by Laura Landon
When would he ever learn!
Raeborn dragged his hand across his jaw in frustration. He’d been his cousin’s guardian for the last six years, since the lad’s father died when he was sixteen. Being an only child, the boy had been raised with too much freedom. But Raeborn had hoped as his cousin reached manhood he would grow out of his spendthrift ways. That in time Kevin Germaine would mature enough to realize the great responsibility that would one day be his. That in time he would be worthy enough to hold the Raeborn title.
Instead, his spending had increased more recklessly by the month. Kevin was two and twenty now, and if something weren’t done soon, the young man would be so far in debt even the inheritance that would become his on his twenty-fifth birthday wouldn’t be enough to keep him out of debtor’s prison.
Raeborn shoved back his chair and bolted to his feet. He looked down at his desk, then pounded a fist against the mounting pile of debts in frustration. What had gone wrong? How had he failed? Kevin was the only living Germaine left to inherit the dukedom and to head the Raeborn dynasty, and he didn’t want to think what would happen to the wealth his ancestors had amassed once it passed into his cousin’s hands.
A sickening weight lay in the pit of his stomach when he thought of how easy it would be for Kevin to lose it all on his excessive living, gaming, and steady string of mistresses. How quickly the thriving estates would fall to ruin. How recklessly Kevin had already squandered the money Vincent gave him as an allowance. Vincent broke out in a cold sweat just thinking of it.
He thumbed through the papers strewn on his desk even though he knew each of them by heart. Bills for a matching pair of blacks, for an emerald necklace and earbobs, the cost of which could feed and house a hundred families for a year. Numerous bills totaling hundreds of pounds to a half dozen of the finest modistes in London, plus thousands of pounds for gaming debts, household debts, tailoring...
The list went on and on. Vincent raked his fingers through his hair in an uncommon display of temper, stopping a vile oath just as the door opened.
“Mr. Germaine to see you, Your Grace,” his butler said from the open doorway.
“Thank you, Carver.”
Germaine burst into the room as if being announced were a formality for which he didn’t have time in his busy schedule. Vincent felt the familiar fondness that surged through him every time he saw the lad, for who couldn’t help but be drawn to the exuberance and zest for living that was such a part of Germaine’s personality? And yet...
Vincent looked to the mounting stack of bills on his desk, then gave his cousin a cursory glance. He was dressed in the latest fashion, his exquisitely tailored jacket and trousers a dark gray and his waistcoat a lighter shade of dove gray. Vincent could see at a glance what at least some of his money had been spent on. Although the lad made a striking figure if one took note of how he was dressed, it was not the expense of the clothes draping his body that caused a second look. Not his extreme good looks that endeared him to nearly every female in London, married or not. It was the easygoing expression on his handsome face, the devil-may-care twinkle in his eyes that acted like a magnet.
“Kevin,” Vincent greeted, hoping to see some serious inclination.
“Your Grace.”
He saw nothing that resembled it.
“Have a seat.” Vincent lifted his hand, indicating one of the two leather chairs facing his desk.
There was a slight lift to his cousin’s eyebrows as well as the audible sigh of—boredom?—before he sauntered to the chair and sat.
“What an...unexpected pleasure, Your Grace. Although I can’t imagine the reason for the urgent summons.”
“Can’t you?”
Vincent picked up the stack of papers from his desk and placed them in Germaine’s lap. “Perhaps these will enlighten you then.”
Kevin Germaine gave the papers barely a glance before setting them back on Vincent’s desk. “I’m twenty-two years of age, Raeborn. Surely you no longer expect me to account to you for every debt I incur?” He flicked his finger at an imaginary piece of lint on his jacket sleeve as if removing it were of utmost importance.
“No. Not every debt. Just the exorbitant debts that take you well over your quarterly allowance.”
“Quarterly allowance? I’ve told you for years I cannot possibly live on the pittance on which you and my deceased father expect me to survive. I have a position to uphold. Certain standards to maintain.”
