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Both men ignored her.
“This isn’t the end of the matter, Laughton.” The duke tugged at the hem of his impeccable jacket. “I will destroy you, make it impossible for society to see you succeed.”
Percival scoffed. “I have never cared a jot about the opinions of the sheep who make up the fickle ton. My wife taught me that, so worry not and make your threats. I shall land on my feet.”
Lavinia rolled her eyes heavenward. Concern roiled in the pit of her stomach. In further antagonizing the duke—a man who could influence society—he, in essence, pushed her farther and farther away from her own goal of acceptance in that same group of people. Stepping forward, she laid a hand on Percival’s arm. His muscles went taut beneath her fingertips. “Don’t make things worse than they already are.” Her whisper sounded overly loud in the cloying silence building in the room.
The duke’s bark of laughter was more like a cackle. A calculating light gleamed in his yes. “At least your whore has a brain in her head.” When Percival bristled and sputtered, the other man glared. “You should listen to her, but even she can’t save you. Finally, your arrogance has done you in.”
“If you mean that I refuse to let anyone put me beneath their thumb, sure, that’s arrogance. If you refer to my determination to play by my own rules in a society that savors its skewed values, then fine. Keep blustering but know this.” He shook off her hand. “I am not afraid of men like you. The only reason you have so much power is you intimidate others.”
For long moments, they stared at each other. The duke curled his hands into fists.
“You are naught but a drunk, Laughton. I don’t need to intimidate to know I’m better than you based on that fact alone. If your father were still alive, he would despise what you’ve become, what you’ve done to the title he so revered.”
Oh, no. Lavinia’s chest tightened. Percival was especially sensitive about his title, and not having the approval of his father was a sensitive topic that played upon his buried insecurities. Before she could speak, the duke continued.
“You listen to me, pup. I don’t give advice often, but perhaps it’s providential your marriage to my daughter didn’t come to fruition.” He closed the distance between him and the earl enough to drill a forefinger into Percival’s chest. “You will never amount to anything while you have a bottle attached.”
“Yet you’d deemed me good enough for her. I should have wondered what was wrong with her.”
“Vile, uncaring scum!” Lord Bradford got off a powerful uppercut that sent Percival reeling backward. Lavinia caught him and propped him up, so he didn’t fall over. “Go ahead and pickle your liver and rot your brain. Ruin your life.” His voice rose with each statement. “I’m glad to have escaped having you around my neck. No doubt you’d drain my coffers in short order.” He shoved at Percival’s chest. “You are a disgrace and belong in the gutter with the trash,” he flicked his gaze to her, “like the company you keep.”
Percival’s face blanched. “Get out!” The low roar was more menacing than a full out yell. Never had she seen him so incensed. This time it was he who pushed at the duke’s chest. Lord Bradford retreated a few steps. “Get out of this house immediately.” Warning rumbled in his tones. Lightning snapped in his eyes; a blue storm brewing. “Leave now or I’ll see you on the dueling field, I swear it.”
Oh, for the love of God. Lavinia gasped. Again, she attempted to restrain him, but he shook off her touch. “Laughton, stop it. Lord Bradford is rumored to be a talented shot.”
The earl scoffed. “So am I.” He fairly quivered with rage as he stared at the duke. Heat roiled from him. “It matters not how my marriage came about. It is not up for discussion or your dissection.”
“I will see to it you are blacklisted.” Fury shook the duke’s voice. “Perhaps that will render you sober.”
“Bastard. Thinking you’re God.” Percival darted to a side table whereupon he took up a vase and then hurled it in the duke’s direction. “Get out, you shoddy excuse for a human.” It shattered against the doorframe. Porcelain shards, flowers, and water went everywhere.
“So says the man who has effectively destroyed himself.” The duke cast a pitying glance at him then looked at her with retribution in his expression. “Make certain he knows everything that happens from this point forward is his fault. That’s what he gets for thinking to bring whores into our midst and passing them off as ladies.” Seconds later, he took his leave, gingerly picking his way through the mess on the floor.
“Fucking nodcock.” Percival ended the disastrous meeting by retching onto the floor and his boots.
For long moments, Lavinia frowned at the man who was her husband while her chest—her heart—stung from the duke’s parting statement. For the whole of her life, she’d never taken stock of what people had thought of her. That focus had never been on empty gossip. She had much better use for her time. The men and women of the ton talked behind her back because most of them didn’t have the courage to say those things to her face. Whatever they believed of her was their business, not hers. If they chose to reject her, leave her to the wolves, so be it, but she was made of strong stuff, and rebuilding herself was something she excelled at. What she offered the world was good enough. If people wished to walk away, so be it. But they would miss out on all that she could do, for the best was yet to come.
She only hoped Percival was not one of them.
With a sigh, Lavinia grabbed his arm and drew him away from the mess. Shaking her head, she shoved him into a chair. “You’ve done it now, Laughton.” Oh, he was in a bad way, a wreck of his former self, the man she’d come to know over the past year. Broken, really, and not just by the hasty marriage or the duke’s threats. Perhaps he would finally realize the consequences of drinking. If so, she would like to help him as much as he would help her the longer their marriage continued.
“Don’t think to lecture me. I’ve had just about enough of sanctimonious speeches for one day.” Defeat threaded heavily through his voice. “The duke wasn’t wrong, you know. On all counts.”
Again, pain pierced through her heart. “It is not my fault I was born on the wrong side of the blanket.” She strove to keep the anger from her tones. “I have as much right to exist in this world as you or he does. My veins flow with aristocratic blood.” Her father was a marquess and though her mother had been a kept woman, she was also the fourth daughter of a baronet. But Lavinia had been conceived and born out of wedlock, refused acknowledgement by her father. “I am just as good, if not better, than some of the upstanding members of the beau monde.”
And she used that term loosely.
He rubbed a hand along the side of his face where a bruise was already forming. “This is beyond reprehensible.”
Did he refer to their union or the situation with the duke? Perhaps it didn’t matter. “That largely depends on how you look at things.” When he didn’t speak, she sighed. “We are both in a unique position.”
“I’m trapped.”
This was not the time to indulge his self-pity. “We have no choice except to set the ton on its head. We can either work together or we can constantly bicker, but we can’t show a strong, united front if you will always blame me.”
He snorted. When he focused his bloodshot eyes on her, anger roiled in those dark depths. “I can send you to my country estate.”
