“Your Grace. You have a visitor. A Lord Daniel Vale. He insists on seeing you,” the man announced.
Ice slid beneath Blaise’s skin. Daniel was the last person he wanted to see.
“What perfect timing.” Blaise hissed. “Show him to the front drawing room.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The footman left, and Blaise made his way to the drawing room, slowly flexing his fist.
He almost smiled at the memory of their last meeting. Whatever fresh torment his cousin brought, he would not mind teaching him another lesson.
In the drawing room, above the mantel, there used to be a small oil painting of apricots on a chipped plate, and the shadows were tenderly painted. This was replaced with a Vale family portrait of Benjamin, their father, Blaise, and Marcus. Iris loved that ridiculous apricot painting, and Blaise thought about searching for it and returning it to its rightful place because the family portrait currently looked?—
“Ridiculous and vain.”
Blaise turned to find Daniel standing inches away, staring at the same painting. Despite what he was, he was right. It was ridiculous and vain, but Blaise would never agree with the likes of him.
“Daniel,” he greeted his cousin coldly.
“Your Grace,” Daniel spat.
Blaise noticed his face, marred by a crooked, swollen nose and the bruises that lingered beneath his eyes, souvenirs of Blaise’s last patience. He flinched slightly when Blaise passed him, his hand raised halfway up defensively, then he dropped it just as quickly.
Blaise chuckled darkly as he closed the drawing room door and made his way back behind a desk.
Daniel twitched his nose. “My nose will mend. It is just delicate.”
Blaise simply nodded. “Consider that a family lesson.”
Daniel eyed the room, noting all the changes. “So, this is Hentley.”
His eyes lingered on the flowers in a nearby vase. Blaise watched him as he poured brandy he did not want and offered none to Daniel.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked his cousin drily.
“Oh, I have urgent news.” Daniel sat, crossing a leg with false ease. “But first—how was the ball?”
Blaise sipped the brandy and allowed it to burn all his anger away.
“It went well because scum like you weren’t invited.”
Daniel feigned a broken heart and laughed.
“And how is your widow?” Daniel tilted his head mockingly. “Have you heard anything…unpleasantabout her?”
Blaise’s hand tightened on his glass until he heard it beginning to crack.
“Men who gossip about gentlewomen are small creatures.”
Daniel shrugged and tried to look innocent. “I did not say anything.”
Blaise slammed a fist down and made the thin man jump in his chair. “Do not make me prove it, Daniel,” he growled.
Daniel glanced at Blaise’s scar, then away. That one movement made Blaise realize the truth about his cousin and the type of man he was.
“You know, I always wondered how such stories about me began.” He poured another glass of brandy. “Idle tongues and empty minds are both plentiful.”
Blaise studied Daniel. The slick amusement and calculation were barely hidden.
Daniel smirked. “All I needed to do was make a small remark here and cause a raised brow there. To a lady who cannot keep secrets sewn into her gown or to a club where men repeat filth as scripture. You know how it is.”