Raeborn struggled to keep his temper in check. “That is not the point. You know the amount set aside for you each quarter is more than generous. Perhaps if you curtailed the amount you spent on your mistress, or limited what you lose at the gaming tables, you could see your way clear to pay your debts instead of expecting me to cover them.”
A slow, innocent smile spread across his cousin’s face, turning his handsome features into the face that had gotten him everything he’d ever wanted from the time he was a babe. “Isn’t that what you promised Father you would do?” he asked, almost baiting Raeborn to deny it. “Didn’t you promise him on his deathbed that you would always provide for me?”
Raeborn breathed a heavy sigh. He closed the gap between them, his determined steps making soft thuds on the thick Persian carpet. He did not let his gaze leave his cousin’s, but honed in on him with the serious glare that was such a normal part of his demeanor. It was time to put his foot down. Time to put a stop to his cousin’s extravagant spending.
“No. I haven’t forgotten the promise I made your father. You, however, are the one who has misinterpreted what I promised.”
Vincent saw a brief look of confusion on his cousin’s face. That look was quickly replaced with the endearing smile that Vincent was so used to seeing.
“Spare me, Cousin,” Kevin Germaine said, holding out his hands. “I remember vividly what you promised.”
“Then you’ll remember I gave your father my word I would see to your well-being.”
Germaine shrugged. “I hardly see a problem. Just think of each bill as something essential to my well-being.”
Vincent tightened his fists until they ached. His cousin instinctively knew just how to push him to the edge of his endurance. He would not let it happen this time.
The clock in the vestibule outside the door struck the quarter hour, then ticked on with unerring accuracy. The slow, steady clack of the pendulum pounded in unison with the painful drumming inside his head.
“Oh, come now, Your Grace. I am hardly intimidated by your hesitation. What is a meager thousand pounds or two to the overflowing Raeborn coffers? It’s not as if you don’t have enough to spare.”
Vincent’s shoulders stiffened. The blood thundered in his head. How had it come to this? Was his cousin truly such a wastrel that he thought there would never be a limit to the amount he could spend?
“What is it?” the young man said, rising and walking to the small table of liquor decanters. “Do you enjoy the dominance you have over me because you control my purse strings? Do you hope to see me beg?”
Vincent started. “I have never made you beg.”
His young cousin threw the liquor to the back of his throat, then slammed the glass down on the table. “No. Never quite, Your Grace.”
Vincent rubbed at the sudden tension in his neck. “Is that what you think I want?” His confusion as to how to handle his cousin overwhelmed him. “To see you beg?”
“What else could it be? You flaunt your air of supremacy, your condescending attitude, as if you have the right to make the rules to govern my life. You attempt to dictate my actions so I become the stuffy, staid, meticulously pompous member of society you are. God forbid I am condemned to such a boring life as yours. Well,” he said, slashing his hand through the air, “enjoy it while you can. You only have three more years until I turn twenty-five. Then I will have full control over my inheritance.”
Vincent turned on him. “At this rate, you won’t have an inheritance to control!”
�
�Then I will have to continue to rely on the promise you gave Father, won’t I?”
Raeborn couldn’t believe his cousin’s audacity. “Have you ever thought where the money you spend comes from? Ever considered the hours of labor that go into earning the fortune you waste every day? Ever considered the hard work it takes the tenants you are responsible for to earn even enough to pay for the clothes on your back?” Raeborn took a step closer to his cousin. “Evidently not,” he said, his voice holding as much regret as anger. “Because you have always had everything handed to you as if it took no effort on anyone’s part to provide for your pleasure. A mistake I intend to rectify.”
The young wastrel had given him no choice. He needed to be taught a lesson. Needed to learn responsibility before it was too late.
“By making some changes now, perhaps by the time you reach your five and twenty years you will be responsible enough to manage your inheritance.”
