Heartless (31 page)

23

Leandra’s eyes threatened to pop, her chest constricting at the sight of her husband, his one good hand twisted in her brother’s shirt front, Harwood’s feet dangling inches from the floor. She wasn’t sure what she felt at the sight, awe at the sheer power Derringer displayed or pity that her brother fell afoul of her husband. Perhaps a mix of the two.

Something made her ease further back into the shadows cast by the grand staircase. Should she try to rescue her brother? He looked dangerously close to disgracing himself.

Her innate desire to forestall bloodshed propelled her forward. Before she could take a single step, Derringer dropped his captive, Harwood’s backside coming into violent contact with the marble floor. Leandra was too far away to hear anything other than her brother’s grunt of pain.

She wanted to know what they were discussing. She glanced back toward the drawing room to make sure no one else was coming. Then, she crept up far enough to hear.

The comment about there never having been a will caught her by surprise. She’d assumed it was merely lost or misplaced, but Harwood seemed quite certain it had never existed. But that would mean her father had lied. He never lied.

Derringer’s expression slipped into something Leandra could only call savage delight. Why would Harwood’s comment about there never having been a will cause such a reaction in her husband? An uneasy feeling crept over her skin.

She turned to leave. Derringer appeared quite through with her brother so her presence was not required. She slipped around the newel post, intent on making her escape before catching her husband’s eye. Just as she reached the door to the drawing room, an arm of steel snaked around her waist and pulled her back against a hard body.

“Merri, Merri, I do believe you were eavesdropping,” the duke breathed in her ear.

She sighed lightly when his lips briefly touched that sensitive area right below her ear. She fought the quivering sensation in her middle, reminded herself of his treatment of her after introducing her to the delights to be had in his arms.

Turning slightly to look up into his mocking black eyes, Leandra said, “I assume you require me for something, your grace?”

His reply made her ears turn pink.

Derringer released her with a mocking grin but took her hand. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he led her to his father’s study and made her sit.

“How much did you hear?” he asked blandly.

Leandra watched him warily as he sat on the edge of the desk, hands braced on either side of him. If he suspected she had heard more than she ought, would he again threaten her with physical violence? Or would he make good on his prior threat to beat her?

“Come, Merri, I promise I won’t bite,” he cajoled. “Unless you ask me to.”

Her natural poise came to her rescue in the face of this outrageous remark—this outrageous remark that caused an almost pleasant tingling in her skin. With a determined effort she managed to keep her thoughts and feelings from her expression. She hoped.

“I overheard Lee tell you that Papa never made a will.”

“And do you believe him?”

“Of course not. Papa told me he left a will. He said I would never have to fear poverty. He said he would always take care of me, even after his death.”

A twinge of desperation entered her final words, desperation and grief. She hated the weakness she displayed but she missed her father so much.

“Does your brother make a habit of lying then?”

She shrugged, her blank features telling Derringer nothing of her inner thoughts. He hated how he couldn’t read her all the time like he could most people. If her silence was due to fear of him, he couldn’t know. She hid fear as well as anything.

He did, however, catch the emotion behind her comment in regard to her father, a reaction that was to be expected under the circumstances. She had been deeply attached to the late Lord Harwood.

Though the duke
had
expected a little more emotion when faced with the likely perfidy of her brother.

Pushing away from the desk to pace before her, Derringer offered, “Perhaps he does not make a habit of it but deems it necessary in these circumstances, honorable, even.”

Leandra sat up straighter, eyes widening, fingers clenching in her lap. Anger flashed through her eyes, almost lost behind her thick spectacles. “You mean, keep it out of the hands of the bastard?”

It was the duke’s turn to shrug. “If you will. What I want to know is why he thinks it best to disregard your father’s wishes.”

“Lee pretended to love Papa but I always doubted his sincerity. He had a way of appearing so innocent that I had trouble believing him. Others seemed to see him only as he appeared. Papa never seemed to see through him, though.”

Derringer very much doubted that. He had met the late earl once or twice and the man had never struck him as particularly obtuse. He had, in fact, appeared quite cognizant of his family’s shortcomings. It was this that made Derringer positive that a will did exist and one that most likely left everything to the earl’s one truly loving child.

