The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

Ponde

ring that thought, he helped himself to a brandy, chose his chair, and waited.

“All right, Thornton, I’m here.” Tragmore strode into the study three quarters of an hour later. “I’m also harried and busy.” He broke off, gaping. “What is the meaning of this?” he exploded, when he’d found his voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Hmm?” Pierce lowered the newspaper he’d been reading, peering at the marquis over his long legs, which were propped on the desk and casually crossed at the ankles. “Oh, hello Tragmore. Your timing is perfect. I’ve just finished my brandy. Would you pour me another?” He extended his empty glass.

“Why are you drinking my brandy? Sitting in my chair? At my desk. With your bloody feet up, no less.” The marquis advanced furiously toward Pierce.

Like a tiger whose claim had been challenged, Pierce shot to his feet, his eyes blazing with rage. “Your desk? Your chair? Your brandy? Listen to me, Tragmore, and listen well. Nothing in this house is yours. I own it all: your possessions, your businesses, you. But for my good nature, you’d be living in the gutter, the very place you accuse me of coming from. Bear that in mind and don’t antagonize me further. Should you or your servants—” a lethal pause, “my servants—ever treat me in so shabby a manner again, I might be forced to lose my temper. And my compassion. Is that clear?”

Throughout Pierce’s tirade, Tragmore’s color had gone from pink to red to green. Now, he merely nodded, gritting his teeth as he snatched Pierce’s empty glass and crossed the room to refill it. “You’ve made your point, Thornton.” He thrust the drink at his adversary, obviously struggling to check his escalating anger. “You’ll have to excuse my ill humor. I’m out of sorts today. During the night I was robbed by that contemptible Tin Cup Bandit.”

“Were you?” Pierce’s brows rose. “How intriguing. What did he take?”

“All Elizabeth’s jewelry, my silver, my cash box and notes, everything of value he could put his hands on. Why, he even took that lovely necklace of Daphne’s you and I spoke of at Newmarket.”

“The one you claimed was an inexpensive copy?”

Silence.

“Your family, are they all right?” Pierce continued after a brief pause.

“Naturally, they’re very upset. Elizabeth spent most of the day in her chambers and Daphne left hers scant hours ago to go walking.”

“Walking? Alone?”

“Only on the grounds of the estate,” Tragmore replied with a dismissive wave. “She does it often. Lord alone knows what nonsensical notions fill her head. In any case, it’s best for her not to be underfoot today. The authorities need as few distractions as possible. They are meticulously interviewing the servants, searching for clues.”

“And have they found any?”

“None. The bastard left nothing behind. Except, of course, for one ruby, which I found in a tin cup on my pillow. A ruby I’m certain he removed from the Viscountess Druige’s necklace.”

“Was Druige the bandit’s most recent victim prior to you?”

“He was.” Tragmore took out a handkerchief and mopped at his face. “As I’m sure you’ve read in the lurid newspaper accounts, the bandit’s trademark is to leave a jewel from his previous robbery at the scene of his current one. Unfortunately, that is the only clue he ever leaves. Thus far neither the constable nor the magistrate has a hint as to the scoundrel’s identity.”

“I see. Peculiar, to say the least.” Pierce shrugged, perching comfortably on the edge of the desk. “Still, that doesn’t change the fact that you and I have things to discuss.”

“What things?”

“Your debts.”

The marquis stiffened. “I was under the impression your solicitor was going to contact me to arrange a meeting away from Tragmore and at a mutually convenient time.”

“I changed my mind.” Pierce sipped appreciatively at his brandy. “I can do that, you know. I’m the one holding your notes and your future in my hands. So, let’s get right to the point, shall we?”

“What point?”

“When can I expect to be paid or when shall I toss you from your home and subject you to the public ridicule of bankruptcy?”

Tragmore’s eyes narrowed. “You heartless bastard.”

A muscle worked in Pierce’s jaw. “A bastard, yes. But heartless? Coming from you, that’s laughable.”

“What is it you want?” the marquis demanded.

“Payment.”