Heart's Debt (Lost Lords Book 5) (9 page)

G
eorgina slipped into the
breakfast parlor, having made it downstairs without encountering another soul. It was just past seven so there was no chance of Augusta or Sophia being up and dressed.

After she’d slapped Mr. Drummond on the verandah, she hadn’t returned to the party. She’d been too upset so she’d huddled in her room with a sofa pulled in front of the door in case he’d chased after her.

He hadn’t, but she’d garnered no relief from his lack of interest in igniting a confrontation. She’d paced most of the night, and at dawn she’d fallen into a fitful sleep.

What would she say to him when she saw him again? What would he say to her? She was furious and mortified, as well as mystified by his salacious proposal. What had she done to encourage him? She couldn’t imagine.

There was tea on the sideboard, sliced bread, jam, cheese, and cold meat. She poured herself a cup of tea, slathered jam on some bread, and sat down. She was jumpy and out of sorts, feeling she had to be on guard, as if calamity might strike the instant she wasn’t paying attention.

She’d barely had a second to relax when a footman entered. He hovered, appearing nervous and anxious.

“Yes?” she asked.

“The butler sent me to find you.”

She sighed. It was so early. What catastrophe could have occurred at such an ungodly hour?

“Why?”

“Mr. Drummond has commandeered a group of servants.”

“And…?”

“He’s seized Master Miles’s suite for his own. They’re removing Master Miles’s belongings.”

“He what?”

“He’s taken the master suite, Miss Georgina. The butler thought you should be apprised at once.”

“I suppose, but what is it he wants me to do?”

“Stop Mr. Drummond? Or give him permission? He ordered us to help, and we didn’t think we should refuse. We were all wondering if you could explain what’s happening.”

“I have no idea what’s happening.”

“We’re afraid if we obey Mr. Drummond, we’ll be in trouble with Master Miles when he arrives. On the other hand, we’re afraid to defy Mr. Drummond lest he has the right to boss us. We’d hate to lose our jobs over picking the wrong side.” He gulped with dismay. “Have you any advice I can share with the rest of the staff?”

He looked so dejected, as dejected as she felt. She had no answers and couldn’t guess what was true and what wasn’t. She hadn’t the means to contact Miles and convince him to hurry home. The only thing she knew for certain was that intervention would be completely pointless.

Mr. Drummond was like a force of nature that couldn’t be deterred.

Still though, she said, “Give me a minute to finish my breakfast, then I’ll talk to Mr. Drummond. And tell everyone they’re not in trouble. Tell them to comply with his instructions and we’ll figure it out later.”

“Thank you, Miss Georgina.”

Her words had offered little solace, but he seemed less alarmed. He hustled off, and she downed her cup of tea and poured herself another.

At any other time in her life, she’d have leapt up and rushed to deal with the situation. She’d have scolded Mr. Drummond until he halted his nonsense, but she couldn’t prevent him from doing whatever he wished. Besides, she was missing the energy required to fight with him.

She’d been humiliated by his proposition and was scared to be alone with him again for fear that he might tender an even more sordid arrangement. She was also exasperated by Miles and feeling no urgency to fix his imbroglio. As he hadn’t seen fit to inform her of what had transpired, she’d been knocked off balance by Mr. Drummond and his assertions.

She had no authority to question his actions so why argue with him?

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and she braced, terrified it would be Mr. Drummond, but to her stunned surprise, Miles strolled in. He was disheveled, hadn’t shaved, and he reeked of alcohol. His boots were scuffed, his coat dirty, and he smelled like horses and fresh air, as if he’d been riding all night.

“Miles!” she said. “When did you get in?”

“Just now.”

He went to the sideboard, poured some tea, then sat across from Georgina. He pulled a flask from his coat and dumped a dollop of liquor into his tea. He took a long sip.

“Ah…that’s better,” he mused.

“I can’t believe you’re here. I could be staring at a ghost.”

“Why wouldn’t I be here? I promised you I’d attend the party.”

“It was last night.”

“No, it’s tonight.”

“No,” she countered. “Last night.”

“You’re joking. What day is it?”

“The fifth.”

“Oh.” He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I’ve been to three different house parties the past month. I lost track of time.” He toasted her with his cup. “How was it?”

“Fine.”

“Let me guess. Mother was her usual grumpy self while Sophia quarreled with Harold, flirted with all the bachelors, and was a general nuisance.”

“Pretty much.”

“Was Portia here?”

“Yes.”

“So she would have been obnoxiously pompous and pretentious.”

“Yes.”

“How about you? How did you act? Were you true to form?”

“Yes. I just greeted everyone and tried not to be annoying.”

“That’s my Georgina.”

She studied him, thinking how his dissipation was beginning to wear on him. He was blond and blue-eyed and had once been considered very handsome. But his golden hair was silvering to gray, and he had a bald spot in the back, although she doubted he realized it yet and no one would dare tell him.

He was only thirty-four, but he might have been much older than that, the years of debauchery taking their toll. He was five-foot ten and had been thin when he was younger, but his hearty diet had packed on the pounds. He had quite a paunch around his belly, crow’s feet around his eyes, and frown lines around his mouth. He looked tired, hung over, and drained of vigor.

He’d been Augusta’s beloved boy, Edward’s son and heir. Life had been served to him on a silver platter. He’d been coddled and protected, given everything he ever demanded, never blamed, never made to obey or behave. He was spoiled and entitled and impossibly vain.

She liked him though. Most of the time. He was kind to her—as kind as such an egotistical fellow could be anyway—and when he’d allowed her to manage the estate, it had been a gift she’d always cherish.

“Have you heard from your mother?” she asked.

“Not lately. Why?”

