A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,125
yours.”
“Bastard,” Wyndham hissed, his eyes closed.
“She’s Raymond’s, isn’t she? And you got her sent away because you knew.”
Wyndham nodded, but his eyes stayed closed. “I knew it would break your heart,” he finally said. “And then there was Raymond. What would I do with him if you knew? You would have killed him.” He snorted weakly. “Now that seems like a capital idea.”
Simon laughed, but his humor quickly changed to disgust. “What a bloody muddle. If he wanted the title so bad why do you reckon he didn’t kill us both years ago?”
“Lord only knows,” Wyndham admitted. “I suppose he hasn’t needed to, until now. His situation has become rather desperate recently. Gambling debts,” he added at Simon’s questioning look.
“I can’t say I’m surprised; he’s a wretched card player.”
“I told him the last time—almost a year ago, which coincides with my mysterious illness—that I wouldn’t pay them off a fourth time.” He opened his eyes and gave Simon a wry smile. “I gave him a choice: I would give him enough money to set himself up, but he needed to leave England. If he stayed here, he would be on his own. I gave him until the year’s end to decide.”
“Christ, Wyndham—you signed your own death warrant.”
“Let’s hope not, Simon.” His brother’s cool gray eyes flared with determination. “That bastard can’t inherit; he’ll gamble every cent away. He’ll—”
“Good God!” Fear stabbed Simon in the chest, almost doubling him over.
“What? What is it, Simon?” Wyndham demanded.
“Honey is pregnant.”
Wyndham’s eyes widened.
“We can’t let him get away from here alive. Even if I have to—”
“I know you’re in there, Simon!”
Both he and Wyndham jolted; Raymond’s voice was so close it sounded like he was in the bloody room. It sounded like he was right outside the window.
“I know you can hear me, you’d better answer me, Simon!”
“He sounds scared,” Wyndham whispered.
Simon agreed. And there was nothing more dangerous than a frightened, cornered animal.
“What do you want, Raymond?” he shouted.
“You know there’s no way out, Simon. I can’t let either of you live. But I can give you a less unpleasant death.”
“Tell him I will still give him money to go to America,” Wyndham whispered weakly.
Simon stared at his brother, but Wyndham mouthed, tell him.
“Wyndham doesn’t want word of our murderous cousin to be the on dit of next Season, Raymond,” Simon yelled. “You let us out right now and he’ll give you enough money to live well for the rest of your life—in America.”
His cousin’s laughter was immediate. “You two must think I’m an idiot to believe such an offer. Besides, why would I take exile in bloody America when I’m going to be the Duke of Plimpton? There is no way out for you. I’ll give you five minutes!” Raymond shrieked, his voice breaking. “And then I’m going to set fire to the house and burn you both alive.”
“You will hang for this, Raymond,” Simon said.
“No, I won’t—because I’m miles away, on my quarterly journey to visit the duke’s estates—just ask his grace. Dozens of people saw me leave today. And I have a witness who will swear I was nowhere near this place.”
Simon met Wyndham’s gaze.
“His valet,” the duke said.
Simon had seen the man, of course—an almost hilariously villainous looking character.
“Everyone will know you came charging here in a rage," Raymond shouted. “You were infuriated that your brother impregnated the love of your life.” Another peel of near-hysterical laughter drifted through the shattered glass. “I must admit that you’ve helped out immeasurably by tearing about the countryside with dear Bella. Ah, poor foolish Simon. How we laughed at you—Bella and I. You were such an honorable, noble sprig. And thanks to your nobility Bella gave me her maidenhead. And more. Maybe I’ll kill her, too—after I’m done with both of you.”
Simon ground his teeth but held back his retort. He looked at his brother, but Wyndham’s eyes had drifted shut.
Simon’s heart leapt into his throat. “Wyndham are you—”
The duke’s heavy lids lifted half-way; his gray eyes clouded with pain. “I have an idea,” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“If we both rush him—”
“You can’t even walk,” Simon hissed. His eyes darted around the empty room, looking for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing—not so much as a stick of furniture.
His gaze settled on the new section of wooden doorcase somebody must have just installed.
The door was visible from the window, so it would be a risk. But what other hope did he have?