Free Notorious in Nice by Jianne Carlo Page B

curse when he realized only one seat stood empty. Wonderful. Three hours seated between Emma Lockheed and his sodding father, with Su-Lin a table away. Life couldn’t get worse.
    He hated being proved wrong.
    “Punctual as always, Terrence. We’ve been waiting for over ten minutes for your vaunted presence.”
    At least Father kept his voice low.
    Gritting his teeth, Terry sat, whipped a white napkin onto his lap, and said, “Sorry I’m late. Dig in. Don’t wait for me. Looks great. ”
    “Tight ship you run, Terrence. Not even a toast to welcome all aboard? Perhaps, as I hold the reins for the next few weeks, I should do the honors.”
    Another muttered aside, but it did the trick, Terry seethed. He knew that tone of voice. It heralded a scathing set-down. “You should know Geoff and I will sue your backside if anything untoward happens on your watch.”
    “And you should know Carol-Ann’s filed for divorce.”
    He couldn’t begin to think of a reply to that bald statement.
    “I don’t give a fricking damn. It’s not as if the two of you ever had a real marriage.”
    “I haven’t a clue as to why your brother has decided to forgive you.”
    “The truth wins out. What do you want from me, Father?”
    “Persuade your brother to do his duty.”
    “What makes you think Thomas would listen to me? After all these years?”
    “He’s throwing away three hundred years of heritage.”
    “Because he won’t marry and sire a son?”
    “That and because he won’t refute the rumors my wife is spreading.”
    Terry’s glance flicked to Thomas. “What rumors?”
    “You know exactly what I’m referring to.”
    “Do I? Why don’t you have this conversation with Thomas?”
    “I’ve tried.” His father’s lip curled at one corner. “Neither he nor you ever faced up to your actions. We’re all going to have to pay the price now.”
    “You won’t even consider that Carol-Ann’s lying?”
    “We both know she’s telling the truth on all counts. What I’m concerned about is proof. Does she have any?”
    “Of what Father? My perversions, yours, or Thom’s?”
    The Earl of Arran snorted, flicked his napkin, and scrunched it into a ball to the left of his plate, an unheard-of breach of earl etiquette. Shoving his chair back, he inclined his head. “Good evening.”
    Terry’s gaze followed the rigid line of his father’s retreating back. Nigel Thomas Jefferson Patrick Gore never backed down, never walked away from a fight. He hadn’t assumed his bitch of a wife had proof, but had actually asked if she did. What had happened to his father’s dogmatic certainty?
    He poured another a glass of red wine and took a deep swallow, swirling the liquor in his mouth and tasting the woodsy oak cask, which had housed the fine cabernet. Emma Lockheed’s throaty voice bristled into his somber thoughts.
    “Jennifer had been living in a run-down house. Half the lights didn’t work. No modern appliances, not even a television. The girl had never even been on a plane.” Su-Lin’s aunt flicked a finger displaying a three-carat square diamond. “She doesn’t even know how to use a cell phone, said she didn’t need one.”
    Curbing the temptation to prove her wrong and take her down a peg, Terry loaded his fork with cubed portions of the food on his plate.
    “What happened to her parents?” Thomas asked.
    “Her father died when Jennifer was nine or ten.”
    “And her mother?”
    Fine lines of exhaustion bracketed Thomas’s mouth, and his complexion appeared sallow in the soft, flickering candlelight. Terry glanced at his twin’s plate; he’d taken maybe three or four bites of the orange-glazed Cornish hen and pushed wild rice, broccoli, and carrots around the porcelain dish.
    “She died a couple of months ago. That’s when we found out about Jennifer. Her mother’s lawyer contacted us.”
    Even using both hands to guide his tumbler to his mouth, his twin couldn’t hide the glass’s shaky ascent. Terry stifled