Page 96 of Make Mine a Marquess

“If you see him, you ignore him,” Beatrice said.

Phoebe was grateful for Beatrice’s support. “What about you? I know you had a tendre for Mr. Adian.”

A flash of distress crossed Beatrice’s face. “You are not the only one who was fooled by a handsome face. I’m berating myself for not suspecting anything. As Landon’s right-hand man, Aram Adian must have known the truth. All the afternoons you played backgammon, I spent speaking with Aram to keep guard. I grew fond of him, very fond, and he never whispered a word about the marquess’s intentions. He fooled me as well. Aram must have been helping Landon with his quest for revenge. And that quest included you.”

A spark of anger lit Phoebe’s chest at her friend’s distress. She, too, was suffering from her own type of heartache. Phoebe hugged her once again. “Oh, sweet Beatrice. Do you want to accompany me to Scotland?”

…

Landon sat in his mansion in Berkeley Square. The home had been built by his great-grandfather and seemed like a colossal waste of money. His grandfather had constructed an addition. His father had added another. It now boasted forty rooms and seemed to employ just as many servants.

He sat alone in the massive library. His father had spent hours in the library, smoking, drinking, and meeting his man-of-affairs, his stewards, and even his close friends. Though his father had preferred the library with its mahogany bookshelves filled with a hundred or so leather-bound books and a ladder that could be wheeled across the room to reach the novels on the tallest shelves, Landon had never seen him read a book.

Landon sipped the Scotch whisky, the finest in his cellars, as he sat in the soft leather chair. He should be satisfied, thrilled, that the plans he’d devised had finally come to fruition.

Willard was currently in the Tower awaiting trial. His fate was sealed. The evidence of his crimes was too much to offer an arguable defense. The title of baron would be stripped by the Crown.

For the dead sailors and captain of the Cradle of Zeus, justice would finally be served. Willard’s trial before the House of Lords and requisite prison sentence would never make up for their loss, nor for the five years Landon had lost, but it was the best possible outcome.

Landon had reclaimed his title, his lands, and his remaining fortune. He’d even taken away his cousin’s betrothed.

Yes, he should be satisfied. The whisky should taste exquisite. The rich furnishings and books comforting.

Then why did he feel empty? Restless? Unsatisfied?

The knock on the library door made his frown deepen. His staff knew better than to disturb him and any visitors were unwanted. The door cracked open, and Landon turned to give the intruder a fierce frown. “Who—”

Aram opened the door wide and stepped inside “You look like shit.”

“Well, that’s one greeting I didn’t expect,” Landon said drily.

“I sent messages via your butler. You ignored them.”

Landon ran a finger down his glass. “I’m not in the mood for company.”

“Even from me?”

Especially from his friend. Aram could easily read him.

“You are wallowing in self-regret.”

Landon’s lip curled in a scowl. “I don’t wallow.”

“How many whiskies have you consumed? It isn’t even mid-afternoon.”

“I didn’t count.”

“Let me see the bottle.” Landon snatched the bottle before Aram could reach it. It was almost empty. He didn’t have the guts to tell his friend it wasn’t the first.

“You miss her.”

Landon didn’t have to ask which her his friend meant. It was also no use denying it. “I considered leaving a calling card for her at her family home. I even thought to hire a hack to follow her carriage. My crested carriage would be too distinctive.”

Aram let out a tense laugh. “I understand some of your angst. I sent a calling card to Beatrice’s home.”

Landon looked up at him expectantly. “Any success?”

“None.”