The Duke I'm Going to Marry(96)

The church bells of St. Paul’s were ringing in the distance by the time Ian, his trusted man of affairs Henry Matchett, his elderly but feisty solicitor Mr. Dumbley, and Homer Barrow and his Bow Street runners reached his mother’s townhouse. Mr. Barrow was an amiable-looking, portly fellow with a bulbous nose, but looks were deceptive. He and his companions, Mick and Bert, were quick to action and doggedly attentive to their purpose. They earned curious looks from the passersby, who were not used to such gatherings along the fashionable square.

“Just give us the word, Yer Grace,” Mr. Barrow said with a nod, waiting for permission to march in and haul Ian’s cousins out of London and onto the next packet ship sailing somewhere far, far from England.

The task of arranging that passage had been assigned to Mr. Dumbley, who already had the tickets in hand. In truth, Ian was surprised by the enthusiasm with which his solicitor had agreed to take on the task. “About time you got rid of those wretches,” he’d muttered.

Long past time, Ian knew. “I’ll go in first. Wait for my summons.”

He knew that his decision to bring along his man of affairs and his solicitors when confronting his family was the right one. He would leave those cooler heads to finalize the details of their banishment.

He sighed.

Dillie had cause to be concerned about him. He wasn’t used to thinking of anyone other than himself, and were it not for her and Felicity, he’d be ruthlessly pummeling his cousins, pounding his fists into them until they were bleeding and could no longer breathe. If he were the sort to accost women, he’d do the same to his mother. But that was one thing he’d never do, for he could never bring himself to strike a woman, no matter how evil she was.

Ian strode into the elegant townhouse unannounced and found his mother, as expected, sipping tea with his useless cousins. “Good afternoon, Celestia. Simon. Edmund. How convenient to find you all together. But you’ve all turned pale. What, have you just seen a ghost?”

The teacup slipped from Celestia’s hand and clattered to the floor. “It isn’t possible.”

Simon bent to reach into his boot. Ian withdrew his pistol and aimed it at Simon’s heart, his grip calm and steady though he was still a muddle of fury and heartache. His own family! And now it had come to this. “I’d reconsider if I were you.”

Simon held out his hands as he straightened back up, obviously sensing Ian’s rage and afraid to make a wrong move. “Bastard.”

“Alas, Simon, it isn’t the case. Otherwise, you would have been duke. But you’re not, and never will be.” He called to Mr. Barrow, and didn’t have long to wait before he scuttled in with his runners right behind him. “Escort my cousins to their rooms and help them pack. Be quick about it. Their ship sails at the evening tide.”

“A ship?” Celestia rose to her proud height, her eyes widening in obvious surprise as Matchett and Dumbley entered the salon. She stiffened her spine. “I’m not leaving England. You can’t make me go.”

Ian arched an eyebrow. “No, the journey is only for my cousins.” He turned to them as they were about to be hauled upstairs, his expression as cold as his heart now felt. “There’s hope for you in a new land, away from Celestia’s poison. If you think to step foot on English soil again, just know that the Prince Regent has issued warrants for your arrest. He’s holding off enforcement of those warrants until tomorrow. You’ll both be hanged if you’re ever caught in England again. Keep that thought in mind.”

Celestia glared at him. “You’re a beast.” She turned and rang for her butler. “Badger! Badger!” She cast Ian an imperious smile, as though expecting her servant to stride in and toss him out.

Badger. Ian remembered the man, still felt that odd tug of recognition. Where had he met him before? “He won’t respond, Celestia. Nor will any of your staff. Sit down and learn your fate.”

She hesitated, her eyes darting to him and his companions, then to the entry door, and finally to the fashionable silk chairs beside her. She took a seat, making a dramatic sweep of her gown as she settled in. “Am I to be put to death, as you did to your brother?”

Lord, she never missed an opportunity to stick her knife in him. “There’s no warrant issued for your arrest. I planned a better punishment for you.”

“No doubt devised by that Farthingale bitch you ruined. Have you turned soft? Are you going to marry that—”

“Don’t say it.” Ian reached out and pointed his pistol at her head. Damn. She’d rattled him, just as she’d intended. Indeed, by her gloating smirk, it seemed as though she wanted to goad him into shooting her. Then he’d have the deaths of both his brother and his mother weighing on his soul. Did she truly prefer to be dead than ever see him happy?