“And if I’m not? Are you implying that you will no longer come to my aid?” Kevin Germaine’s lips curled upward in a daring grin. “I think not, Raeborn. You gave my father your word, and far be it from the Duke of Raeborn to ever go back on a promise. It’s not in your character, Your Grace. You are far too noble. Far too...responsible.”
Kevin poured another swallow of expensive brandy into his glass and downed it in one gulp.
Vincent waited until his cousin finished, then locked his gaze with his own. “Sit down.”
“I prefer to stand, Your Grace. In fact,” he said, returning to his former, lackadaisical self, “if you’re close to being finished, I prefer to take my leave. I’ve an important engagement and I feel extraordinarily lucky.”
Vincent lowered his voice, his command a serious whisper. “Sit down.”
His cousin hesitated as if considering ignoring Raeborn’s blatant warning signs. But his better judgment prevailed and he took a seat and waited.
Vincent picked up the thick stack of bills, then let them fall again to the top of the desk. “I will send a message to my solicitor yet today to pay each of these bills in full.”
A knowing smile lifted the corners of the young upstart’s mouth.
“Along with each payment will be a letter signed by me, informing every proprietor and tradesman that this will be the last expense accrued by his cousin, Kevin Germaine, that the Duke of Raeborn will cover.”
Germaine bolted out of his chair. “What did you say?”
“You heard me, Kevin. You’ll get no more money from me.”
“You can’t mean that! You promised my father—”
“I promised your father that I would see to your well-being,” Vincent cut in. “I intend to do just that. You have a lot to learn and a huge responsibility that will eventually be placed on your shoulders.”
Vincent walked to the sideboard and poured a generous amount of whiskey into a glass. He usually had one glass of brandy late in the afternoon before his evening engagements, but today he needed whiskey to calm his nerves. He took a long swallow, then turned to face his cousin.
“As of today, I will take care of the monthly rent on your town house here in London. I will also pay the yearly salaries for the...ten?...fifteen?...”
Germaine shrugged his shoulders defensively. “Twenty.”
Raeborn arched his eyebrows. “Twenty servants you need to run your home. I will also deed you the Castle Downs estate. It is yours.”
Germaine’s disbelief was almost palpable. It came out in the form of a loud, demented laugh.
“The town house is yours to do with as you want,” Raeborn continued. “You can sell it or keep it. It doesn’t matter to me. Castle Downs, however, has belonged to a Raeborn for over four hundred years. It can never be sold. That will be in writing.”
“And my quarterly allowance, Your Grace?” Germaine asked through clenched teeth.
“You will receive what your father set up for you in his will.”
“You can’t mean that! How do you expect me to live on that paltry amount?”
Raeborn ignored the hostile expression on his cousin’s usually pleasant face. “Castle Downs has always provided the Raeborn family with an adequate income. If managed well, you should have more than enough on which to live.”
Fire blazed from his cousin’s eyes, his nostrils flaring wide. “I won’t tolerate this. You can’t expect me to exist like this. I have no intention of locking myself away in the country like some simpleminded fool.”
“That decision is yours to make. I have given you the means to support yourself. What you do with the opportunity is up to you.”
Vincent’s young cousin fisted his hands at his sides and took a step closer. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you are my heir! The only heir I will ever have!”
Tension crackled between them with as much force as a gunshot. Several long seconds passed and neither of them moved. When Raeborn spoke, his voice was calm and even, the tone more dangerous than if he had shouted.
“When I die, you will inherit one of the most respected titles in England. As well as enough wealth to maintain its greatness. I cannot take credit for anything I have been given. It was earned by those who came before me and passed down from one generation to the next. But this gift comes at a cost.
“The weight of responsibility is staggering. Hundreds of people rely on my judgment for their livelihood, for the very food that goes on their tables. For the clothes on their backs as well as the roofs over their heads. I have accepted this responsibility. But I’m afraid you see only what you can take from the gift. Not what is expected of you so that what you’ve been given prospers.”
