“You reached a hair too far with Number 9. It won’t stand.”
“I never thought it would.”
All the false jollity faded from Montfort’s visage. Left in its place was the cool, dead stare of a spider.
Montfort was coming for him. Good. Let him. This was exactly what Percy had been aiming for these last few months, to draw Montfort out. To make him strike.
But revenge was no longer his only goal.
Percy squared up to Montfort, who didn’t flinch. The man’s connections within the halls of power had made him untouchable for so long that he believed himself permanently so. “Listen to me and listen closely. Isabel is someone I—”
“Love, is it?”
“—Someone under my protection,” Percy finished, not a little shaken by what he’d almost said. “You will not use her the way you used me.”
“Now, Percy, your situation was altogether different. And, if you’re honest with yourself, you know that our time together was the making of you into a man.”
A swell of rage surged inside Percy. He curled it into a tight ball in his gut, even as it clamored for release. “If any harm comes to her, I shall find you, and I shall end you.”
“Such dramatics. All I want for Isabel is the safety of her and her dear, beloved family.”
Lies.
Montfort’s mouth curved up into the patronizing smile that never managed to reach his eyes. “I’ve always valued that about you, Bretagne. Your tenacity.”
“I have no value to you. I’m no longer your asset.” Percy followed his instinct and added, “And neither is Isabel.”
Montfort’s mouth pursed with displeasure and released the next instant. “What silly notions you youth get in your heads these days.”
“Your day is coming, Montfort.”
“Oh, it will be interesting to see whose day comes first.” With that, Montfort took himself off, his step measured and confident, back to the manor house.
Or back to Hades where he belonged, for all Percy knew.
A reckoning was coming. The man hadn’t bothered to deny he was coercing Isabel. Montfort was the sort of man who gave no thought to the destruction of a life, if that end was the means to his goal. A dozen years ago, he’d used Percy in his weakest moment without an ounce of compassion or compunction.
As one who knew Montfort’s ruthlessness firsthand, Percy was the one person uniquely positioned to help Isabel.
But he needed her trust first.
How to convince her to join him to ensure Montfort’s downfall? Percy needed to know what debt Montfort was dangling over her head. It involved her family, that was obvious. But what were its details?
Further, how had she gone from the Spanish court to a London gaming hell? What was Montfort’s involvement? She would give Percy none of that information if she didn’t trust him.
Blast. He’d likely already mucked up his chance. How could he gain her trust if all she saw in his eyes was desire?
He was trapped inside a devil’s paradox. On the one side, he needed to get closer to her. On the other, he needed to keep his distance from her.
Neither outcome seemed likely, nor even possible.
Chapter 18
Percy settled against the stall’s slatted wall and watched the newborn foal, all gangly legs and wide black eyes, nuzzle up to his dam and begin to suckle.
He’d volunteered to keep an eye on Princess Polly through the night. The first twenty-four hours following a red sac birth were the most dangerous for the dam as infection could set in. Before him was the future of the stable, and he would see them through this night.
“You missed this, didn’t you?”
Percy glanced up to find his father at the stall gate. “Like the blazes,” he admitted.
The Duke entered the stall and settled beside Percy onto dense hay. In parallel, they took in the view. “My bones might be getting too old for this. This is young man’s work, to be sure.”
It sat wrong inside Percy to hear his father speak thusly. He’d missed so many years. Why? Protecting his country, he might have said in the past, which was but one small part of the full truth. The whole was much more complex and didn’t reflect well on him as a son.
In the here and now, he knew that look on his father’s face. Father wanted to talk and not simply about the surface matters they’d kept to since Percy’s return to England. This conversation would go deeper. He supposed it was about well time.
“The papers have been drawn up,” began the Duke. “They arrive from London in the next few days. All that is required are our signatures, and Gardencourt will be yours.”
“It’s too generous of you, Father.” Percy hesitated. “I don’t deserve it.”
The Duke waved his words away. “Nonsense. It’s been waiting for you to return and make something of it.” He jutted his chin toward suckling and dam. “You’re off to a good start. Besides, Isabel seems to adore the place.”
Percy remained silent. He didn’t want to contribute another word toward the lie of his marriage.
“In truth, you seem to have a great girl in her. With her beauty, she doesn’t have to be much more, but she has a brain in her head that she’s willing to use. And she possesses the sort of compassionate demeanor that would be a boon to you in the running of the estate.”
Percy nodded, silently agreeing with his father on each point. “You make her sound like a veritable paragon.”
“She might be, but one thing I know she isn’t.”
“And what is that?”
“Your wife.”
If Percy hadn’t already been sitting on the ground, his legs would have given out from under him. But, really, what should he have expected? One didn’t pull the wool over the Duke’s eyes easily. “How did you know?”
“Because you’re not the young man you once were. You wouldn’t tether yourself to a woman you hardly know without thought to consequence.” The Duke tapped out a beat on his bent knee. “Can I ask you why?”
“You could, but you might not like the answer.”
The Duke nodded. “I thought as much.”