Page 58 of Rescued By the Icy Duke
“As it is my prerogative to earn my living and express myself through the written word,” Napier replied smoothly.
“I will speak directly to your employer,” Julian cut in, “a peer of the realm should not be treated so.”
Napier shrugged with infuriating calm. “The Times may bow to pressure if you are able to wield sufficient leverage. But there are many rags in London alone that would glory in the details of your life. I am confused. Why not have the best possible side presented to the public?”
Julian wanted to strike the man down. His hands clenched into fists. He had never wanted the curse to be real more than he did at that moment. He wanted to lay his hands on Napier and feel the darkness that his father had accused him of harboring flow into the blackguard. Napier nonchalantly finished the brandy and held out the empty tumbler. Harper stepped forward and took the glass, placing it on the tray, then offering the remaining glass to Julian, who took it.
He turned away and swallowed the rich ruby liquid in a savage movement, walking to the fireplace and gazing at the blackened wood and hungry flames. Just as he thought that happiness and contentment were within reach, a life of normalcy for the first time—it was snatched away.
“Well, in hindsight, perhaps this can work in our favor?” Ester said, brightly.
She appeared in Julian's eyeline, standing next to him but facing the room. Julian placed his empty tumbler on the mantle and looked sideways at her, eyes narrowed. She appeared resolute and confident, eyes cool and never leaving Napier's face.
“I would hope for nothing less,” Napier replied coolly.
“A biography of a misunderstood man who has been the victim of superstition and ignorance,” Ester suggested.
Julian bared his teeth with a wolfish smile. “I will not have my private life discussed in every gaming hell and coffee house,” he snarled.
“Nor will it. If we tell the simple truth, then everyone will see how unremarkable and uneventful a life you have led and still do. No secrets and no scandals. The simple truth,” Ester declared.
Julian's eyes widened as he caught her meaning. He suppressed a smile as he turned back to Napier. He carefully ensured his hostile expression remained unchanged. This… this could work if they played their cards right.
Napier was watching him but seemed paler than he had been a moment before. “So, you agree?” The man tried for a smile, “If so, I have an agreement to be signed...” he broke off to clear histhroat, “...a contract to ensure...” again, he broke off, this time swallowing hard and raising a hand to his throat, “...that there is no...”
Abruptly, the man collapsed into a violent fit of coughs. His color returned with a vengeance, turning from deathly white to an unhealthy, strained purple.
“Mr. Napier? Are you quite well?” Ester asked, eyes widening in alarm.
Napier's response was to look up with bulging eyes and an expression of pure terror. His mouth was open and his tongue seemed to fill the space. He was choking and trying to speak. Ester rushed to his side, taking his arm and trying to guide him to the chaise longue. Harper was suddenly there, taking Napier's weight, having discarded the tray with a clatter of metal and the shattering of breaking glass. Napier was clearly having difficulty breathing now. Harper laid him on the chaise and began working to open the man's cravat.
“I—I served an apprenticeship with an apothecary in London and learned a little about the treatment of common injuries and ailments,” he explained hastily, “when breathing is restricted, one must loosen the clothing,” he finished urgently.
Ester looked to Julian who was standing frozen, staring at his hands in silent horror.
“No, Julian!” Ester cried as though reading his mind, “this is a horrible coincidence!”
Napier, meanwhile, was breathing his last. His body convulsed brutally and his lungs rattled in his chest.
Then he was still.
His eyes were open and staring, face contorted into a rictus of fear and pain.
Julian’s voice was barely a whisper, hoarse with disbelief. “It… it happened again... just like with Samuel. After I touched him.”
Ester rushed to his side, taking his hands in her own. Julian was too stunned to prevent her. She pressed them to the sides of her face immediately, holding them there.
“But I am still here! I have not died. There is no curse, believe me my love,” Ester rushed to say beseechingly.
Julian’s eyes widened, wild with fear and disbelief. “Can’t you… can’t you see it? The curse at work. It has happened right before your eyes. How can you deny it now?”
Harper glanced from one to the other, his confusion evident.
“I can deny it and I will, because it is superstitious nonsense!” Ester insisted, her voice steady, trying desperately to anchor him. “You must have touched many in the last four weeks. Why would it suddenly start up again?”
Julian smiled bitterly and pulled away from her. “I haven’t. I have not touched a soul except Rufus.”
She tried to cling on to his hands but he removed them from her grasp, thrusting them into the pockets of his coat. “Not superstition any longer, Ester,” he murmured, his voice hollow.