Raeborn paused, waiting for some sign his cousin concurred. He felt immense disappointment when no sign was forthcoming. Even though only ten years separated them, he knew the animosity Germaine harbored stemmed from a lifetime of jealousy and envy on the younger man’s part. His cousin’s next words emphasized it.
“You are only doing this because all the Raeborn wealth is already at your fingertips. Because of a freak accident of birth, your father inherited everything and mine nothing. Because of the mere eighteen minutes that separated their entrance into the world, your father inherited the riches while mine was left a pauper.”
Vincent gripped the edge of the sideboard until his fingers ached. “Whether my father was born eighteen minutes before yours or eighteen years, it still made him the firstborn and heir. He was born heir to the Dukedom of Raeborn, as was I.”
Vincent emptied the whiskey in his glass and filled it again. After he took another swallow, he spun around to face down his cousin. “I have given you all you are going to get.”
“Damn you, Raeborn!”
“Enough! In time it will all be yours. Hopefully when it passes down to you, you will be responsible enough to appreciate the gift you have inherited.”
“A town house and country estate are not enough. How dare you expect me to live like a country squire when I am your heir? Your heir!”
“Then be an heir I can be proud of!”
Vincent’s retort was a rare display of his anger and frustration. He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth.
It was at times like this that he’d give everything he’d inherited for things to be different. That he’d gladly hand over the Raeborn title and everything that went with it if the two women who’d sacrificed their lives to give him an heir were still alive.
Vincent gripped the glass until he feared the expensive crystal would shatter in his hand. “Any argument you pose is a moot point, cousin. The fact remains that, until my death, I am still the Duke of Raeborn.”
“That fact is always in the forefront of my mind, Your Grace.”
Vincent didn’t react to the sarcasm in his cousin’s voice. “A letter will be dispatched to my solicitor yet today to pay all your outstanding debts. The papers concerning your London town house and Castle Downs estate will be ready for your signature in a week’s time.”
The Duke of Raeborn slowly stood and, with his glass in hand, walked to the window. He turned his back on his cousin as a sign of dismissal.
There was a slight pause before Germaine stormed from the room, the heavy oak door slamming behind him.
Vincent slowly lifted the glass to his mouth and drank. He’d had far more than usual and was close to being drunk. Today, however, he didn’t care. Too many of his cousin’s words burned like acid in an open wound. Too many of his accusations were closer to the truth than he wanted to admit. He was stuffy and staid. He’d seen too much death not to be. Given up too much of his heart not to protect himself behind a cloak of detachment. Let the world think his heart was made of stone. It mattered not to him.
He picked up the half-empty decanter and walked back to the window. The sun was starting to set, afternoon shadows lengthening. He tipped the decanter to fill his empty glass and poured the liquid with hands that trembled almost uncontrollably. It had been a long time since past regrets waged an attack with such a vengeance.
The faces of both his young wives flashed before him. They’d both been tender and sweet in their own ways, as different as night from day, yet the same. They’d both been robbed of a lifetime of gaiety and laughter. A lifetime he’d stolen from them.
No. He would never marry again. Having a child was risk enough to any woman. Having his child was a death sentence. How could he condemn another woman to the same fate?
He took the bottle and his glass and sat down heavily in the large mahogany-colored wing chair. He propped his elbows on the padded leather arms and held the glass carefully in his hands, then rested his chin on his steepled fingers while his mind shifted to memories long buried. To the two beautiful, perfectly formed babes he’d cradled in his arms before laying them with their mothers for eternity.
Vincent sat in his chair and watched out the window as the sky turned darker. A footman set fire to the logs when the room took on a chill, and Carver replaced the empty whiskey decanter with a new one. He’d had more to drink than was usual for him. Far more than he was used to—something he never allowed himself to do. But he wasn’t drunk. Just...numb.
