Diane Gaston - Regency High Society Vol 7

Instead of looking joyous, David’s face flashed with panic. ‘You cannot mean.’ His face turned white. ‘But what will happen to her? I confess, I could at least rest easy knowing she would be under your protection. Who will Cowdlin try to sell her to next?’

Sloane put a firm hand on his nephew’s shoulder to still these dramatics. ‘To you, nephew.’

David’s mouth dropped open.

Sloane almost smiled. ‘But you and I must play a careful game, if we are to win this hand. We have little time to plan…’

A few minutes later Sloane and David were admitted to his father’s library, where both the Earl and Rawley gloated.

‘What brings you to this house, Cyprian?’ the Earl asked with a smirk.

Sloane advanced upon him as if a man possessed. ‘I will brook no interference from you in my plans, sir. You have no control over me or who I marry.’

The Earl tossed Rawley, the real son, a smug expression. ‘You, Cyprian, are nothing to me; therefore, you have no say in what I do.’

The barb, so predictable, did not even sting. Sloane shot back at him. ‘Come now. You have some lunatic plan to send lies to the newspapers, to spread gossip about me throughout the ton. I will stop you. I will not be deterred from marrying Lady Hannah. You have met your match in me, sir. I have money enough to destroy you, and the skill to succeed. Think what a public suit for defamation would cost you, both in reputation and in fortune.’

‘But I would ruin you first,’ cried his father, rising to his feet. ‘A clandestine affair will do the trick, I think. Rawley’s brilliant idea! Cowdlin would refuse you his daughter in a minute, if he thought you were rooting with his wife’s niece.’

Sloane’s fingers curled into fists at this coarse reference to Morgana.

David interceded. ‘Grandfather, you must think of Miss Hart. This would ruin her, too. And I think it unlikely that Cowdlin can refuse Uncle Cyprian, no matter what gossip prevails. He needs the money. He needs a rich husband for his daughter.’

The Earl swung around to his grandson. ‘Are you speaking to me, boy? Do you dare?’ He pointed his cane at David. ‘You brought this—this person here? You informed him of my plans? You betray your own flesh and blood. Do not think I will forget it.’

Rawley jumped to his feet. ‘Father, I beg you. David is my son—’

But David, Sloane noticed with pride, did not waver. He remained steadfast in the face of his grandfather’s anger. He addressed his grandfather in a low, calm tone. ‘Did you expect me to stand by and watch a lady’s reputation ruined? Honour prevents me from allowing you to use her so shabbily. It is very poorly done, Grandfather. You make me ashamed.’

‘Oh, bravo, nephew.’ Sloane made his voice drip with sarcasm, but in his heart he meant every word. ‘Gentlemanly sentiments, I am sure. Too bad you have no fortune or you might wed the Lady Hannah yourself. What chivalry that would be.’

David, still making Sloane proud, twisted around to him in admirable fury. ‘I would marry her, too, sir, if I could save her from being sold to you. Do not mistake me, I sent for you only to preserve Miss Hart’s reputation, to convince my father and grandfather that there is no affair between you and the lady.’

‘Ha!’ Sloane laughed. ‘The only sin she is guilty of is living in the house next to mine, but that is none of my concern. Oh, I could have her if I wanted, I am sure. Remember, I have enough wealth to get whatever I want.’ He turned back to his father. ‘What I most desire is to rub your nose in my success, dear Father. At every ton event, I will be there. When you stand in the House of Lords, I will be in the Commons. When you meet your cronies at White’s, I will be in the midst of them. You cannot ignore me, sir. I intend to be wherever you turn.’

The Earl’s face flushed with rage. The hand clutching the knob of his cane turned white and the man trembled all over.

‘Father?’ Rawley said worriedly.

David stood his ground bravely, still looking defiantly righteous.

Sloane took it all in and suddenly realised how little what his father did mattered to him.

At the gaming table, Sloane often threw in his cards when there was no other way to come out ahead. Now he mentally tossed in his cards. The wager he made with himself, to gain back respectability and throw it in his father’s face, no longer mattered. Nothing mattered but Morgana.

He dealt himself a new hand, one he would win at all costs. He would see Morgana safe—safe as his wife.

He turned his gaze on David, so young and valiant. David also wagered his future on a chance to win the woman he loved.

In a moment they both would win.

The Earl slowly eased his grip on his cane. His complexion returned to its normal sallow colour. A malevolent grin creased his wrinkled cheeks. He used his cane to point to Sloane.

‘You will not win this one, Cyprian. No respectable wife for you.’ He leaned on his stick again and turned to his grandson. ‘I will release your fortune, boy. I can do with it as I choose. Do you want your money?’

David inclined his head, as if reluctant to admit it.

The Earl grinned. ‘You may have it on one condition. Marry the Cowdlin chit and your fortune is yours.’

David levelled his grandfather a steely look. ‘No, sir. Another condition must prevail. Agree not to defame Miss Hart’s name, and I will do as you request.’

Well done, David. Sloane applauded inside.

The Earl gave a trifling wave of the hand. ‘As you wish. There is no need as long as Cyprian is cut out.’

Rawley finally caught up. ‘You’ll give David his fortune?’ He broke into a happy grin. ‘I cannot complain of that.’

Sloane could barely keep from laughing, but, instead, he pretended to protest. ‘See here, you cannot do this,’

His father bared his teeth. ‘I can and I will!’

Sloane swore at his father and made other protests and threats just to convince his father he’d been severely injured. For his exit, he picked up a decanter of brandy from one of the tables and sent it crashing into the cold fireplace, then he stalked out of the room.

When he reached the outside and was about to remount his horse, David caught up to him.

‘How can I thank you, Uncle?’ The young man extended his hand.

Fearing his father or brother might be watching from a window, Sloane did not accept the handshake. ‘It is I who must thank you, David. You prevented the dishonour of a lady I admire very much. I am proud to know you.’

‘And I you, sir,’ David said.

They stared at each other a long time before Sloane swung himself into the saddle and rode away.

Sloane felt as if he’d been navigating a ship in stormy seas. Rising high on the wave, only to plummet, only to rise again. He felt buoyant now, as if nothing could ever sink him again.

He planned to grab Morgana and drag her to some room with him—his bedchamber, preferably—and keep her there until he finally convinced her to marry him. Re-experiencing his father’s hatred gave an ironic contrast to his feelings towards Morgana. He loved her.

He returned his horse directly to the stables and crossed the mews into his garden, now a fairly respectable showcase of flowers and plants, thanks to Elliot and Lucy. But when he entered Morgana’s garden, flowerbeds were trampled and torn up. Her back door was wide open. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he edged his way to the door.

As stealthily as a cat, Sloane slipped into Morgana’s house. He heard a woman crying in the library. He hurried to the doorway and peered through the crack of the door.

Elliot sat on a chair, Morgana’s butler holding a cloth against his head. Blood stained his face.