kicking, isn’t he? And according to Mam, he told the law he’d left them in the pub after some fella didn’t turn up. Why would he say that if it isn’t true?’
‘Cos he’s scared witless.’ Jacob had remained standing just inside the room, but now he walked up to his brother until they were eyeball-to-eyeball. ‘Of you.’
It was Tom who broke the stare, ostensibly to reach for the decanter of brandy next to the coffee tray. He poured a measure of the spirit into his coffee cup and then sat down in one of the
elaborately upholstered chairs the room held. He stretched out his legs in front of him and took a long swallow of the coffee, smacking his lips as he finished. ‘I know we’ve never got
on, but don’t you think this is taking your dislike of me a little too far, baby brother? Accusations like the one you’ve just made should come with proof or they could be very
dangerous indeed.’ Jacob breathed out slowly. ‘For me or for you?’ Tom didn’t speak for some moments, but when he raised his head and looked at him, Jacob found himself
thinking: He’s sold his soul to the devil, that’s what he’s done; because there was something straight from the pit staring out of Tom’s eyes. When Tom spoke, his words came
slow and deep: ‘You dare to threaten me in my own home? You’re scum and you’ll always remain scum, and do you know why? Because you’re content to wallow in the gutter,
that’s why, like the rest of the herd. You try and bring me down and you’ll wish you’d never been born, I promise you. No one crosses me and gets away with it. Now get out of my
house.’
More shaken than he would care to admit, Jacob concentrated on hiding the fact. Men like Tom preyed on weakness. ‘If there
is
proof you’re involved, I’ll find
it,’ he said quietly. ‘And your threats don’t frighten me. I intend to get to the bottom of this, for Lucy’s sake, if nothing else.’
‘Since when did you become her keeper?’ Jacob’s chin lifted. ‘We’ve got an understanding.’
‘An understanding?’ Tom laughed harshly. ‘You think someone like you could hold a lass like that? Think again. You’re old Williamson’s skivvy, a nowt.’
Jacob held onto his temper, but there was a tightness in his jaw that was painful as he gritted his teeth. He wanted to wipe the smile off Tom’s face. Although he knew he probably
wouldn’t win a fight with his brother, they were definitely better matched than they’d ever been in the past.
His mind was racing, warring with animal instinct.
But that was what Tom wanted him to do – to fight. It would give Tom the upper hand. It was the language he understood, that of might over right.
Slowly, deliberately, Jacob reined in the bloodlust. His voice deep in his throat, he said, ‘I don’t care a monkey’s cuss what you think of me, I never have. I’ve known
what you are from when I was a bairn. But for the record, Lucy and I love each other. And you’re right on one thing: I’m not good enough for her, but I thank God she doesn’t see
it that way. So say what you want and be damned. And I’ll keep digging about her da and Ernie. Someone, somewhere knows the truth.’
He had turned and reached the drawing-room door before the low growl halted him in his tracks. ‘You’ll never have her, boy. I’ll make sure of it.’
Jacob only paused for an infinitesimal moment before quietly opening the door and as quietly shutting it behind him, but he could still hear the curses that followed him when he walked towards
the front door, ignoring the housekeeper who came fluttering after him. Once outside in the cold fresh air, he stood for a second, breathing it in in great gulps to rid himself of the contamination
of Tom’s presence. Then he squared his shoulders and walked away.
Chapter Eight
‘I won’t let Tom Crawford pay for the funeral.’ Lucy faced Donald, her face as white as lint and her hands clenched into fists. ‘You can go
‘Cos he’s scared witless.’ Jacob had remained standing just inside the room, but now he walked up to his brother until they were eyeball-to-eyeball. ‘Of you.’
It was Tom who broke the stare, ostensibly to reach for the decanter of brandy next to the coffee tray. He poured a measure of the spirit into his coffee cup and then sat down in one of the
elaborately upholstered chairs the room held. He stretched out his legs in front of him and took a long swallow of the coffee, smacking his lips as he finished. ‘I know we’ve never got
on, but don’t you think this is taking your dislike of me a little too far, baby brother? Accusations like the one you’ve just made should come with proof or they could be very
dangerous indeed.’ Jacob breathed out slowly. ‘For me or for you?’ Tom didn’t speak for some moments, but when he raised his head and looked at him, Jacob found himself
thinking: He’s sold his soul to the devil, that’s what he’s done; because there was something straight from the pit staring out of Tom’s eyes. When Tom spoke, his words came
slow and deep: ‘You dare to threaten me in my own home? You’re scum and you’ll always remain scum, and do you know why? Because you’re content to wallow in the gutter,
that’s why, like the rest of the herd. You try and bring me down and you’ll wish you’d never been born, I promise you. No one crosses me and gets away with it. Now get out of my
house.’
More shaken than he would care to admit, Jacob concentrated on hiding the fact. Men like Tom preyed on weakness. ‘If there
is
proof you’re involved, I’ll find
it,’ he said quietly. ‘And your threats don’t frighten me. I intend to get to the bottom of this, for Lucy’s sake, if nothing else.’
‘Since when did you become her keeper?’ Jacob’s chin lifted. ‘We’ve got an understanding.’
‘An understanding?’ Tom laughed harshly. ‘You think someone like you could hold a lass like that? Think again. You’re old Williamson’s skivvy, a nowt.’
Jacob held onto his temper, but there was a tightness in his jaw that was painful as he gritted his teeth. He wanted to wipe the smile off Tom’s face. Although he knew he probably
wouldn’t win a fight with his brother, they were definitely better matched than they’d ever been in the past.
His mind was racing, warring with animal instinct.
But that was what Tom wanted him to do – to fight. It would give Tom the upper hand. It was the language he understood, that of might over right.
Slowly, deliberately, Jacob reined in the bloodlust. His voice deep in his throat, he said, ‘I don’t care a monkey’s cuss what you think of me, I never have. I’ve known
what you are from when I was a bairn. But for the record, Lucy and I love each other. And you’re right on one thing: I’m not good enough for her, but I thank God she doesn’t see
it that way. So say what you want and be damned. And I’ll keep digging about her da and Ernie. Someone, somewhere knows the truth.’
He had turned and reached the drawing-room door before the low growl halted him in his tracks. ‘You’ll never have her, boy. I’ll make sure of it.’
Jacob only paused for an infinitesimal moment before quietly opening the door and as quietly shutting it behind him, but he could still hear the curses that followed him when he walked towards
the front door, ignoring the housekeeper who came fluttering after him. Once outside in the cold fresh air, he stood for a second, breathing it in in great gulps to rid himself of the contamination
of Tom’s presence. Then he squared his shoulders and walked away.
Chapter Eight
‘I won’t let Tom Crawford pay for the funeral.’ Lucy faced Donald, her face as white as lint and her hands clenched into fists. ‘You can go
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