“We have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“Have you been in London recently?”

“Rarely, and even then, I sneak in and out.”

“So you wouldn’t have gotten any of your mail.”

“I got most of it, but I was traveling. I may have missed some letters.”

She nodded, watching as he went to the sideboard again, as he loaded a plate with food. He refilled his teacup, added more liquor, and she wanted to caution him to slow down, wanted to inform him that she needed him sober and clear-headed, but she wasn’t foolish enough to chastise him. Even if she tried, he’d never listen.

“There’s a man here,” she said. “His name is Damian Drummond.”

Miles froze for an eternity, then he scowled. “Damian Drummond? Really? How curious.”

“You remember him?”

“Oh, yes, I remember him.”

“He insists he owns Kirkwood now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Have you been gambling, Miles?”

“No more than usual. I’ve explained to you a hundred times, Georgina. It’s how a gentleman passes his evenings.”

“I understand. It’s just that Mr. Drummond claims you were deeply in debt, and he bought up all your markers. They included a mortgage on Kirkwood.” There was a lengthy pause as she scrutinized him, hoping he’d deny it. “Did you wager over Kirkwood.”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

She gasped with affront. “You don’t recall?”

“I gamble, Georgina. I loaf and play and cavort with my friends. It’s what a gentleman
does.
It’s not a crime.”

That petulant expression crossed his face, the one that indicated he was Miles Marshall and wouldn’t be questioned about any act he perpetrated. Augusta had doted on him, had refused to let Edward inflict discipline, and he’d grown up assuming he was imperious and very grand, like a king whose conduct could never be wrong.

“You wagered over the estate,” she glumly said. “Was it lost with a turn of the cards?”

“I don’t think so but don’t worry, Georgina. I’ll simply win it back. Honestly, why are you fretting? I’ll fix it so I hardly see why I must be interrogated. I’ve only just arrived and you’ve been nagging since I walked in the door.

He dug into his food, pretending to ignore her, but he kept peeking at her. His mind would be awhirl, frantically inventing stories she would never believe.

“What did you do to Mr. Drummond?” she ultimately inquired. “He seems particularly angry with you.”

“What did
I
do?” he huffed. “You’d be better off asking what
he
did. He’s a liar and a troublemaker.”

“Yes, so your mother advised me. How old was he when he told all these lies?”

“Ten or eleven, I suppose.”

“And how old were you?”

“Sixteen?”

“What was the lie?”

“I really don’t recollect.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I need a bath and a nap. I’ll meet with you later. You can tell me about all the minor catastrophes that occurred while I was away and all the wonderful repairs you’ve implemented that will prove you’re stupendous.”

“You can’t go up to your room, Miles.”

“Why can’t I?” he sullenly pouted.

“Because Mr. Drummond has seized it for himself.”

“He what?”

“He’s moved in, and he’s moved you out.”

“He wouldn’t dare!”

“He has.”

“The man is mad as a hatter.”

“He says he foreclosed and Kirkwood is his now.”

Miles looked thunderous. He leaned forward and hissed, “He said that and you allowed him to stay on in my house?”

“We didn’t know what to do, Miles. We had no idea where you were, and he simply barged in and took over.”

“When?”

“Two days ago.”

“Why didn’t you stop him? It appears to me you’ve been sitting here, twiddling your thumbs and letting him gambol as he pleases.”

“Your mother and I—”

“My bloody mother can screw off!” he shouted. “I’m asking what
you
did to stop him.”

“I didn’t do anything, Miles. I couldn’t figure out how.”

“He’s a liar! He strutted in with his tall tales about Kirkwood, and you accepted him at his word! What is wrong with you?”

“Like I said, I didn’t know how to stop him.”

“Well,
I
will stop him, and after I’ve run him off, I’ll deal with you next.”

He stormed out, and for the slightest instant, she thought about jumping up and rushing after him. She thought about explaining what Mr. Drummond was like, how tough and commanding and dangerous he seemed. She thought about mentioning the cadre of clerks and guards he’d brought, how Miles couldn’t counter that virtual army.

But then she remembered how Miles had shouted at her, how he’d blamed her for what had happened. For once, she remained right where she was and kept her mouth shut.

Miles marched up the
stairs, headed for his bedchamber. He was exhausted, hung over, and eager to fall into bed and sleep for a week. He was also furious that Georgina had accosted him with her nonsense.

He humored her by permitting her to manage the estate, and he’d be the first to admit she did a good job. She cared about the property and the people on it as he never could, but she’d overstepped her bounds.

Damian Drummond had returned? Georgina and his mother had let the little rat slither in and make himself at home? There would have to be consequences—after he’d chased the wretched boy away of course. The irksome child had an incredible amount of gall to show his face at Kirkwood.

When Miles and his father had initially sent old Walter Drummond scurrying away, Edward had often worried that the sorry pair might stagger back. But Miles had always assured his father that they wouldn’t. Walter had been an underling, a servant. He’d understood his lowly place in the world, had understood that his grandson had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

No one betrayed Miles and emerged unscathed.

He wondered what Damian could want. He was likely beggared, and Miles smirked. He would probably plead for money, which was a supplication Miles would be humored to hear, pretend to consider, then deny in the cruelest manner possible.

As he stomped down the hall to the end, he noted that the doors to his grand suite were open. There were armed men loitering who seemed to be guards.

He stumbled to a halt and frowned. Guards outside his bedchamber? Was he to be intimidated? By a former servant’s whelp? A former servant who’d been fired for insubordination? The notion didn’t bear contemplating.

He straightened and assumed his most regal, most haughty expression, then he approached as if he had every right to enter. Yet even though he was being particularly arrogant and surly, two men blocked his path.