Shunned No More

by Christina McKnight

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  How long had he sat there?

  Brock had no clue, but he was damn tired. At some point, a servant had quietly entered the room, leaving him a bottle of scotch and a light meal, securely closing the door behind him.

  Harold’s words rang in his head.

  Brock knew the answer to his problems did not lie in violence.

  Then why had he hit Connor, besides the obvious reason that the man was detestable?

  Connor had harmed Lady Viola’s reputation, which any upstanding gentleman would not let another man get away with. Then, he’d had the gall to accuse Brock of doing the same thing. Had he hit Connor because he resented the insinuation that they were in any shape or form similar?

  The notion was absurd. And absolutely—beyond a doubt—true. The realization shook him, brutally altering his personal paradigm. He was exactly the man Connor—and Harold, to a lesser degree—had accused him of being.

  Since he had returned from the continent, Brock had been self-absorbed, self-indulgent, combative, and an all-around jerk. He’d matched wits with Lady Vi instead of deferring to her and handling their disagreement in a more private setting.

  If he was being honest with himself, which he knew he hadn’t been recently, he had sought to lure the woman to London, force a confrontation, and give her what for. He could hardly be upset with the consequences, considering the fact that he’d been the one to set the entire catastrophe in motion.

  A knock sounded at the door. Brock rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes and stood.

  “Enter.”

  The man who passed through the door had a large bruise that extended from his jaw all the way to the corner of his eye. A cut at the corner of Connor’s mouth, recently cleaned, still seeped blood.

  No wander his hand hurt like the devil.

  “My lord—”

  “Do you think it safe to be in a room alone with me at this juncture?” Brock asked.

  Connor kept his eyes firmly aimed at the rug under Brock’s feet. “I only seek to explain my actions.”

  “What explanation could you possibly give to justify your horrid treatment of Lady Viola, and your complete lack of loyalty?” He continued to rub at the soreness in his knuckles. “Do you not have any honor?” Brock asked the question even as he wondered where he had lost his own honor. The last place he could remember seeing it was when he’d left his men behind in France, on his way to assume his new title as lord.

  Connor’s chin lifted, but his eyes didn’t quite meet Brock’s. “Which question should I answer first?”

  The man tried Brock’s patience. “I truly doubt you have a satisfactory answer to either.”

  “But I do, my lord. You see, when I said you and I were alike—”

  “Do not utter those words.” Brock’s voice thundered off the walls in the small, empty room.

  Connor held up his hands, palms toward Brock. “Wait, wait,” he stuttered. “Lady Viola did not only ravage your family, taking the lives of your brothers—”

  “She did not take their lives,” Brock interrupted. “They chose their path in life. They were foolhardy and reckless.” His need to defend her seemed to come from nowhere.

  “I only seek for you to understand my hurt, the suffering she has caused me.”

  “Go on, but be quick about it. I haven’t all night.”

  “My tale is much the same as your brothers’. I too courted the young, lively, energetic Lady Viola during her first season. I took her for carriage rides, for ices, to the opera…we even danced on many occasions.”

  Every part of Brock wanted to rebel at the man’s words. Scream that they could not be true. Had Connor been Lady Viola’s love interest all these years? Had she lowered herself to taking a lover outside of wedlock?

  “I, and my family, spent great amounts of money to impress her. Money we did not have,” Connor said.

  Brock felt his temper simmer just below the surface, aching for a release. “And you tell me this why? Are you here to rub it in my face that she chose you over my brothers?”

  He shook his head. “How I wish things would have progressed thus. Alas, she fled London after that fateful day without a word to me. No note explaining her coming absence or reasons for her part in the duel. Nothing.”

  “Should I feel sorry for you?”

  Tears glistened in Connor’s eyes. “Yesterday, I would have answered yes to that question. Now, I am uncertain. You see, it took me months to find Lady Viola. I was prepared to be her knight in shining armor. I planned to gallop in on my steed and sweep her off her feet. I’d return her honor as a lady of the realm.”

  Brock regained his seat. “How noble of you,” he drawled.

  “Yes, well, I was a different person then. A trusting person.” Connor sighed. “And to answer your question, I believe that is the day I gave up my honor.”

  When Brock only stared back, unmoved, Connor continued.

