Page 37 of Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

W illiam Thornton, the fifth Earl of Bardsea, regarded Edward much as a rat might eye a cat. Edward had yet to offer an explanation for his visit to the man’s home at such a late hour. He’d left his horse with the stable lad, had himself announced, and much to his surprise, been given leave to enter. He would have entered anyway, permission granted or not. He would have broken down the damn door.

The last time he’d been under this roof, he’d been plied with food, several glasses of a splendid Bordeaux, and some equally exceptional cognac. Later—much later—and somewhat the worse for imbibing, he’d been charmed into taking a stroll around the garden with the earl’s unmarried sister.

Julia.

Much of what had subsequently occurred on that night was, indeed, something of a blur. But one thing he knew for certain: it had been consensual, even encouraged. He remembered Julia’s hands on his naked flesh and her breath against his ear. Nothing to suggest she’d been frightened or uncomfortable.

The wisdom of hindsight told him he should not have done what he’d done, no matter the circumstances. Indeed, till that night, he’d never dallied with an innocent—a supposed innocent —precisely because he did not want to face the consequences. But his worst fears had become real. The end result had been marriage to a woman he did not love, who was, he had been led to believe, carrying his child.

“What brings you here uninvited, Eskdale?” Bardsea rose, went over to a small cabinet, and poured a drink from a decanter. “I won’t offer you one. My hospitality only goes so far, and you are not exactly welcome in this house.”

“I’m not exactly delighted to be in this house,” Edward replied.

Bardsea went to retake his seat but appeared to think better of it and remained standing. “Then why the hell are you here?”

“Because I’m curious to know why you did it.”

Bardsea frowned. “Why I did what?”

“Why you chose me to take the blame for your sister’s indiscretion.”

The man flinched visibly. “How dare you! Julia was an innocent, and you took advantage of—”

“Enough of your damn lies, Bardsea. Julia was no innocent. Varley told me everything.”

The man’s eyes widened slightly and then settled back into a hard glare. “Varley’s a blabbering idiot,” he replied. “I don’t know what he told you, but the fact remains that you—”

“Varley’s not clever enough to fabricate something like this,” Edward said. “I’ll not deny that I was intimate with Julia, but I never took her virtue, and I never got her with child.”

“Your word against hers, and she’s no longer here.” Bardsea, his face pale, threw the contents of his glass into his mouth and swallowed.

“You needn’t fret,” Edward said. “I have no intention of spreading this filth beyond these walls. I owe Julia nothing, but I’ll allow her to keep her reputation intact, even in death.”

The man sneered. “Says much, does it not, that she preferred death over marriage to you.”

“Neither of us wanted that marriage, and you know it,” Edward said through clenched teeth. “You forced it on us.”

Bardsea scoffed. “I don’t recall you refusing the dowry. Cost me a fortune.”

Edward’s lip furled. “Christ, Bardsea, you’re as despicable as they get. A real cad.”

“I’ve had enough of this.” Bardsea rang the bell. “I want you out of here now, Eskdale. You can leave on your own, or I’ll have you thrown out. Your choice.”

“Well, at least you’re giving me a choice this time.” Edward narrowed his eyes. “I’ll go quietly, but you should know that I could shove a blade between your ribs right now and not feel a single bit of remorse.”

The door opened, and a footman appeared. “My lord?”

“Lord Eskdale is leaving,” Bardsea said. “Please escort him out.”

“She was perfect, by the way.” Edward gave a sober smile. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Bardsea frowned. “Who was?”

“Your niece,” Edward replied. “Did you even know the baby was a girl? You didn’t, did you? I remember the doctor commenting on how well developed the child was, given her premature birth. Makes sense now, of course, since she’d been in the womb longer that I’d been led to believe.”

Bardsea snorted. “Girl or boy, I could not have cared less. It was the by-blow of a nobody. It meant nothing to me.”

Edward clenched his fists, resisting an urge to plow one of them into Bardsea’s face. “An admission at last,” he said, “albeit coldhearted. I understand the real father was a soldier. What became of him? Did you dispatch him as well? More permanently, perhaps?”

“Get out of my house!”

“Did Julia love him?”

“I said, get out.”

“I’m going.” Edward’s nostrils flared as he cast a glance around the room. “I can no longer abide the stench in here.”

“Make sure he leaves,” Bardsea said to the footman.

Edward paused at the door. “You know, Bardsea,” he said over his shoulder, “they call me the Fallen Angel of Mayfair, but I’ve never fallen as low as you. You’re as corrupt as they come. May you rot in hell.”