The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

Tragmore’s eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you acquired enough money? Markham was one of the wealthiest men in England. Surely you don’t need my meager holdings as well.”

“Ah, so you’re hoping I’ll abandon my plan to own you?” Pierce’s fist sliced through the air, striking the desk with an impact so savage Tragmore flinched. “Think again, you son of a bitch. If anything, I’m more determined than ever to collect. In fact, that’s why I’m here today. The first payment on your notes is due.” Slowly, Pierce held out his palm. “Now.”

“You know damned well I don’t have it.”

“Don’t you? How unfortunate.”

“What are you going to do?” The hatred in Tragmore’s eyes was eclipsed by fear. “Ruin me? Publicly declare me bankrupt?”

“That sounds splendid, but premature. I have yet to finish toying with you.” Pierce averted his head, openly surveying the room. “I’m sure, given a proper tour of your home, I can find one bauble or another to satisfy this week’s payment.” Coming to his feet, Pierce strolled about, lifting an occasional statue, running his fingers appraisingly along the carved trim of the walnut furniture.

“Thorn—Markham, you can’t be serious! Surely you wouldn’t—”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?” Tragmore snapped.

“Forgive me, my lord,” replied his butler, holding out a sealed missive. “But this message just arrived. It’s marked urgent.”

“Fine. Give it to me.” Tragmore snatched the letter, tore it open and scanned its contents. Scowling, he stuffed the note into his pocket. “I have to go to London at once.”

“A problem?” Pierce inquired smoothly.

“None that concerns you.”

“Perhaps I should be the judge of that.”

“You hold my assets,” Tragmore hissed. “That does not entitle you to invade my privacy. My missives are for my eyes and my eyes only.”

“I could argue that point, but it’s not worth the effort. Should the matter involve your finances, I shall learn about it directly.” Coldly, Pierce regarded his adversary. “I hope for your sake this is not merely an attempt to avoid settling your debt. Because, if it is, rest assured it will prove unsuccessful. I shall return to collect my payment the morning after next. Doubtless you’ll, have returned from London by then. And I’ll be waiting. Do I make myself clear, Tragmore?”

The marquis turned three shades of red before storming by Pierce. “Show the duke out,” he paused to fire at his butler.

“Yes, sir.”

“I can show myself out.” Calmly, Pierce crossed the room and sidestepped the incensed marquis. “Good day, Tragmore,” he continued, never breaking stride. “Have coffee prepared by sunrise. I detest beginning my day without it.”

Hearing the muffled expletives echoing in his wake, Pierce had all he could do to keep from laughing aloud. His plan was working perfectly.

Outside the manor, Pierce climbed into his phaeton and swiftly departed, steering his horses around the drive and through the gates until they’d reached the main road. Abruptly, he urged them to the roadside, maneuvering the phaeton until it was totally concealed by the row of trees he had carefully chosen before entering Tragmore’s grounds. There he waited.

Not five minutes later, the marquis’s carriage rounded the bend, swept by, and disappeared.

Pierce waited a quarter hour to be certain. Then he swerved his phaeton about, and headed back toward the manor.

Grinning, he recalled the dire contents of the note. Wouldn’t the marquis be surprised to learn that the urgency it conveyed was greatly exaggerated? In fact, not only did Hollingsby not truly require Tragmore’s immediate presence, the solicitor had no notion the marquis was en route to London.

He would shortly, of course. Pierce’s other missive would arrive at Hollingsby’s office simultaneously with Hollingsby himself, putting an unaccustomed burden on the solicitor and giving him the first real challenge he’d ever known.

At the same time, giving Pierce time alone with Daphne.

Just outside Tragmore’s gates, Pierce abandoned his phaeton, taking the remaining distance by foot. His reasons were twofold: he was determined to remain undetected by any of Tragmore’s residents, and he instinctively knew that the place in which he was most likely to find Daphne was far more accessible by foot than by vehicle.

The woods.

Treading lightly, Pierce made his way among the thick brush, keeping his head up, his ears tuned to any noise that might reveal Daphne’s presence.

She was easier, to find than he’d expected.