Twenty-one

In what was now a very uncomfortable drawing room

After the passage of an undeterminable number of awkward seconds

“ I am .” Layton strove to keep the terseness from his tone, but by God, Merrivale’s incredulity bordered on insulting. No, his blatant disbelief radiated disdain.

To a man who had never worked a minute in his life, the shock and disgust were genuine.

“But why, man?” Merrivale glanced around, the faintest hint of contempt flaring his nostrils as he took in the room’s simple décor and dismissed the furnishings as commonplace. “You are the adopted son of the wealthy and powerful Duke of Latham, not to mention you possess your own substantial fortune.”

True, but that was none of Merrivale’s business, and that he knew of Layton’s inheritance from his biological father proved more than a little unnerving.

Layton never spoke of his birthright, having despised his father with every ounce of his being for as long as he could remember. The funds sat in an account at Hoare’s Bank, earning a tidy annual income from interest.

He had as much desire to access the funds as he did to be drawn and quartered.

Layton speared Lilly a swift glance.

Her jaw had gone slack before she snapped her mouth closed.

“ Duke ?” she mimed silently, then wandered to stand beside a table displaying several inkwells.

Eyes slightly narrowed, she stared at him reproachfully as she toyed with the lid of a bronze acorn-shaped ink pot.

What the blazes was she thinking?

Surely, she did not blame Layton for what he could not remember until now.

So absorbed in his amazement, Merrivale did not seem to notice. Or more likely, the viscount had dismissed her as an inferior and therefore beneath his regard.

Typical of him.

Aldric Davenport was the epitome of privileged elitist snobbery. Unless blueblood ran in a person’s veins, that individual was irrelevant. A nobody.

“Why, by all that is holy, would you choose to smell of the shop, Westbrook?”

Merrivale chuckled at his own jest as he wrinkled his nose as if sniffing fresh manure or rotted fish.

“Zounds man, if I had your means, I assuredly would not soil my hands or sully my reputation by engaging in menial service.” Merrivale’s lip curled upward in derision. “Where is your pride?”

The viscount was such an elitist that it was a wonder the man deemed to wipe his own bum.

As for Layton’s pride, much of the overrated emotion had vanished when his wife had tried to kill him and then ran off with one of his closest friends.

Lilly narrowed her eyes, annoyed sparks shooting from the chocolate irises at Merrivale’s string of insults.

What was worse, the self-important coxcomb had no idea how offensive he was.

She curled her fingers around a bronze inkwell as if considering whether to lob it at Merrivale’s head.

Layton did not blame her.

“It is all a matter of perspective, is it not?” Layton shrugged and cleared his throat, eager to turn the focus from himself until he spoke with Lilly about his regained memory.

And that he was most certainly not married.

Not anymore.

In fact, he was a widower.

A pulse of excitement tunneled through him.

He was free to court Lilly.

At one time, Merrivale’s insensitive prattling would have raised Layton’s ire, but today, the barbs bounced off before they could prick him.

“I thought you were living abroad, Merrivale.” Layton cupped his nape when what he wanted to do was rub his throbbing temples. “I seem to remember Leonidas mentioning he had seen you during his travels. In Morocco, I believe?”

Merrivale’s jollity dissipated, and bleakness etched his features.

“My father died a few months ago,” he said. “Alas, my life as a wanderer has ended, and I must take up the viscountcies’ mantle with all its duties and encumbrances.”

While Merrivale had always relished the privileges afforded to a peer’s only son, the rapscallion had shirked any responsibilities with a remarkable astuteness.

Until now.

Peculiar, this sudden attentiveness to duty.

Almost as if something beyond self-interest motivated the chap.

That would be a first.

“My sincere condolences, Merrivale.”

One of eight siblings, Layton could not fathom the loneliness an only child experienced when his remaining parent died.

Folding her hands, Lilly murmured, “Mine as well, your lordship.”

As if he had forgotten she existed, Merrivale glanced over his shoulder toward her. “Yes, and unlike my sire, I take the title seriously.”

Since when?

Merrivale had rarely returned to England after his tour of the continent, preferring to whore and gamble his way across Europe and beyond. This sudden commitment to the viscountcy smelled to high heaven.

