Page 54 of Not the Duke's Virgin

The other club members shifted uncomfortably, mesmerized by the unfolding scene.

“Knew what, dear brother?” Simon goaded, still irritatingly nonplussed.

“That you had bought up my debt yourself! To the bloody gaming hall that had me in a stranglehold! All these months, I’ve been scrambling to find a way out, and you knew I was free of it if only you had told me!”

Oliver was shouting loud enough to rattle the chandeliers. Simon waited until his brother had let it all out before responding.

“And what makes you think I would ever share that information with you freely?” he asked coldly. “You lost my trust long ago with your penchant for drink, cards, and debauchery.”

Oliver’s chest heaved, realization dawning on him. “Who told you, then? Someone must have talked.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Simon sighed. “If you must know, I was informed by the gaming hall owner himself. He assumed I took on your debts as a show of familial loyalty. Unfortunately for you, he assumed wrong.”

Oliver’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “You are a snake, Simon. Letting me twist in the wind all this time when you could have ended my suffering with a word. Is this some kind of sick punishment for perceived slights against you?”

Simon stood up swiftly. Though they were of similar height, his powerful frame and cold stare made him seem to tower over his cowering brother.

“Perceived slights?” he hissed. “Need I remind you of the many times I covered for you as a boy when you ditched your studies? How do I make excuses when you disgraced yourself and our family name with your scandalous behavior? Have you forgotten the fortune Father had to pay to cover up your reckless gambling before, leaving our estate coffers depleted? No, dear brother, my grievances against you are anything but perceived. Now you owe me all the money I paid up for your debts!”

Oliver seemed to shrink under this verbal lashing. His face lost its furious red hue, replaced by a pale, shaken countenance. “I… I see,” he stammered. “I thought… well, I see now I was mistaken.”

Slowly the fight went out of him. His shoulders slumped in defeat. Here was a man recognizing how deeply in debt he still was, literally and figuratively. He moved to leave, then paused.

“Mark my words, Simon,” he spat over his shoulder. “I will find a way to destroy all you hold dear for this. You have not seen the last of me.”

With those ominous words, Oliver hurried out of the club. Silence rang in his wake.

Simon stared pensively into the fire, swirling his brandy. Let his brother make all the empty threats he wished. Simon had nothing left to take, nothing left to lose. The estate and dukedom were in shambles without his fortune. His parents were dead, and his relationship with his brother was ruined. No, Oliver could not touch him anymore.

At the thought, Victoria’s face flashed in his mind again. For just a moment, he worried for the lady who had somehow become entangled in his brother’s web. But no, he had ended things with her. She despised him now, thinking him no better than his blackguard brother. Rightfully so.

No, there was nothing left that Simon cherished enough for Oliver to exploit. With that resolve, he drained his brandy and stalked out into the night.

* * *

The next day, Simon arrived at his solicitor’s office promptly at midday. His jaw still smarted from Oliver’s sucker punch, but it was a small price to pay to see his brother finally crack.

“Your Grace, welcome,” greeted Percival Carter, Simon’s longtime solicitor and one of the few he considered a friend.

Percival’s naturally anxious demeanor seemed even more anxious today. His fingers worried a button that threatened to come loose on his waistcoat.

“Let’s get straight to business, shall we?” said Simon. He preferred not to make idle small talk if he could avoid it.

Percival looked as if he wished to speak on something else, but he nodded quickly. “Of course, of course, business it is.” He shuffled a stack of documents on his desk. “There are still several tenants behind on their rents this quarter. I’ve drawn up potential courses of action should they not pay. The southern farmlands have seen a blight on their crops as well, so some leniency there may be in order…”

Simon nodded, only half listening. He trusted Percival’s counsel on these matters. His thoughts wandered back to the previous night. Something had been bothering him since Oliver’s outburst.

“Percival, how do you suppose my brother could have discovered I purchased his debts?” he interjected.

The solicitor glanced up nervously from his papers. “I, uh, well, that is?—”

“You were the only other person I informed of the arrangement,” Simon continued, pinning him with an intense stare. “And I know you are a discrete man. So how did this secret come to light?”

Percival tugged at his suddenly too-tight collar. “Now, see here, Your Grace. I did not—that is to say—you cannot possibly—” His panicked spluttering said it all.

Simon sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Come now, Percival. Let us speak plainly. I assume my brother cornered you somewhere dark and emptied a bottle or two down your throat first?”

“It was not my fault!” Percival burst out in desperation. “He caught me outside the tavern and insisted on celebrating something or other. I drank but one pint of ale with him, yet the next thing I knew he was dragging your name through the mud. I tried to hold my tongue, but the words slipped out somehow. I confess it all!” He dropped his face into his hands despairingly.

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