A child whose existence Derringer was unaware of until he rescued her at an inn, where she’d managed to end up after her loving family tossed her on her ear. What a tiny world they inhabited.

His next comment, however, revealed none of his ruminations to his wife. “Perhaps your father was dense enough to believe in his only son’s honor.”

Leandra stood. Derringer watched outrage ripple over her face and form, tension settling on her shoulders like a dark mantle. With a token curtsy in his direction, she quit the room, nose in the air in the best grand duchess manner he’d ever beheld.

The duke was so surprised at her abrupt exit that he just stood there. It was only after she’d gone that he realized how rude she’d actually been. He smiled.

The Earl of Harwood was very careful to avoid Lord Derringer over the next few days, a circumstance that pleased the duke. He was unsure if he could avoid laying hands on the man again.

But Martin St. Clair seemed to be avoiding Derringer as well. This oddity so perplexed the duke that he sought the man out to question him over his behavior.

“Is there something troubling you, cousin?”

Martin shrugged, a smile touching his lips at Derringer’s show of concern. “No, why do you ask?”

The very tone in Martin’s voice, something bordering on contempt, made the hairs on Derringer’s neck stand on end. There was also something almost chaotic in his cousin’s eyes that caused an uneasy shiver to snake down his spine.

The feeling passed almost immediately, Martin’s face clearing of all expression. Surely he’d imagined the strange look and the strange effect it had had on him.

“Then I would suggest you take your position seriously in future. I haven’t the time to hunt you down when I have need of you.”

Derringer walked away with the feeling that his cousin was glaring daggers at him. This completely outrageous feeling was eerie enough to make him glance behind him. Martin indeed watched him, but his face showed nothing more than blank inquiry.

The feeling followed Derringer out to the stables, however.

After assuring himself that Satan was mending well, Derringer returned to the castle. His bellow upon entering was answered with as much speed as he could wish. Every servant was soon before him.

“Excellent. I am glad to see that despite infirmities of all kinds, none of you appear hampered by them. My congratulations.” He saw his wife enter the Great Hall with her stepmother and sisters followed closely by his aunt and cousins.

With a mocking bow, he addressed his next words to his family. “And my guests as well. How convenient.”

“What is this about, your grace?” asked Leandra with a touch of impatience.

“It is not your place to inquire into my doings, Lady Derringer,” he returned, disliking the rush of annoyance at her reaction.

Such humiliation in front of servants and family was enough to cause Leandra’s eyes to darken. Without another word, she turned and left.

“Everyone is dismissed,” growled the duke. “All family members will please adjourn to the drawing room.” Without waiting to see if anyone complied, he stalked after his wife.

He entered her sitting room to find her pacing in obvious agitation. When she heard him, she turned and glared. “What do you want, your grace?”

The first response that popped into Derringer’s head was “You.” He refrained from saying that, however, and settled for, “I want to know why you left before I dismissed you.”

Leandra stared at him incredulously. “I can’t believe you! Of all the… you insufferable boor!” She marched up to him, shaking a tiny fist in his face. “I am not your servant, Hart. I will not be treated as one. You have no right!”

“Have I not, Merri?” His voice was silky, dangerous. As much as he found his wife in a temper most arousing, he was angered by her show of bravado. “I seem to recall you needing help most desperately when I found you.”

“And I seem to recall that without me you’d be poor as a church mouse!”

“I could have had anybody, Merri. You were convenient.”

Leandra was silent for a heart-stopping moment, the casual hurtfulness of his comment robbing her of breath. Then she lifted her nose a notch and replied, “Very convenient, your grace. I am, however, tired of being considered nothing more than your
convenience
. I am leaving.”

She moved to go around him but he stopped her. “You are going nowhere.”

“The devil I’m not!”

One black brow arched in surprise. “You are calling the devil into this? I’m shocked.”

“You will not charm me into staying, Hart, any more than you will order me to. I’m done trying to prove that you’re worth saving.”