  “I tracked Lady Viola to her father’s estate, Foldgers Hall. Wearing my finest suit, I knocked on her father’s door and was immediately shown into their morning parlor. My first thought was that she had been waiting for me and I chastised myself for not coming sooner.”

  “Get to the point, Cale.”

  Connor began to pace the room. “Of course. Well, when Lady Viola walked into the room, she had no idea who I was. Thought I was there to interview for the position as her man of business. All those months I’d longed for her, dreamed of her and our future, she had not given me a passing thought. By that time, my family was destitute and I had no other option but to take the position she offered me.”

  Brock laughed at the absurdity of Connor’s claim. “That must be the most pathetic story I have ever heard. You think just because a woman scorned your advances, she deserves her life ruined?” Unthinkable!

  But how was that any different than what Brock had sought to do to her? His brothers had both died in a vain attempt to gain her attention, and Brock had been on his course of vengeance since his return to society. “Damn it.”

  “I will let myself out, my lord.” Connor turned to retrace his steps to the door, and his freedom.

  “Stop,” Brock commanded. Regardless of his recent insights, he couldn’t let the man get away with his misdeed. Just as Brock would seek to punish himself, rectify his wrongs, so must Connor. “You will make things right with Lady Viola.”

  “The damage is done. Her business is closed and her clients have all forsaken her. How could I possibly change that?” Connor asked.

  “It is quite simple, actually. I assume you have a partner in your current venture, D & C’s Fine Foals?”

  Shock crossed Connor’s face. “Ye-s-s-s,” he stumbled over his reply.

  Brock was toying with the man, but he didn’t care. Connor deserved every bit of trouble Brock chose to send his way. “And that person would be?”

  “Hampton. Lord Darlingiver.”

  A sudden coldness rocked Brock to his core. Lord Darlingiver? “As in the Lord Darlingiver, whose mother is currently romantically involved with Lord Liperton—Viola’s father?” Brock sat up straight in his chair. What he wanted to do was throw the chair across the room. Punch a hole in the perfectly wallpapered wall. Both options were better than his fist connecting with Connor’s face once again.

  Connor cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and nodded.

  “And what, exactly, has he brought to the table for this business venture?” From what Brock knew of Lord Darlingiver, he lived off a small stipend, his estate essentially bankrupt. Much like Rodney, he moved day to day keeping up appearances of grandeur and wealth, when in reality he was lucky not to be in debtor’s prison.

  “Very little. He was supposed to lend his good name and family standing, but he’s done little more than spend every cent I have given him on women and gambling.” Connor sighed. “I was to meet him upon leaving Lady Viola’s country estate today—or was that yesterday? No matter really.”

  Brock felt as if he was h
erding sheep, trying to keep the conversation on topic. “For?”

  “Does not matter now. I do not plan to meet the fool.”

  “But it matters to me,” Brock said.

  Connor shrugged. “To give him Lady Viola’s client list.”

  His ears perked. “Do you have the list with you now?”

  “Of course! Do you think me stupid?” Connor searched through his pockets. First, he turned his pants pockets inside out, then he moved on to his coat, but still found nothing. “I am sure it is here somewhere.”

  Brock sat back, content with watching the man scramble.

  Next Connor moved to his shirt pocket. “Ah! Here it is,” he said when he pulled a folded sheet of paper, dirty and worn, from his pocket.

  “Give it to me.” Brock held out his hand.

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because you seek to make amends for your wrongs.”

  “If that were so, why would I give the list to you?” Connor asked. “You have more cause to despise the woman than I. How do I not know you will use the list against her, as well?”

  “Do you question my integrity?” Brock stood. His rage returned. “It would be wise to stop equating you and me. We are nothing alike.” Even saying the words was begging the lord to strike him down for his lies. “You will give me the list, and then you will leave London.”

  Brock plucked the paper from Connor’s hand when the man only stood in stunned silence before him.

  “Is that clear?”

  “But where will I go?”

  “I care not as long as you stay far from London, Lady Viola, and myself.”

  “What about Hampton?”

  “He will likely put himself in debtor’s prison before the end of the season.” Brock brushed past the man and out the door before he could give much thought to his own reasons for wanting the list.