Chapter 21
Containing Startling Revelations
It had been a mistake to swap the study chairs. Or rather, not to change them back.
Yes, Xavier was comfortable as he faced Lockwood across the desk in his private studyâbut he sat low in his seraglio chair, as though he were waiting for a harem girl to leap upon him. And Lockwood shifted and huffed in the thronelike Norman chair.
Xavier tried to summon the presence of mind to ignore the chairs. The words were what mattered.
“Lockwood, this can't continue.”
“The chair? I know it. Feels like I'm sitting on a bag of rocks. Let's have a brandy.” The marquess popped from his seat and moved over to the sideboard, pouring Armagnac into two snifters.
“In truth,” Lockwood said over his shoulder, “I'm glad for the chance to speak privately. I've learned something which I believe will be of great interest to you.”
Xavier's fingers gripped the edge of the desk. “About Louisa Oliver?”
“No.” Lockwood moved back to his chair, settling onto it with a groan, and set a snifter on the desk before Xavier.
Xavier worked on unclamping his fingers as Lockwood added, “However, I'm intrigued to learn that Miss Oliver is the subject foremost on your mind.”
“In a conversation with you? Yes. As would be anyone whom you had harassed repeatedly.”
“Hmm.” Lockwood drained his snifter in one long pull, then made an
ahhh
of satisfaction. “Is this Armagnac? I'm beginning to think it's not so bad.”
Wordlessly, Xavier nudged the other snifter across the desk. Lockwood picked it up with a salute, then sent its contents the way of the first.
Fine. He was mellowing. Maybe he'd listen now.
“Here is what I propose, Lockwood.” Expression Number One, Veiled Disdain. “I give you ten pounds. When next we're in London, you write your name in the betting book at White's as the winner of this wager that I should never have agreed to. And you leave Miss Oliver in peace for the remainder of the house party.”
Xavier leaned back in his chair. “I no longer care about avoiding a family scandal. Lord Xavier is always associated with scandal, is he not? So if you do not agree to my terms, I will have you ejected from my house. Whether you leave with dignity or not is for you to determine.”
Lockwood waited for him to finish.
And then he laughed.
It was not the laugh of a drunken man who wishes to appease. It was not simple mirth or joy. It sounded like . . . triumph.
Goose bumps raced down Xavier's arms. He slid one hand to the side, fumbling for something to hold on to. His correspondence seal. Yes. That would do.
Lockwood's laughter subsided as he stood, moved to the sideboard, and refilled his snifter. With a shrug, he carried the decanter back with him, too.
“Coz, you are such a fool. You think this is as simple as one little line in the White's betting book?”
Well, he
had
. “Of course not, but I fail to seeâ”
“Exactly.” Lockwood nodded emphatically, brandy loosening his gestures. “You don't see. You've gotten besotted with a few things lately, haven't you? Miss Oliver. Propriety. Your precious books.” He sneered. “And while you have your head up your arse, you don't see what's changing around you.”
Xavier tensed. “Apologize.”
Lockwood raised placating hands. “I take it back. But minus the arse, what I'm telling you is true.”
Xavier rolled his seal between his fingers. A small block of ivory; proof of his worth. “Explain.”
Lockwood rummaged beneath his chair for a moment, then straightened up with a ledger in his hand. “I returned this to the study earlier, while you were out. It's a very interesting book.”
He slid the book across the desk to Xavier and leaned forward. “Have you read the end of it?”
“You know I haven't. You filched it from me before I had the chance to decode beyond the Restoration.”
Lockwood smiled. “True. Since it told of my family as well, I thought I had a right to know. I was particularly interested in the recent history. Say . . . that of our parents' generation.”
“You clearly have something scintillating to say. Please assume that I've begged you to reveal it on bended knee, so we can return to the main point of this conversation.”
“Ah, but this
is
the point.” Lockwood flipped open the ledger and removed a loose sheet of decoded text that was tucked into the cover. “Do have a look at this, won't you?”
Xavier found his glass, then took the crisp foolscap and read these lines:
The beautiful Lady Anne Wilkes married the eighth Earl of Xavier against her parents' wishes. Ah, marriageâin the immortal words of Richardson, it is “the highest state of friendship: if happy, it lessens our cares, by dividing them, at the same time that it doubles our pleasures by a mutual participation.”
Neither her ladyship nor his lordship appeared to have read Richardson, however. Their cares were doubled and their pleasures divided; theirs, and those of their families.
After the eighth countess survived three years of marriage to the unyielding, dissipated earl, she took a base-born lover of her own. In 1790, she presented her lord with a cuckoo in his nest, then died in childbed, released from her woes. When the earl died of drink a few months later, the succession was broken. But who was to know? Perhaps one day . . . the world.
Xavier skimmed the text over and over, more meaning sinking in each time. “This can't be right,” he muttered.
The paragraphs implied that his mother had had a lover, and that heâXavierâwas the child of that man. Not of the eighth earl.
He read it again, but the words on the page were ink black and unchanging.
Lockwood watched, a half-smile on his face. Xavier composed his expression and handed the paper back to Lockwood. “Assuming you've decoded correctly, this is a very interesting little anecdote.”
“It could be much more than that,” said the marquess. “Your parents died in 1790, did they not?”
“Yes, but that's hardly proof of anything more.”
“I don't need proof.” Lockwood smiled again. “You, of all people, ought to know the power of rumor. You've benefited from it long enough.”
