Page 34 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

J eremy approached the door of a terraced townhouse on Jermyn Street, just off the broad thoroughfare of Piccadilly.

He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head angrily at his own apprehension and ascending the short flight of stone steps to the front door.

Moments later, he was being escorted to a small sitting room by a butler and invited to wait for the Baron of Linwood, Simon Winchester.

Not long now. If Simon is willing to accept an equal stake, then I can still afford to buy the Opera House in partnership with him. That dratted Doctor March will be dealt with, and I can get on with the conception of the El Dorado.

The apprehension came from what Simon would demand as an equal shareholder in the enterprise.

Jeremy was expecting a battle for control over decision-making.

Battles he might not win. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at the notion that his dream might not be realized exactly as he envisioned.

A sense of fatigue was gnawing at him. It happened every time he thought about the dratted El Dorado now.

His hands clamped the arms of the chair in which he sat, itching for brushes or charcoal, the implements of art.

That is nothing more than a hobby. An idle pursuit. The El Dorado is money, prestige. Legacy.

He berated himself for a child and tried to suppress the feeling of exhaustion.

“Penhaligon, old chap! Welcome to my humble London abode,” Simon breezed into the room, “haven't quite decorated it yet to my taste, but I will anon. Don't get up!”

He sat opposite Jeremy, who had begun to rise, but now sat back down, suppressing a sigh.

“You wish to discuss our partnership?” Simon said, leaning forward in his seat, hands clasped between his knees.

“I wish to discuss a change to its parameters,” Jeremy declared, woodenly.

“I have run into a problem concerning the liquidity of my fortune. To be blunt, I can no longer afford the majority stake in the Opera House. If you can increase your investment and share, then I can still enter the partnership... as a...”

He couldn't finish.

What is the point? If I am equal partner with no exclusive control or authority, then I cannot realize it as I wish. So why bother?

Because he could persuade or bully Simon into doing things his way. Because he would still own the Opera House and have some say in what became of it. That was better than nothing. Wasn't it?

“As an equal partner?” Simon finished, a crooked smile spreading across his face.

“Why, of course! I have the funds to purchase it outright at more than the price my parents need to sell it for. They do not wish to sell to me alone, which is why I offered a partnership. I would be happy to put in more of my own capital to help you.”

Jeremy looked away from the triumphal expression on Simon's face. He felt defeated, not at all a man on the verge of achieving his heart's desire. This compromise had stolen any sense of satisfaction he might have derived from it.

I cannot stay here a moment longer. It is done.

“Very well. My banker will write to you concerning the revised amount I am able to put in. We will complete the details before the dinner with your parents, where they expect me to sign. I take it they know of our partnership?”

Simon's smile slipped slightly. “They do, and they believe I will... benefit from your experience.”

Jeremy smiled tightly, feeling a small sense of victory in the slight Simon had felt from his parents. He stood.

“Then there is no more to be said. I will leave you to your redecorating. I do not need to be seen out.”

He strode to the door but stopped at a word from Simon, one hand on the doorknob.

“What of Harriet Tisdale?”

Jeremy looked over his shoulder. Simon had settled back in his chair, arms draped indolently over the sides. He crossed his legs, watching Jeremy with the eyes of a snake.

“My fiancée? What of her?”

“Your... fiancée , yes.” He leaned forward now.

“That came as quite a surprise to my friend Eloise, you know. I have since marveled at how similar in looks they are... Both dark of hair and bright of eye. Both with fine curving figures, and beautiful, beautiful countenances. Why, at a masked ball, I am not sure I could tell them apart! Particularly if all I had to go on for one of them was a written description.”

Jeremy turned to face him. Ice crept along his spine. Some devilry was about to be unveiled.

“What are you driving at?” he asked.

“You introduced Lady Harriet to my parents as your fiancée at the Chelmsford ball. But you had arranged to meet Eloise de Rouvroy at that same function.”

Jeremy shrugged, smiling wolfishly. “I am a rogue when it comes to women. The gossip does not tell the half of it.”

Simon shook his head slowly. “Oh, I am sure you are a rake as the stories say, but I don't think that you were intent on adultery that night. I think… you mistook Lady Harriet for Eloise and were caught out by my parents, then forced to introduce her as your fiancée to avoid a catastrophic scandal. Am I warm?”

