There was a rap on the door behind him and he frowned at it. Probably his landlady. She always banged on the door like she was ready to tear it off its hinges.
“Mrs. Westin,” he said as he came to it, opening it. “My rent is not due for—” He cut himself off. It wasn’t his grizzled-faced landlady who stood there waiting for him. It was his cousin, Philip.
He looked almost enraptured as he peered past Roarke into the home. His pleasure in the face of pain was so complete it made Roarke despise his cousin even more. A pure hatred rose in him and he stepped to the side to block the view.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
Philip chuckled before he shoved past Roarke and into the room. “That’s not a very polite way to speak to the man who holds your purse strings.”
“The duke holds the purse strings, Philip,” Roarke snapped. “You’re just the lackey.”
It was probably imprudent to say so, and Philip’s enraged expression verified that. But then his cousin drew a few deep breaths, his fists relaxed at his sides and he looked around. “Good Lord, this place is utter shite. Your part of the family was never exactly dripping in gold, but you truly have fallen.”
Roarke lifted his chin and tried not to let the vulnerability he felt in this moment overtake him. He didn’t let people see this life he was forced to lead exactly because of this judgment.
“My mother gets the lion’s share of whatever funds I manage to scrape together,” he said. “Which I know you know since you and your siblings are lording her safety over me.”
Philip smiled as he drew a gloved fingertip over the surface of a table. But Roarke kept the small space clean, so he had no satisfaction in finding dust or debris left behind.
“We use what we can,” Philip said. “It worked, didn’t it? After all, I know you saw Flora yesterday.”
Roarke stared at him, his stomach turning. “Thomas had me fucking followed?”
“Well, we’re not certain we can fully trust you, cousin,” Philip said, and looked up at him, his smile cold and brittle. “Perhaps I misjudged you, though. Our man said he saw you two standing very close together at the stable there, and that you…” His voice dropped, became huskier. "...kissed her hand.”
Roarke staggered back. That moment by his horse had felt so personal, so private. He could still feel the weight of Flora’s fingers against his. That had been real, not a manipulation, just like the time they’d shared in her parlor had been real.
And now it was spoiled because he knew Thomas had been watching it all, through his proxy. Perhaps even through Philip, himself. That his cousins had been judging and laughing and seeing it as a way to hurt Flora.
“I’m working on it,” Roarke ground out through clenched teeth. “These things take time.”
The taunting pleasure of Philip’s expression faded and a hardness entered his eyes. He leaned closer. “Working on it?” he repeated with a shake of his head. “That sounds like an excuse. Sort of like how so many things in your pathetic life have been an excuse. Are the stakes not high enough, cousin? Because Thomas has given me permission to make them higher.”
“What are you talking about?” Roarke asked.
“Your mother’s caretaker seems a lovely woman. Married, has two children.”
Now Roarke’s breath shortened. “Leave my mother alone.”
“She’s quite unwell, isn’t she? My dear aunt, your sweet mother. I cannot imagine how hard it would be for her if she lost the support of the woman who is her constant companion.”
Roarke drew back. “You’re…you’re threatening my mother’s servant?”
“My brother says we could pay her off to walk away.” Philip shrugged. “But there are other ways to make her leave. Whatever happens, I don’t think you could take care of your mother here. Especially when you lose all your incoming funds.”
“You’ve made your threats clear enough already,” Roarke hissed.
“Not clear enough, obviously,” Philip said. “When will it be done?”
Roarke stared at him, this monster who shared some small portion of his blood. This cruel person who was so focused on hurting Flora that he didn’t care who he destroyed in the meantime. There would be no stopping him.
“I’m seeing her today,” Roarke said flatly.
For a moment, Philip’s rage grew bright again. Then he nodded. “Excellent. Move it along. We want it done before the time runs out on the inheritance clock.”
He pivoted then and left without so much as a goodbye for Roarke. When he was alone again, Roarke sank into his chair before the fire and covered his face. He was in an untenable situation now. One he couldn’t escape. Hurt Flora or hurt his mother. Either way, he would be destroyed.
And he had no idea what to do now.
Flora felt like she was floating as she entered the park across from Kent’s Row for her meeting with Roarke. She had been pacing her home all day, watching the clock, lamenting how long every minute took to tick by. But now she felt free as she breathed in the cool autumn air and looked around for this man who had taken such a big role in her life as of late.
She found him almost immediately, coming across the park from the opposite entrance. Even from a distance, she recognized him, there was something about the way he moved. But as he got closer, her smile faltered. Was there something wrong? His shoulders looked slightly slumped, and when he caught sight of her as he got closer, his mouth got tight before he lifted his hand and waved. She waved back and crossed to meet him.
“Good afternoon, Flora,” he said, his voice a little rough.
“Good afternoon,” she said back. “We’ve been lucky with the weather the past few days. I’m so pleased we can walk now, as it looks like a storm will be coming soon.”
He looked up at the gathering gray clouds in the distance and nodded. “Indeed. Well, let’s walk, shall we?”
He offered his arm and she took it, reveling in the awareness the simple touch awoke in her. She had been dreaming of touching this man since yesterday and now it felt like a relief to do so.
They walked along the path for a little while in silence. She wished she could say an amenable silence, a comfortable one, but the farther they went, the less easy it became. Roarke sometimes glanced at her then looked away. His mouth was drawn and taut.
“Is there something wrong, Roarke?” she asked at last.
He jerked his gaze toward her. “Why would you say that?”
“I just noticed a few things,” she said carefully. “Your expression is not especially happy at present and you seem troubled in the way you’re walking.”
His brows lifted. “The way I’m walking,” he repeated.
She nodded. “Shorter steps, too fast, you’re certainly not enjoying a stroll. It feels more like you’re going to the gallows. So I wondered if something had happened to trouble you.”
He stopped and stared off in the distance, then shook his head. “Are you always so aware of those around you, Your Grace?”
She worried her lip. “With those I…I care about, certainly.”
Now he pivoted toward her fully and looked down into her face. There was something so sad about his expression now. Something that spoke of hurt. “And you count me as one of those people.”