Page 88 of Make Mine a Marquess

He was sorely tempted to remove the letters in his coat pocket and shove them in his cousin’s face. Sheer restraint prevented it. If he revealed the evidence before he could deliver the letters to the magistrate, then the cowardly Willard would undoubtedly flee.

No, he was better off keeping the incriminating documents to himself.

But he could taunt his nemesis, couldn’t he?

Landon took a step closer. In the narrow hallway, the space between them was small. “Let me tell you this, cousin. I know the truth and it will come out one day. Meanwhile, you will never get my title or my wealth. I have the pleasure of knowing that you are in arrears. Your gambling debts alone are enough to have calls for your imprisonment. You’d best scramble to find a moneylender. Although only those with scrupulous practices and high interest rates will take a risk on you.”

Willard’s sneer faltered a bit. “You forget the mine.”

“Ah, yes. The fake mine and the nonexistent ore. You fell for that scheme as easily as a child offered a new toy.”

“What?! Did you and that dark-skinned friend of yours have something to do with it?”

“You mean Aram? Yes, he’s a much better actor.”

“He’s a heathen! I’ll see him arrested.”

“Don’t be an idiot. It was a legitimate purchase. You’re the one who failed to investigate the mine. And for your knowledge, Aram has more wealth than you. Even more than I. He can afford the finest solicitors to defend him.”

Willard’s eyes bulged from his face. He shook his head. “I have no worry about debt. Miss Dawson’s dowry is enough to pay off all my vowels and keep me in a comfortable lifestyle for years. And if I must, then I will also use her money to hire the most expensive solicitors.”

The way Willard spoke of Phoebe, like she was worth only the money her father bestowed upon her, riled his temper even more. The bastard knew nothing about her—her intelligence, her empathy for the less fortunate, or her dreams. She was so much more than a pretty face and a rich dowry.

“You think your fiancée’s hand is secure? Or that you will get her rich dowry?” Landon sneered at his enemy.

“She’s ruined,” Willard spat. “What will everyone think when they learn my own cousin bedded my fiancée?”

Landon stiffened. When he’d come home just a few weeks ago, Phoebe had been only a means of revenge. He’d never given a thought to her reputation. But now things had changed and, if he had the power to protect her, then he would at all costs. No stain must mar her reputation. Gossip, he knew, could be the worst kind of long-lasting torture for a woman. His own mother had suffered from the gossipmongers. The man standing in front of him wasn’t worth the dirt beneath Phoebe’s shoe.

Landon’s hands fisted at his sides. The only thing that stopped him from pummeling Willard was that he didn’t want to wake Phoebe.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Phoebe stirred, the coverlet cool against her cheek. The temperature had dropped, and she reached out to find the other side of the bed empty. She opened her eyes to discover Landon had left in the middle of the night. Without him, the bed was empty, cold. An immediate sense of loss struck her. She’d never had the chance to say goodbye, to kiss him good night. They only had a single day left.

She loved him.

Her heart was a slippery slope, and she’d been powerless to resist him.

During the weeks of the house party, her world had changed, and the future she’d envisioned for herself for so long had become brittle, shallow, and empty. After spending time with the marquess, she’d come to realize that she should not settle for anything less than full, complete happiness. Whether that happiness came from her involvement in the Society of Unwed Mothers and a passion to help others, or even for eventual motherhood for herself, she deserved more. He’d emboldened her. Widened her world. He’d made her want more than to suppress her passions, to seek an advantageous marriage to a titled man.

She must speak to her parents about her betrothal. Tomorrow could not come soon enough. Her mother hadn’t yet had the opportunity to arrange for the reading of the banns and maybe…just maybe…Phoebe should be able to convince them that her decision to end the betrothal was right for everyone.

She reached for the pillow beside her. The lingering scent of his cologne, bergamot and sandalwood, remained. She peered out her window. It was still dark outside. No longer a full moon, only a sliver of light illuminated the shadow of the large oak outside. Perhaps she could slip into his room to say good night.

Perhaps, if she was bold enough, she’d tell him she loved him. She’d wait for him to be ready to wed. Maybe, one day, he’d come around and want a wife…

Harsh whispers outside her door drew her attention.

A prickle of unease traveled down her spine. She sat on the edge of the bed and shoved her feet into slippers. Not bothering with her wrap, she hurried to the door and pressed her ear against the wood.

“I’ll tell everyone she’s ruined.” Willard’s unmistakable voice was high-pitched.

“You wouldn’t dare smear her name. If she decides not to marry you, then that is her choice. You will not speak a word against her.” Landon’s voice held an edge of steel. “Instead, you will stay far, far away from Miss Dawson.”

“You think to stop me from letting everyone know you seduced my fiancée? After you just left her bed?” Willard said.

“Like I said. You best keep your mouth shut,” Landon warned.