His smile twisted, his fingers crumpling the edge of the paper on which he had printed out the text. “You didn't think I believed everything the world said of you, did you, Coz? That I truly thought you won honestly at cards? That you'd coaxed dozens upon dozens of women into bed?”
“No one can control rumors,” Xavier said. “I never claimed credit for anything untrue.” His fingers fumbled his seal, and it fell with a
clack
on his desk.
Lockwood pressed on. “Ah, but somehow you've still used rumor to your advantage. You entered the polite world with a full purse, and all you've ever had to do is dip into it. Society loves you, and you've never done anything worthwhile to deserve it.”
His face contorted as he spoke, but his voice dropped ever quieter. It was smothered by an emotion stronger than annoyance. Or resentment. Or anger, or despair.
Why, this was
hate
.
The world tipped and jarred with a tuneless chord, and Xavier sat stunned.
His own cousin, whom he had always considered a harmless sycophant,
hated
him?
From the cold deliberation of his speech, it seemed Lockwood had bottled and stored his hate for a long time. And Xavier had never suspected its existence.
He rubbed a hand over his too-unseeing eyes, then dragged his fingers through his hair. Stupid gesture. It wasn't as though it could wake up his brain.
He thought of Louisa's eminently organized mind, then stated, “Lockwood, let's take these problems in turn. First, you're behaving like an ass. Second, you say it's nothing to do with our bet, but because of some resentment you feel. Third, you believe this old book justifies your insulting behavior.”
Lockwood's skin looked skull-tight over his features, but he managed a silky voice. “The book doesn't justify anything. The book takes all justification away. Some types of scandal are permissible, as we know, my dear Cousin. The polite world winks at the debauchery of a rake. It laughs at his outrageous behavior. But what if he is a bastard? There is nothing much to like about a rake, if you think about it. A rake is nothing but a parasite. A
bastard
rake is an abomination.”
“Words in a book don't make it so.” Xavier's heart seemed to stutter, tripping over itself. He knew nothing at all of his parents, who had died in his infancy. This book might tell the truth, at that.
“No, but they needn't. You didn't actually have to seduce the Marchioness of Flitworth for everyone to
believe
you had.” Lockwood bared his teeth. “All one needs is the right rumor at the right time to make a reputation . . . or break it.”
He leaned back in his chair, a quick spasm of discomfort crossing his face, and crossed one booted foot over his other knee. “You owe me your reputation, you know. I'm your foil, if you want to be literary about it. Which it seems you do. Tell me, how long since you've left the bluestocking's pocket?”
Her stockings aren't blue. They're silk
. Naturally, Xavier didn't say that aloud.
Instead, he went on the offensive. “You think you've done me a favor, Lockwood? With your endless bets at White's, you've scripted a very narrow role for me: the merry, entertaining rogue. No one takes me seriously as anything else. I don't thank you for that, and I don't care to have it continue.”
Lockwood's eyes glittered ice blue. “You dare complain? Your role in society is the equivalent ofâof playing Hamlet. It might not offer much variety, but it wins you admiration.”
Xavier shook his head. He picked up his seal again, grounding himself with its smooth weight. It was
his
. It was real.
“I'm more than that, Lockwood,” he said, feeling stronger with each word. “I was
never
the person the world thought. If theyâif
you
âmade me into a dumping ground for rumor, it was no favor to me. I've played that part long enough.”
He set the seal down and held himself straight in his chair, eyes focused on Lockwood. He wouldn't miss what was right in front of his face again. “Rumor may paint me as a rake. But I'm also an earl. Rumor can't touch that.”
His own words surprised him. Would they ever have occurred to him, much less been spoken aloud, only a few weeks before?
Being around Louisa had encouraged him to think. Since he'd decided to invite her to his house party, he'd made changes, and more changes. And now . . .
he
had changed.
A smile must have played over his face, because Lockwood looked stormy.
“Yes, your precious title,” he spat. “Even there, you've gained benefits you never deserved. I outrank you, yet you were always the one with the money. It's always rankled, ever since I came of age and discovered that my own dear father had depleted the estate so much that there was barely enough to keep me out of dun territory. Everything you have comes from your title. And maybe it shouldn't be yours.
Bastard
.”
His voice rose to a heated pitch, his hands flexing with unrestrained emotion.
Xavier listened to this tirade, arms folded, thoughts humming. A blessed coolness stole over him. “Do control yourself, Lockwood. You've come dangerously close to upsetting my decanter. And please remember that, regardless of rank, you are in
my house
.”
He paused, letting this sink in. “You think you can take from me, Lockwood? You might be able to damage my reputation, but I've already told you, I don't care for it. And it's not as though lowering me will help you. Bitterness doesn't sit well with the
ton
. Brutality doesn't appeal to women.”
He lifted his brows, knowing calm would infuriate Lockwood further. “If you try your best to destroy me, you will still be yourself, and you'll have no one to blame for your troubles then.”
As Lockwood's face reddened, Xavier pressed his advantage. He leaned forward over his desk, letting Lockwood's face swim out of focus. “Tell everyone whatever you like; you'll only make yourself look ridiculous and desperate. You've got nothing on your side except a few scratches in an old book. You can't
touch me
.”
With these final words, he jabbed Lockwood in the chest with his forefinger, then sat back down in his chair.
It was well played: the dramatic gesture, the rise of his voice for emphasis. Unfortunately, Lockwood didn't demonstrate the expected reaction.