Something was too smoky by far.

“I have spent months wading through neglected paperwork and meeting with solicitors.” Merrivale paused for a half-second before stiffening his spine and thrusting out his noble chin. “Which brings me to why I am here.”

At last.

“I have had a man watching Kelston Hall,” he announced. “You have quite an industrious operation here, Miss Granger. I am unexpectedly impressed, in truth.”

A trace of grudging respect tempered his words.

Layton cocked his head.

And what was Kelston Hall to Merrivale that he would hire someone to observe the estate’s operations?

“That was your man?” Lilly cut Layton a relieved glance. “I feared he was someone more nefarious.”

Layton scowled.

Did she fear the prowler might be one of the ruffians who had abducted him?

“Lilly, you knew someone was lurking about, and you did not tell me?” Layton tempered his astonishment and ire but could not quite keep the accusation from his tone.

“I was not certain he was watching the house, nor did I know his purpose.” She shrugged. “I did not want to trouble you.”

“I have no idea what you two are blathering on about.” The viscount glanced between Layton and Lilly before pinning her with his haughtiest you-are-an-insignificant-insect glare. “But can we get back to the matter at hand?”

Merrivale was not even aware he was a pompous prick.

Regardless, fury simmered inside Layton for the disparaging way the viscount treated Lilly.

“Tread lightly, Merrivale,” Layton warned with cold calm. “We might be old acquaintances, but I insist you pay Miss Granger the respect she is due.”

“Do not work yourself into a lather, Westbrook.” Merrivale gave a dismissive flick of his hand, a sardonic smile curling his upper lip once more. “My business is with Miss Granger. I have no quarrel with you.”

Such a condescending assling .

Arms folded, Layton leveled the viscount with a steely glare. “Nor I you.”

Yet.

“Please join me for a tankard or two in Prudhoe after I am finished here,” Merrivale invited as if they were old chums. “We can catch up on old times.”

Her expression pinched, Lilly looked between the men.

Then, as if he were discussing something as banal as the weather, Merrivale turned to her. “I am doing you the courtesy of informing you that I am contesting Aunt Matilda’s will. No illegitimate children should have ever been permitted to inherit her estate.”

Ah, hell.

“What exactly are you implying, your lordship?” Lilly clasped her hands together, the knuckles white as every ounce of color drained from her face.

“I am not implying anything. I am stating facts,” Merrivale scoffed. “You are Aunt Matilda’s bastard daughter, and Charles Montrose is my father’s by-blow.”

Layton had suspected the former, but the latter left him thunderstruck.

Charles and Lilly were cousins.

Now Layton understood the late Miss Davenport’s benevolence. She had done everything in her power to protect and provide for her daughter and nephew.

The viscount raked a contemptuous glance over Lilly, but she met his haughty perusal with a direct, unflinching gaze.

Bravo, sweetheart .

“I presume yours and Montrose’s surnames are those of your father and his mother,” Merrivale said. “Surely, as a peer yourself, you understand why this travesty must not be allowed to continue, Westbrook.”

Wiping the floor with Merrivale’s face will not help Lilly , Layton scolded himself. Nor will pummeling him into next year.

Far better, if wholly less satisfying, for Merrivale to believe Layton’s loyalty lay along the same path, though Layton’s allegiance was now, and would always remain, to Lilly.

“I understand, Merrivale, that you have given Miss Granger quite a shock.”

Layton strode to the door.

He would much rather have gone to Lilly, but mindful that doing so might give Merrivale the wrong impression while providing the viscount fodder for fuel, Layton refrained.

“I think it is time you took your leave, Merrivale, and allow Miss Granger time to digest what you have sprung upon her. I shall accept your invitation and join you. There’s not a drop of spirits to be had in the house, and I would welcome a dram.”

Perhaps Layton could learn more about the viscount’s plans after he had plied the boor with a few drinks.

“As would I.” Merrivale gave a curt nod as he presented his back to Lilly.

“What is this world coming to, I ask you, Westbrook?” Merrivale paused at the entrance. As if Lilly was not standing a few feet away, he scoffed, “Neither Aunt Matilda’s nor father’s illegitimate offspring should ever have inherited a damned farthing.”