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“As opposed to your brother. I work for men.” Brownlee’s nostrils flared like a bull’s when ready to charge.
“What the hell does that mean?” Nicholas asked, although he was certain he understood the implication.
Brownlee narrowed his eyes pointedly at the closed drawer. “Do not pretend, Sinclair, that you are unaware of your brother’s…penchants.”
Nicholas fought for restraint. The vein at his temple pulsated, and he rubbed it, trying to calm the growing storm. “No, sir, I do not believe I am.” He wiped a hand across his eyes. This could not be happening. “Please—” He paused, trying to swallow the rising fury. “—enlighten me.”
The man had guts; Nicholas had to give him that. Brownlee did not back down. In fact, he seemed even angrier than Nicholas.
“It is my position, sir, to edify you with regards to all that goes on.” Brownlee’s nostrils flared. “While you have been defending our country, your brother has been…” His voice trailed, and he appeared uncertain for the first time.
“Has been what? You only work for men; be a man.” Nicholas’s voice was far more placid than he felt.
“Busy with your wife’s brother.” Brownlee made a rude gesture as Nicholas stepped toward him. “I do not work for sod—”
Nicholas heard the splinter of bone before he could stop his fist. Brownlee fell to the floor, the blood spurting from his nose, spraying across Nicholas’s clean trousers.
“Get out.” He calmly wiped at his legs, only smearing them further. What a mess. He pulled his shirt from his trousers and wiped his bloodied hands on the cotton. “Get out before I truly lose my temper.”
Brownlee haltingly stood, holding his nose, his eyes blazing. “I will see that all know what goes on behind these doors. Perhaps the brothers Woodfield are painted with the same brush!”
Nicholas seized Brownlee’s lapels, lifting him off the floor, surging forward until he slammed the man’s back against the wall. The echo of the contact rippled down Nicholas’s spine with satisfaction. “Any accusation you make, I will ensure it reflects upon you. Think of me as your mirror. Your very powerful, moneyed mirror.” He knocked the man’s head against the paneling, then dropped him before the rage surging through his blood could encourage more. He took a deep breath. “Get out of this house. Get off my lands. I’d better not hear a whisper of your name again.”
Brownlee staggered to his feet, bracing himself against the wall, glaring at Nicholas. “Money doesn’t buy clemency for everything, Sinclair.” Brownlee turned and stumbled out the door.
Nicholas weaved across the room and grabbed the edge of the desk, holding on until the room stopped spinning.Dear Lord.Would it ever end? He moved around the desk and opened the top drawer. There lay the key. This was not a house of confidences. It had never harbored secrets. There’d never been a need to securely store anything from prying eyes. He locked the drawers. He should burn the letters. He shuddered at the thought. Daniel’s last words going up in flames. Words meant only for Nicholas. From his brother, who’d trusted him. He pocketed the key and strode from the room.
Fredericks, standing at the ready outside the study, gasped. Nicholas wondered how much he’d overheard.
“Sir, you’re bleeding.”
“Not my blood, I assure you Fredericks. No worries, not mine.” He had no time for Fredericks’s fussing.
“Brownlee…?” Fredericks asked.
“The man is to gather his things and leave at once. Tell him a stipend will follow only if he agrees never to set foot on this property again. And remind him that if I ever hear he has so much as mentioned Woodfield Park in passing, he will pay.”
“Yes, my lord. With pleasure.”
Thankful to have someone he trusted ensure Brownlee’s departure, Nicholas headed back up the stairs for a change of clothes. He had no patience nor time for the likes of Brownlee. He needed to find Catherine and make something right in his world.
