Chapter Four
Lavinia glanced at her husband. Mild panic tightened her chest. The moment of reckoning had arrived. If the ton wasn’t already aware of what had transpired last night, the rumors would be confirmed after this meeting. “Do you want me to accompany you?” Truly, it was the last thing she wished to do, for the duke would prove incensed if his reputation was to be believed, but she’d willingly go into the lion’s den to support the earl.
For better or for worse. That’s what the vows had said, and that’s what she would do, for she hoped he would eventually do the same for her. Pulling herself out of a dodgy future gave her a different view of gratitude than most, and she wouldn’t waste it.
The hint of vulnerability he’d shown moments ago vanished beneath a renewed wave of anger. Rage and annoyance snapped in his blue eyes, lined his handsome visage, but beneath all of that was a tiny hint of fear. He was either afraid of the duke himself or what the man’s reach could do. Laughton shoved a hand through his hair. Bits of dried vomit still clung to spots in the brown tresses. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. We’re both mired in this morass together.”
“You dragged me down with you.” She refused to have him implicate her in the disaster.
“As if you protested,” he said from around clenched teeth.
“I told you before, I did protest, but you in all your arrogance—even drunk—wouldn’t listen.”
Had he always been this difficult? Though she’d been with him for a year as his mistress, the fact of the matter was she didn’t know him well. When they were together, the primary focus was seeing him pleasured and sated, for that’s what he paid her for. Beyond that, they’d spoken of current events, travel, literature, poetry, politics, or a host of other topics having nothing to do with personal matters.
Only when he’d sunk into his cups did he mention his dead wife, and rarely did he talk about his daughter. Last night when he’d let it slip that he’d never wanted her to meet Lady Deborah due to her stain of reputation, she’d been cut to the quick. That hurt still throbbed, but she pushed it aside. The earl would need to square with that challenge later. For now, there was the duke to consider.
“Bah.” He winced and put a hand to his head, that no doubt ached from his hangover. “Best have this over with.” He strode to the door without another word or a look backward.
Lavinia sighed. Not an auspicious start to their union, but then Laughton didn’t do anything by half. With a more measured pace, she followed him, arriving at the drawing room mere steps behind the earl.
As soon as Percival set foot inside the room, the Duke of Bradford pounced. Perhaps twenty years Laughton’s senior, he moved with all the athletic grace of a much younger man and quickly landed the earl a facer that sent him reeling. She didn’t go to him, for he was already angry enough. She couldn’t fault him for the ire, but perhaps he needed to fight this battle alone, for he’d been the one to create it. Hopefully, once the scandalbroth died, things would work out.
While the earl recovered his balance, Lavinia stepped forward. “Perhaps some decorum is in order for this meeting to go smoothly.”
The duke’s attention swung to her. His glare could have shot daggers through her heart. “Ah, the doxy who usurped my daughter’s place. How dare you think to speak to me.” When he would have come toward her, the earl bounded in front of her, shielding her with his body, keeping himself between her and the incensed duke.
Truly, he was a good man, even if he didn’t believe it or couldn’t see it due to his drinking. His actions just now spoke volumes to his character, but there was no time to mention that or show her appreciation.
“Do not think to lay a hand on her, Bradford.” Fury shook in Percival’s tones. Never had she heard such ire from him before.
The duke’s shaggy eyebrows lifted. Then he sneered; his eyes held a wrath she didn’t want to contemplate. “This is who you chose over my Eleanor?” His face grew redder with each word. “There will be repercussions, Laughton.”
“Not large ones, surely. It was a broken engagement, not a drowning in the Thames.”
The duke’s lips were outlined in white. He pointed a forefinger at the earl. “You broke our contract and have forfeited thousands of pounds.”
Percival shook his head. A wince shortly followed, but Lavinia couldn’t quite feel empathy for him. He’d brought this upon himself. “I’ll gladly pay for the breach in order to be rid of you and your whiny brat of a daughter, who is so cold no man will get under her skirts.” Though she gasped, he ignored her. “If you’ll come to my study, Bradford, we’ll finish the transaction.”
“Absolutely not!” The duke’s exclamation thundered through the room. No doubt there were servants in the corridor beyond, shamelessly eavesdropping. “You’ve ruined Eleanor’s reputation. The ton will think her sullied or not good enough now that you’ve thrown her over, and for a whore!”
Percival snorted. “That is highly doubtful. You’ll put a bigger dowry on her head as well as impress upon her that she’ll marry the first man who asks.” The earl waved a hand in dismissal. “Eleanor is still an innocent. She’ll have no trouble attracting a man who wishes to mold and train her into a docile, proper arm ornament.”
Oh, dear. Lavinia took a step backward, for the duke wouldn’t stand for that.
Sure enough, Lord Bradford charged at the earl. “You mangy cur! You’ll pay dearly.” He tackled Percival and the two tussled for dominance.
“Settle the hell down, Bradford.” The earl panted as he scuttled about the middle of the room, evading the duke’s grasping hand. “It’s not as if I left her at the altar after I fucked her or left her with a babe in her belly.”
The duke charged again, this time knocking Percival onto a divan. “My daughter would never act indecently. It’s why she’s so valuable.”
“Get off it. Being an innocent or not doesn’t make a woman valuable.” Percival heaved the duke off with a booted foot and a hand, shoving hard. “It matters not why I didn’t marry your daughter. The fact is I didn’t. She remains untouched. I’ve offered to pay back the dowry. Take it and go in good faith.”
“There must be satisfaction.” The duke staggered backward while Percival picked himself up from the divan.
“I’m sure that’s what Eleanor’s future husband will say since she has no skill in that quarter.”
The heat of embarrassment filled Lavinia’s cheeks—from the situation, from Percival’s attitude, from the ridiculous posturing. “For the love of God, stop taunting him,” she hissed to the earl.