Free The Wicked Duke by Madeline Hunter Page A

retraced their steps and retreated to the garden.
    Sir Horace, upon being presented, took a deliberate pose so Lance might examine him and note his dress and stance. One foot forward, back straight, nose high, he gazed with aggressive self-confidence. His gray hair had been slicked back, making his gaunt face all the more angular in appearance. His eyes appeared as narrow slits of bright smugness.
    Sir Horace looked to be a man who intended to have his worth known today.
    Lance could not imagine why.
    â€œWill you have some brandy, Sir Horace?” Lance went to the decanters, since he knew one of them at least would imbibe.
    â€œThank you, Your Grace.”
    Glasses in hand, and asses settled on chairs facing each other, they sipped. Then Sir Horace set his glass down and put his hands on his knees. “I have come on a very important matter, sir. Not a mere social call.”
    Hopefully, as Gareth had suggested, Horace was here as a justice of the peace, to inform Lance that the nine-month winter of his life was over.
    â€œI will be clear and quick with it,” Sir Horace said, eyeing Lance with a steely glint. “I have come to advise you to marry my niece, Marianne Radley.”
    Lance rarely found himself astonished. Now his surprise was such that he wondered if Sir Horace had gone mad.
    That amazement soon gave way to a profound irritation. He had suffered much the last nine months, in part due to this man’s intransigence. He had of late tolerated Sir Horace’s company during rides he intended to take alone. Now this. Sir Horace had gone too far.
    â€œHow good of you to worry for my domestic contentment, sir.”
    Horace rested back in his chair. “You do not like my presumption, I can see. I remind you that I am not only a mere neighbor, and one below you in rank at that. I am a justice of the peace.”
    â€œHow does that signify to the matter at hand?”
    â€œI’ve the means to make you swing, Your Grace. I’ve proof enough you poisoned your brother. Like most men, I want to better myself, so I offer a bargain. Marry my niece, and I will not only keep this proof to myself, I will tell the coroner to close out the matter.”
    Lance knew a moment of relief that Ives had gone into the garden. While normally of even temper, Ives was quick to fight when provoked, and if he sat where Lance now did, Sir Horace would soon find himself thrashed bloody.
    Not that Lance took the threat, and the arrogance with which Sir Horace said it, without rising rancor.
    â€œDo you expect me to trust that you have this proof?”
    â€œIf you’ve a bit of sense, you will. I’ve a person who will swear he saw you by your brother’s food that night. Food prepared on a tray to go up to his private chambers. Saw you fussing with it. He came to me first, and I convinced him to tell no one else. Yet. If he lays down this information, however, that is all that will be needed, and you know it. You and your brother did not like each other. Lots of animosity for years. Then, with his passing, you got all of this.” His hand waved around the library, implying all that lay beyond.
    As Lance listened, a raw emptiness spread out from his gut. He had come to know the sensation well these last months. It usually emerged at night, during his darkest hours, and he had resisted naming it for a long time. Ignoble fear. Pending doom. It evoked the insidious temptation to panic that all trapped men felt.
    â€œWho is this person who claims to have seen this?”
    Sir Horace laughed. “Let us just say it is someone I can put my hands on quickly enough, who will speak if I ask it of him.”
    â€œDamnation, whoever it is, he lies. I did not even dine here myself, so I have no idea of where and when my brother did.”
    â€œSo you have said, many times.” Sir Horace picked up his glass and sipped some brandy. He appeared pleased with himself, and unwavering. Protestations of