shift his gaze from his enemy’s intense glare.
The Duke of Hadleigh finally broke the silence. “Stay away from my sister,” he ordered through clenched teeth.
“I will if Lady Cecelia requests I do so. If not…” Jonah finished his thought with the shrug of his shoulders. “Now, I’m sure you can find your way to the door.”
“You’ll regret this, Haywood. I’ll see that you do.” With those words, the Duke of Hadleigh spun on his heel and left the room.
Jonah waited for the front door to slam shut and wasn’t disappointed. He slowly made his way to his whiskey decanter and filled his glass. Bundy came into the room.
“Do you think it was wise to anger the duke like you did, Cap’n?” he asked.
Jonah took a large swallow and let the whiskey burn a path down his throat. “Probably not, Bundy. But the duke’s hatred is like a powder keg with a lit fuse. His hatred for me is what keeps him alive.”
“That’s what worries me. What’s going to keep you alive?”
“The most valuable lesson I learned from the war was not to let your enemy determine the time or the place to wage an attack. Hadleigh’s going to attack. I prefer to make the decision as to when and where.”
“How will you do that, my lord?”
“I won’t, Bundy. Lady Cecelia will.”
Jonah carried his glass to his chair and sat. “Go to bed now, Sergeant. I’ll take care of things down here.”
“See that you do, my lord. See that you do.”
Hadleigh leaned forward and lifted the edge of the heavy velvet curtain at his carriage window. Its weight was designed to keep out the chill and prevent him from being observed as his carriage made its way across London. He stared out into the bleak darkness and watched the rain fall from the sky in huge drops. The heavens were weeping for his Melisande as they had time and again since her death.
Haywood had reentered his life to inflict more misery—as if he hadn’t caused enough pain.
A dreary dampness covered the streets and collected in the gutters. The night fit his mood. It helped him plot his revenge. Haywood would pay for what he’d done. And this time, his payment would cost him everything.
Hadleigh let the curtain fall back into place. He regretted he couldn’t drink a toast to celebrate Haywood’s demise, to the complete and total annihilation of everything Haywood held dear—the estates, his home, his reputation, and his future. Everything but his life.
He should want Haywood dead, but he didn’t. He wanted his enemy to live. To live an empty existence. To live without hope for a future. To live without love.
The blackguard thought he stood a chance of winning Cecelia’s heart. Well, he didn’t. Cecelia was no doubt only enjoying his company because he’d once been a friend and she was too kindhearted to cast him off—although he was surprised she’d accepted his attentions as long as she had. She usually cast aside every male suitor long before now. But she would soon. She’d react to his suit the same as she reacted to every other man’s attentions. She’d ignore him as if he had the plague. She’d put him in his place the moment she realized his intent.
Until then, though, perhaps he could use her to assist him in his plan to ruin Haywood.
He sat back against the squabs and smiled. Perhaps he should encourage his sister to continue her association with Haywood until he could lure the bastard into his trap.
His mind suddenly wrapped around a plan, and all the pieces fell into place. All he had to do was make sure his sister didn’t cast Haywood aside for a few more weeks. All he had to do was make Haywood think he was making progress with his sister.
Hell, he might even enjoy watching the scoundrel think he was gaining ground in his attempt to get a wife with a large enough dowry to pay the staggering amount he owed. Of course, he wouldn’t for one second seriously consider Haywood as his future brother-in-law.
He wanted to laugh at the
The Duke of Hadleigh finally broke the silence. “Stay away from my sister,” he ordered through clenched teeth.
“I will if Lady Cecelia requests I do so. If not…” Jonah finished his thought with the shrug of his shoulders. “Now, I’m sure you can find your way to the door.”
“You’ll regret this, Haywood. I’ll see that you do.” With those words, the Duke of Hadleigh spun on his heel and left the room.
Jonah waited for the front door to slam shut and wasn’t disappointed. He slowly made his way to his whiskey decanter and filled his glass. Bundy came into the room.
“Do you think it was wise to anger the duke like you did, Cap’n?” he asked.
Jonah took a large swallow and let the whiskey burn a path down his throat. “Probably not, Bundy. But the duke’s hatred is like a powder keg with a lit fuse. His hatred for me is what keeps him alive.”
“That’s what worries me. What’s going to keep you alive?”
“The most valuable lesson I learned from the war was not to let your enemy determine the time or the place to wage an attack. Hadleigh’s going to attack. I prefer to make the decision as to when and where.”
“How will you do that, my lord?”
“I won’t, Bundy. Lady Cecelia will.”
Jonah carried his glass to his chair and sat. “Go to bed now, Sergeant. I’ll take care of things down here.”
“See that you do, my lord. See that you do.”
Hadleigh leaned forward and lifted the edge of the heavy velvet curtain at his carriage window. Its weight was designed to keep out the chill and prevent him from being observed as his carriage made its way across London. He stared out into the bleak darkness and watched the rain fall from the sky in huge drops. The heavens were weeping for his Melisande as they had time and again since her death.
Haywood had reentered his life to inflict more misery—as if he hadn’t caused enough pain.
A dreary dampness covered the streets and collected in the gutters. The night fit his mood. It helped him plot his revenge. Haywood would pay for what he’d done. And this time, his payment would cost him everything.
Hadleigh let the curtain fall back into place. He regretted he couldn’t drink a toast to celebrate Haywood’s demise, to the complete and total annihilation of everything Haywood held dear—the estates, his home, his reputation, and his future. Everything but his life.
He should want Haywood dead, but he didn’t. He wanted his enemy to live. To live an empty existence. To live without hope for a future. To live without love.
The blackguard thought he stood a chance of winning Cecelia’s heart. Well, he didn’t. Cecelia was no doubt only enjoying his company because he’d once been a friend and she was too kindhearted to cast him off—although he was surprised she’d accepted his attentions as long as she had. She usually cast aside every male suitor long before now. But she would soon. She’d react to his suit the same as she reacted to every other man’s attentions. She’d ignore him as if he had the plague. She’d put him in his place the moment she realized his intent.
Until then, though, perhaps he could use her to assist him in his plan to ruin Haywood.
He sat back against the squabs and smiled. Perhaps he should encourage his sister to continue her association with Haywood until he could lure the bastard into his trap.
His mind suddenly wrapped around a plan, and all the pieces fell into place. All he had to do was make sure his sister didn’t cast Haywood aside for a few more weeks. All he had to do was make Haywood think he was making progress with his sister.
Hell, he might even enjoy watching the scoundrel think he was gaining ground in his attempt to get a wife with a large enough dowry to pay the staggering amount he owed. Of course, he wouldn’t for one second seriously consider Haywood as his future brother-in-law.
He wanted to laugh at the
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