Edward studied him, feeling quite sure it was the last occasion they’d ever see each other.

Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t Jordan behave as was decent and proper?

“Don’t call on me,” Edward gravely said. “Don’t write. Don’t beg for cash. I am posting a notice in the Times that I will pay no more of your bills.”

“My creditors will weep.”

“I will not answer any correspondence, and I will inform the servants that you are not to be allowed onto any of my properties.”

“First though, I don’t imagine you’d agree to fix Redvers House.”

“Never.”

“Since
you
let it fall to ruin, that’s not very sporting.”

“If I went to the expense, you’d simply wreck it again. I won’t squander another farthing on you.”

“I bet you’d have repaired it if your beloved son James had asked.”

“For James, yes, I would have.”

“Precisely,” Jordan scoffed.

Edward refused to be embarrassed over his disparate feelings for the two boys. It had never been a secret that he’d liked James best. James had possessed every trait Edward wanted in an heir, while Jordan was the complete antithesis of what was required.

“From this moment on,” Edward warned, “I have no son.”

“So be it.”

At the crushing pronouncement, Edward felt sick with dismay. It wasn’t what he’d planned to say, at all, but pride kept him from retracting the words.

He spun to depart, but as he approached the door, a woman was standing there. He’d seen her on his previous visit. She was one of the Barnes daughters—Mary or Martha or something.

“Are you fighting again?” she asked, entering the room like a petite virago.

“Leave it be, Mary,” Jordan said.

“I won’t. You two can’t go on like this.”

“You can’t mend it for us,” Jordan claimed.

“Miss Barnes,” Edward interjected, “Jordan has been a guest here, and you’ve obviously formed a friendship with him, but that doesn’t imply that you can—”

“Stop it!” she demanded. “Stop it right now. Both of you ought to be ashamed. My mother died when I was born, and my father died when I was a little girl. I hardly remember him.”

“What has that to do with me?” Edward haughtily inquired.

“I would give anything to speak with either of them again—for even a few minutes. Jordan is all you have in the world, yet you treat him so badly.”

“Mary,” Jordan sharply counseled, “don’t defend me to him.”

“And you!” she snapped at Jordan. “Be silent! You deliberately goad him.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t try to deny it. I was listening out in the hall.”

“You minx,” Jordan chided, smiling.

He was exhibiting an affection for her that Edward had never seen him display toward anyone.

“I know how you behave!” Miss Barnes chastised. “You provoke him on purpose. You enjoy it. Well, I say, enough! From both of you.”

“Miss Barnes,” Edward said, “you have some gall to lecture me.”

“He is the only child you have left! How can you act as if he doesn’t matter?”

“He doesn’t ... matter. Not anymore. His misdeeds have guaranteed that he is nothing to me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, but I do. Good day.”

Edward swept by her and headed for the front door, where the butler stood ready with his hat and coat.

He put them on slowly, absurdly hoping that Jordan would rush out to apologize, but as footsteps sounded, he glanced over to see that it was Miss Barnes chasing after him.

“Don’t go away angry,” she said. “He’s not serious. He intentionally baits you, and you fall for it every time.”