Jeremy fought the urge to cross the floor and throttle the man. He stood his ground.

“What do you want, Simon?” he said between gritted teeth.

“As there is nothing of substance between you and Harriet any longer... I want her.”

Jeremy felt like he had been struck by a physical blow.

The obscenity of what Simon had suggested left him speechless.

His hands clenched into fists, and Simon's continued existence hung in the balance for a moment.

It would have been so easy to seize him by the lapels and proceed to squeeze the life from his eyes.

“You had better be specific,” Jeremy’s voice grated out of him.

Simon licked his lips, watching Jeremy’s face and suddenly seeming to experience a moment of uncertainty.

“I will put up the majority of the money for our partnership and ensure my parents are sold on you as my partner. I will also sign a contract in which I agree to be a silent partner. One with no power over decision-making concerning the Opera House. None. Whatsoever.”

He hardly seemed to blink, hardly seemed to breathe. He watched Jeremy with reptilian stillness.

“…And in exchange?” Jeremy asked quietly.

I have never been so close to outright murder. I do not know how much I can hear before I break his neck.

Jeremy clasped his hands behind his back, letting his fingers grip the material of his coat sleeves instead of gripping Simon’s neck. He felt his heart racing, muscles tensing. He was a taut bowstring, and the arrow of his rage was aimed at Simon.

“You will publicly humiliate Lady Harriet.

Once we've obtained the Opera House, of course. Humiliate her with some flagrant act of callous adultery. The kind of thing I am sure you are a past master at. She does not think of me in the same way that you do. As an adversary. When you discard her, I will ensure that I am there to show compassion and empathy. I will pick up the pieces, and she will be mine.”

It was monstrous, and once upon a time, Jeremy might have considered it a fair trade.

How many women have I left in my wake, broken-hearted and bereft? What difference would one more make? It should be an easy decision. My fate lies before me. I only have to say yes, and all I have striven for will be mine.

“Well? I did not think it would be such a difficult decision as this,” Simon said, “I even have a contract drawn up so that you can see how sincere I am.”

He rose and went to a sideboard, opening a drawer and producing a piece of paper.

He presented it to Jeremy, who took it. His hand trembled, making the paper shake.

It said what Simon had promised it would.

It gave Jeremy complete control. Simon ignored the trembling, returned to the sideboard, and picked up an ink pot and a pen.

“We could sign it now. You will note the clause at the bottom that nullifies the contract in the event you marry Harriet. My solicitor raised his eyebrows at that, hardly usual, but...” Simon shrugged, “...useful.”

Jeremy could bear it no longer. With a swipe of one fist, he knocked the ink pot from Simon’s dainty hand.

It shattered against the floor in a black explosion.

With his other hand, he seized the front of Simon’s shirt and propelled him across the room to slam into the wall.

Jeremy’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl, both hands now on Simon’s collar, twisting the material tight.

“How dare you!” he hissed.

“I dare because I can! Do you want my mother’s Opera House or not?” the man spluttered, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“You think I would sell Harriet for it?” Jeremy demanded.

“Yes. I would,” Simon replied, matter-of-factly.

Just sign it and be done! By tomorrow, you could be the owner of one of the most prestigious sites in all of England and begin work on transforming it. By this time next year, you could take your place among the great men of the Penhaligon line. Do it!

A future without Harriet. Perhaps she would fall for Simon's act and reject the husband her brother had chosen for her in favor of him.

Perhaps she wouldn't and would end up married to de Rouvroy.

It did not matter. She would not be Jeremy's wife.

She would vanish from his life as though she had never existed.

I… I cannot. The price is too high to be fair. I do not want to be the founder and owner of the El Dorado at the expense of Harriet Tisdale…

The anger left him. Jeremy felt a crystal clarity and arrow-straight focus.

He suddenly smiled, releasing Simon. He looked around, saw the contract on the floor, and picked it back up.

Then he ripped it across the middle and let the two halves flutter back to the floor.

One of them settled onto the spilled ink, which began to seep through, obscuring the writing.