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Suddenly conscious that his loins were throbbing uncomfortably and his butler was stoically awaiting a response, Alex folded the parchment he’d been sightlessly staring at and thrust it away over leather.
‘Did Whittiker state his business?’ Alex asked in a voice roughened by frustration.
‘He did not, my lord.’
An inaudible irritated sigh pursed Alex’s lips. He could guess what had brought the fellow here. It was common knowledge that Whittiker was still brooding on the loss of his estate and would moan about it to anybody who cared to listen. But the deal was done and Alex wasn’t about to renegotiate any of it. He realised it was probably as well to give him an audience and spell that out one final time, then Whittiker need never again find the impertinence to bother him at home. A nod gave his butler permission to show his visitor in.
‘You’re aware I can be found at my club most days, I take it?’
An acid greeting met James as he bowled into the viscount’s study while Robinson closed the door behind him.
‘I don’t think you’d want this matter aired in public, Blackthorne.’ Whittiker’s smug response came as he sat down, uninvited, in a hide wing chair. Deliberately he lounged back, eyeing the Viscount’s brandy decanter on the corner of the desk.
Alex’s expression remained impassive, but he was immediately on his guard. Despite the fact that they loathed one another, Whittiker customarily treated him with an amount of reluctant deference. At present the weasel seemed overconfident, prompting Alex to search for a reason for it. A memory of the last time he’d seen James surfaced in his mind. It had been on the day he’d been with Elise and her friends in Hyde Park and had heard James’s raised voice. Alex remembered thinking he vaguely recognised the gaudy female with whom the fellow had appeared to be arguing.
It had niggled at Alex that he hadn’t been able to place the woman, but with startling clarity he suddenly could bring to mind where and when they’d met. The curse was kept behind his teeth and the only change in his demeanour was a tightening in his jaw, causing a muscle to leap beneath a cheek. Despite the dusk that evening, and her luxuriously plumed hat, he had glimpsed the doxy’s face and red hair when she’d accosted him at Vauxhall. He recalled at the time thinking it was of little importance if she had spotted Elise emerging from that dark walkway just minutes earlier for their paths would never again cross. He had a feeling Whittiker was about to shatter that foolish assumption.
‘State your business, Whittiker, I’ve appointments to keep.’
James bristled beneath Alex’s unconcealed contempt. He tapped together his fingertips, staring slyly over them from beneath his brows. ‘I think you owe me some more money for Grantham Place. Let me tell you why...’
‘Please do,’ Alex sardonically invited.
‘Its worth wasn’t reflected in the price you paid.’
‘Its worth was the highest bid. I believe that was what I paid. You had the choice to withdraw from the sale rather than sign the deeds over.’
‘I had no choice! I was desperate for funds and you knew it,’ Whittiker furiously hissed, sliding forwards on his seat. ‘I know where you get your hard-nosed ways. Like father, like son. The old viscount tried to lay his hands on what was rightfully mine before I even took my birthright.’
Alex pushed back his chair and stood up with an air of tedium. ‘I think you need to have a talk with your attorney, before I have a talk with mine,’ he suggested dulcetly. ‘Ask the fellow to explain the rudiments of business to you.’ Alex strolled to his mantelpiece and negligently propped an elbow on marble. ‘I—and my father before me—have done nothing wrong in offering to purchase land that abuts Blackthorne Hall. Your father refused to sell to mine, as was his right. But you agreed to sell to me. Now, if there’s nothing else to discuss...’
Whittiker sprang upright, his veneer of composure crumbling away. Just being in the presence of this powerful man could intimidate him, making him lose the nerve to immediately threaten to expose Elise Dewey as a disgraceful wanton. But he was determined not to leave empty-handed. ‘Oh...there’s something else to discuss,’ he uttered in a poisonous whisper.
‘And will you ever tell me what it is?’ Alex prompted drily.
Whittiker licked his lips. He didn’t relish what he was about to do because he knew there was a risk it might backfire. Lily was an inconsequential witness to the tryst. But James didn’t think Lily was being fanciful—he had seen the way this man looked at Elise and singled her out. He believed the seduction had taken place at Vauxhall. Whittiker was banking on the viscount not wanting the young lady’s reputation sullied and thus paying him an additional sum to seal his lips. James would enjoy seeing Blackthorne squirm and dance to his tune. If the young lady were compromised, her future was ruined beyond repair...unless the viscount did the decent thing and proposed. Inwardly James guffawed at the idea. Blackthorne’s sense of honour would never extend to taking a country miss to wife when aristocrats’ daughters were vying to receive him to add a vast dowry to his bank balance.
