Page 55 of Not the Duke's Virgin

Despite his solicitor’s betrayal, Simon could not find it in himself to summon much ire. Percival had always been weak-willed, too anxious to deny anyone. He likely had not revealed the information willingly.

“Think nothing of it,” Simon said, waving a hand. “The fault is my brother’s alone. I should not have trusted you with the knowledge at all. We will speak no more on it.”

Percival looked close to weeping in relief. “Bless you for your mercy, Your Grace! I vow it will not happen again. Now, about the tenant farms?—”

“Enough. I trust you to handle the estate affairs.” Simon stood up abruptly. “Just see to it that my brother gets not one more pound from me. I will be at Hayward Manor should you need anything further.”

Percival nodded emphatically. “Of course, of course! Thank you again for your understanding, Your Grace.”

Simon departed without another word. As his carriage rolled through the London streets, he considered where to go next. He had no appointments and little desire to return home yet. Perhaps he would pay a visit back to his club and see what gossip he could catch about Oliver’s latest schemes.

Yes, keeping an eye on his wayward brother was probably wise after last night’s confrontation.

To the club it was.

Simon leaned back against the plush velvet seat, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. The bumpy cobblestones made the carriage jostle. Hopefully, a brandy or two at the club would take the edge off this blasted headache.

As the carriage halted before the entrance, Simon stepped down. The footman opened the door for him, and he strode inside commandingly. The familiar scents of tobacco, leather, and brandy embraced him. He had just settled into his favorite chair when a weedy club attendant approached.

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but you’ve received an urgent message.”

The man held out a folded piece of paper sealed with wax. Simon took it with a furrowed brow. Who would be sending him messages here? He broke the seal and read the hastily scrawled note.

Simon,

We need to talk. Meet me at the Mercury Theater at once. Tell no one.

Oliver.

Simon’s headache spiked. What could his wretched brother want now? It was important if Oliver was risking being seen with him publicly. Simon considered ignoring the mysterious summons, but curiosity won over. Folding the note, he headed back through the maze of leather chairs and wood-paneled walls to the exit.

A light rain had begun falling as the theater came into view down the street. Simon glanced around warily before slipping inside. The entryway was empty, as most shows did not begin until evening. Muffled sounds from the stage floated through the curtains where actors were rehearsing.

“Took you long enough,” came Oliver’s voice from the shadows. He emerged looking disheveled, eyes bleary and clothes rumpled. He had been drinking heavily already today.

“What is so urgent that you couldn’t simply call on me at home?” Simon asked coolly.

Oliver paced, running a hand through his unkempt dark blonde hair. “It wasn’t safe. I had to get you away from prying eyes and ears.”

Now Simon was intrigued. “Go on.”

“That little stunt of yours yesterday did more than just reveal your deceit to me,” Oliver hissed. “It exposed all my debts, leaving me vulnerable! Now the moneylenders and gambling halls know to come demanding repayment from me once more. I had almost dug myself out, but now… now it is all crashing down!”

He punctuated this with an angry kick at a nearby chair. Simon observed dispassionately, unmoved by the tantrum.

“And how is this my concern? You got yourself into debt, you get yourself out of it.”

Oliver advanced on him furiously. “Don’t play coy, Brother. You knew this would happen! Admit you are trying to ruin me, take everything for yourself! But it won’t work. I will find a way back from this, with or without your help.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Cease your delusions of persecution and plots against you. I assure you, I think very little of you at all. Your affairs are your own. Now if we’re finished here…”

He turned to go, but Oliver grabbed his arm. “We are far from finished. That little stunt will cost you too, mark my words. I will find a way to make you hurt like you’ve hurt me, Brother.” He practically spat the word “brother,” face contorted and eyes wild.

Simon shook him off easily. “I think not. As I’ve told you, there is nothing left you can take from me. No loved ones, no fortune, no prospects. You’ve already done your worst. I am but an empty husk, entirely thanks to you.”

For a moment, Oliver looked shaken by the cold finality in Simon’s voice. But then his eyes hardened again.

“We shall see about that, Simon. Everyone has a weakness. Once I find yours, you’ll regret the day you crossed me.”

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