The Heart of a Duke(35)

Edmund stood and straightened to his full height. Surprise lit his eyes when they met Daniel’s straight on. He could almost see his brother absorbing the shock of their being of equal height and build. It was as if he were seeing Daniel for the first time, and he did not approve of the changes the years had etched, for he could no longer employ his size to dominate. Or to bully.

Nevertheless, he stood in an upright soldier’s stance, his shoulders back, his chin elevated as if that could add the needed height. He raked Daniel with unconcealed contempt. “Nor have you changed. You never understood the estates are mine, not yours. You used to ride over them with father as if you owned them, as if they were yours as much as mine. And by God, you are still doing it. What the devil were you thinking? Going to Bedford Hall behind my back. Using my fiancée to wheedle your way in. Speaking to my tenants and—”

“Somebody needs to do it, because you have not deigned to do so,” Daniel rejoined. He released the door to let it slam shut again, the noise reverberating in the room. He stepped close to Edmund, crowding him. “The title may be yours, but the legacy of the Bedford peerage goes back hundreds of years and will continue for a hundred more unless you grind it into dust with your tightfisted, blind incompetence.”

“That is enough! Good lord, you have resided among the commoners far too long. I will not be spoken to in such an uncivilized manner.”

Daniel bit back a madcap desire to laugh. “My apologies if my delivery offends your sensibilities, but while you may not want to hear this, you would be wise to listen. If not to me, then to Julia. She has proposals that will alleviate matters. It is not too late to save things, to turn them around, but if you do not make any changes, I promise you, you will lose everything. Including the respect of the peerage, which appears to be the only thing, besides profits, that you do give a damn about.”

Edmund sucked in his breath, his face pale. Then a strange, icy calm descended over him and the room chilled. He finished his drink, set it on the cherrywood table, collected his tall hat and gloves, and stepped toward the door.

“You are right. We are finished.” He yanked on his gloves and put on his hat. “I do not know why you returned, nor do I care. Just remember this—stay out of my business and off my property. The title, the estate, the lovely Julia Chandler, are all mine. Not yours. Mine. Anyone who dares to trespass on my property does so at his own peril. In the future, you would be wise to remember that. I will not warn you again. My thanks for the cognac.”

He neatened his cuffs, straightened his jacket, and gave Daniel a dismissive nod. “Runt,” he sneered the word like a dirty expletive.

As he passed Daniel, he slammed his shoulder into him, knocking him so hard Daniel’s drink splattered over his jacket. The childish aspersion combined with the shove lifted the lid on years of percolating anger.

Slamming his drink onto the table, Daniel caught Edmund, whipped him around, and heaved him back against the door. “No, Edmund. I am a grown man now, and from where I am standing, your equal, if not your better in every way. Next time, you would be wise to remember that, for touch me again and you do so at your peril.” Daniel dropped his hands and stepped back, unable to bear the touch of his brother a second longer.

Edmund regarded Daniel with white lips, his hatred emanating like a raging storm. After a tense moment, he tugged his jacket into place and brushed off the imprint of Daniel’s hand, as if flicking off something foul that had soiled the fabric. “Well, then, we’d best stay out of each other’s way,” he said, a quiet menace in his tone. With that, he was gone.

The silence following in his wake was deafening.

Daniel stood motionless for a long time. Eventually, he lifted his hands and stared at them as if Edmund’s arms had replaced his own, for brutality was not him, had never been. That was Edmund, and it frightened Daniel to know that he harbored that inside of him. It was another thing to hold against his brother. That he could dredge up the very worst in Daniel.

He snatched up his drink, drained it, then whipped the snifter into the stone hearth, shattering the glass as easily as Edmund had destroyed all his plans. And all of Julia’s delusions.

The only salvation in his brother’s visit was the cognac. He snatched up the bottle, sank into the chair Edmund had vacated, and lifted it to his lips. Waste of damn fine cognac. It would not alleviate matters or assuage the throbbing in his head, but it might wash down the bile choking him and help him to drown out Edmund’s plans for Julia. To forget that she was marrying the bastard.

No! Absolutely not.