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“Enough,” he croaked, needing to hear his own voice, to hear anything other than the loud buzzing in his ears in order to ground himself firmly in reality and focus on a safer outlet for his rage. The insolent virago who’d dared to enter his residence and call him out.

Not caring that you sacked servants who needed work ...

He didn’t care. He didn’t.

And yet ...

If he didn’t care, then why not allow those people to remain as they’d been, tending an empty household and toiling away at their miserable existences, just as Malcom himself was?

“Bram,” he thundered.

The bulky former tosher limped in several moments later. “Aye?”

Malcom frowned. As long as he’d known the other man, he had been lame. “It’s gotten worse.”

Scratching at his bald brow, Bram eyed him strangely.

And mayhap hewasstrange. The minx with all her accusations and questions had messed with him. “Your leg,” he clarified, clipping those two syllables out.

“Ah.” Bram brightened, and a wide grin split his heavily scarred face. “But moi eyes are better.” Aye, they were indeed. “The little miss helped. Said she has something that would ’elp with my leg.”

As the half-besotted tosher prattled on about the virtuous Verity Lovelace, Malcom’s eyelid twitched.

Bram seemed to register that involuntary tic, for he abruptly stopped midpraise for the minx. “Is there somethin’ ya wanted?” the old tosher put forward hesitantly.

“No,” he gritted out. “Yes.” What in hell was wrong with him? What madness had the witch inflicted?

As eager to please as he’d been since Malcom had hired him on, Bram stared expectantly back.

“Sanders ... the ...” Malcom grimaced. “My man-of-affairs.” Because regardless of whether or not he wished it, the man answered to him. “Tell him to hire back the damned servants he’d previously sacked.”

“And do what with them?”

“And ... and ... hire them back,” he finished lamely, waving a hand. “Their former posts. Let them have them. If they want them.”

“Anything else?”

He shook his head tightly, and Bram turned to go. Only ... “Aye. Tell Sanders I’m done with his visits.” Malcom had been patient enough, dealing with the transfer of the properties and the details surrounding the Maxwell title. There was nothing left for them to meet on.

“As you wish.” Bram limped off.

“Bram.” He stayed the old man at the door. “There is actually one other thing I’ll require of you and Fowler.”

Sometime later, after he’d gone, Malcom returned to the window and found the area on the pavement where he’d last spied Verity. A painted whore had since taken her place and was in the process of conducting a transaction with a garishly clad dandy. She caught the gentleman’s hand and led him onward to whatever alley served as the place of her work.

And I’m not a fancy woman ... I’m simply a woman attempting to do her work and care for her family. And you? You are so self-absorbed that you don’t care at all about the plight of anyone ...

I’ll not think of it.

I’ll not think of her on her own.Verity Lovelace without employment ... She wasn’t his concern, or his responsibility.

It was done.

He’d shut the door on the Maxwell title and the woman named Verity Lovelace.

Why did that not bring him the satisfaction he expected it should?

Chapter 15