The Heart of a Duke(36)
There would be no marriage. There would be no marriage because it would have to take place over Daniel’s dead body. And no one had killed him—yet. From now on, he would guard his back much more carefully, because he needed to survive. To live long enough to save Julia. And his father’s estates.
He had an agenda, and as a successful businessman and expert negotiator, he would not fail. To borrow his brother’s pompous edict, Edmund would be wise to learn that or suffer the consequences at his peril. The arrogant, tightfisted, sick bastard.
And on that, Daniel drank.
“DAMN IT ALL. You look bloody foxed.”
The resounding crash of the door had Daniel shooting to a sitting position and blinking at the bellowing voice. Robbie stood framed in the doorway, the candlelight from the hallway sconces flickering over him. Daniel pressed his hand to his throbbing temple and groaned. He needed to speak to the innkeeper about getting springs on the door. Better yet, he should have locked it.
Robbie strolled into the room, eyeing Daniel’s cognac-splattered jacket discarded on the bed. “Smell like it, too.” He scooped up Daniel’s neck cloth from the floor and tossed it next to the coat. “What the hell is wrong with you? You were to meet me at the pub over an hour ago. And you’ve started drinking without me. Bastard.” He lifted the bottle, and scrunched up his features. “Ah, good thing you have, this is not in my price range. Christ, who gets soused on Barker’s best cognac?”
“Barker?” Baffled, Daniel cleared his throat, for it was full of cotton. His head felt no better. An orchestra had taken up residence and was pounding out an off-key tune.
“The innkeeper,” Robbie supplied. He strode to the commode in the corner, lifted the pitcher, and poured a generous tumbler of water. Circling back to Daniel’s side, he shoved it at him. “Sober up and talk to dear old Robbie. Tell me all about the goddess Lady Julia and how beautiful and perfect and clever and splendid and . . . Oh wait, you already did that. All bloody week. This has to stop. You are—”
“Jesus, Robbie, stop yammering at me.” He snatched the proffered glass from Robbie, gulped half of it and slammed it on the table, wiping his mouth. “If you don’t have a guillotine on hand, go away. I already went a round with Edmund, not you, too.” His last words had Robbie snapping his mouth closed and straightening.
Savoring the silence, Daniel lurched to his feet and strode over to the commode. He leaned over its cavernous china bowl, lifted the pitcher, and poured the rest of the water over his head. Like a baptism, he needed to be cleansed. He sucked in a sharp breath and staggered back. “Blimey! That’s ice cold. Why the devil didn’t you warn me?” He shook his head, sending water droplets splattering, and snatched the towel off the nearby rack to dry his hair.
Robbie grunted. “Didn’t think you’d dump your thick head into it.” He walked over to the hearth and draped an elbow over the mantel. “Edmund came here?” he asked quietly, concerned.
Daniel jerked his head toward the empty bottle of cognac. “Do you really believe I would drop a fortune on Barker’s best?” He scowled. “Edmund impersonated me, and doubled my bill while making himself comfortable rifling through my possessions. Just like old bloody times.” He dragged a hand through his wet hair, shoving it off his forehead. With the towel draped around his neck, he returned to the leather chair and dropped into it.
“What did he want?” Robbie asked.
“What do you think? He wanted to plant his fist in my face. As I said, just like old times. Cain and Abel, that is us.”
“Are you . . . did he . . . ?”
Daniel’s eyes shot to Robbie’s and he frowned. Over the years, he had landed on Robbie’s doorstep bruised and battered too many times for Robbie’s family not to glean more than he’d wanted them to. “Verbal punches, Robbie. He cannot hurt me now. I am a runt no longer.” His voice was harsh, and he shifted in his seat, aggrieved the childhood taunt still drew blood a decade later. “It would be a fair fight. And we both know Edmund does not fight fair. Never did.”
“I take that to mean he would not listen to any of your plans for the estate?”
Daniel snorted. Lifting the tumbler of water, he sipped. “I never really believed he would. I just . . . well, for Julia’s sake, I felt I had . . . well . . .”
“I understand.” Robbie nodded. “So now what should we do?”
Irritation gripped Daniel. “What do you mean ‘what should we do’? I am going to stop Julia from marrying that bastard and save the estate, that is what I intend to do. Nothing has changed.”