Of course, they’d blame him for their woes.
They always blamed him for their woes.
He returned to the ballroom, preferring to remain by the open doors to the terrace in the event he wished to make a quiet departure. He wasn’t enjoying the ball and had no intention of exchanging pleasantries with most of the Upper Crust in attendance. In truth, he planned on leaving shortly.
From his vantage point beside the ballroom doors, he watched his mother make her way into the Wakeford dining room for midnight sweets and other refreshments. She was escorted by his younger cousin, Edmund. Simon, the elder of his cousins, was now emerging from the card room. No doubt he’d lost a tidy sum, for he seemed angry. A desperate sort of angry. A dangerous mix of desperate and angry.
Ian had never thought much of his cousins. They were arrogant young men, and he trusted them not at all. Had one of them hired the ruffians who had tried to kill him last November? Perhaps both had been in on the plan, no doubt with his mother’s blessing. Or at her goading. It would be easy enough to find out. He simply hadn’t bothered to investigate.
In truth, he hadn’t wanted their involvement confirmed. It was one thing for his mother to detest him, but to actually undertake to kill him? The thought made his stomach churn. What would she have to gain by it? Only Simon would benefit by his death, for he was next in line to the dukedom.
Simon shot him a malevolent look and stalked across the dance floor toward him. “Good evening, Your Grace. Seems you’ve disgraced the family again.”
Ian caught the stale scent of whiskey on his cousin’s breath. No surprise there since his cousin had been drinking all evening. Great. Desperate, angry, and drunk. Should make for a lovely conversation. “I’m surprised to see you here, Simon. Can’t say I’m pleased.”
“Didn’t think you would be. I can’t stand you either.” Simon’s insult might have been more effective had he been less drunk. He’d slurred his words so that they were almost unintelligible. “Never thought you’d kill a woman.”
Ian arched an eyebrow. The man before him was falling-down drunk, had probably paid to have him killed, but he was the disgrace. Ah, his family was an endless font of joy. “I didn’t, as you well know. Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe the lies you’ve been spreading? I might have to do something about that.”
He returned Simon’s gaze with an icy one of his own, pleased when his cousin paled and took a small step back. Simon was a big man, built like a bull. He had the temperament of a bull, as well. Easy to rile, always stomping and angry.
Ian wasn’t in the least intimidated by him. He was almost a head taller than Simon and much stronger. A lot angrier, too. A cold, quiet anger. Far deadlier than Simon’s bluster.
“You’re a bastard, Ian.”
That’s clever.
“Been down to the docks lately, Simon? You ought to get your advance back from those wharf rats. After all, they didn’t accomplish their task. I’m still alive. Still duke.”
His cousin shot him a glower, his Markham green eyes showing no warmth. “Not for long, I hope.”
Ian put an arm around Simon’s shoulder, a gesture that might appear friendly to others who were passing by but wasn’t. Simon was desperate to inherit the dukedom. Ian wasn’t about to hand it to him on a silver platter. The man was a wastrel. He’d never worked a decent day in his life. Yet he knew how to spend. Mostly, he knew how to lose at the gaming halls. He’d destroy the Edgeware holdings within a few short years of acquiring them.
Ian tightened his grip on his cousin’s arm. “Try that little stunt again, Simon, and I’ll cut off your bullocks and stuff them down your throat. I know it was you and Edmund who planned the attack on me. He’s a little toady, always ready to do your bidding.”
Since his hand was still on Simon’s shoulder, he felt the shudder that ran through the arrogant sod. Sniveling coward. Edmund, without Simon to lead him astray, might have made something of himself. But he was the younger brother and worshiped his older sibling. Much as Ian had worshiped his own brother.
“You got away with it because I let you get away with it. I won’t be so generous next time.” He tightened his hold on Simon until he saw his cousin flinch. “Understand me?”
“You’re breaking my arm,” Simon said in a harsh whisper. “Let go of me.”
“Give my regards to Edmund and my mother.” Ian released his cousin and watched him scurry into the dining hall, no doubt to complain of his mistreatment. He reminded Ian of a frightened, squealing pig.