Page 97 of Dare to Love a Duke
“Heard a whisper or two,” Elspeth said.
Pressing the envelope close to her chest, Lucia fought a sniffle. Though she might not have Tom in her life anymore, and ached with a desperate loss, she would find a way to keep going. She had to.
“Faring all right, old man?”
As he and Blakemere stood outside the Palace of Westminster, Tom tried to smile at his friend. While he was glad to have Blakemere back from Cornwall, even the earl couldn’t ease the pressure of the iron bands that wrapped around Tom’s chest.
“Oh,” he said airily, “I was only thinking that I should’ve done what any sane, reasonable man ought to have and simply run Brookhurst through with a sabre.”
“They hanged the Earl of Ferrers, you know.”
“Fifty years ago,” Tom noted. His words were steely. “I might fare better in our enlightened age.”
“This plan will come off.” Blakemere tapped the side of his nose. “I’ve an instinct for strategy, and yours is sound.”
“I pray your instincts are right.” Tom inhaled deeply, catching the scent of tobacco from the MPs having a last puff of their cheroots before heading inside.
Years ago, at Oxford, he’d attempted to acquire the habit of smoking. It had seemed so sophisticated and manly, but all it had led to was Tom coughing so hard he vomited on the steps of the Radcliffe Camera. A similar nausea gripped him now as he waited to begin his plan that would, he hoped, set everything right.
He’d face any cannonade to ensure Lucia’s happiness.
Including asking his mother and sister for help. They had listened to his plan for remedying the situation and decided they would lend their support. The unexpected gesture humbled him, and he’d kissed both his mother’s and sister’s hands before setting off this morning.
“We’ve assembled?” Greyland asked, approaching Tom and Blakemere. Two men strode behind him. “I’ve brought Lords Ashford and Marwood as reinforcements.”
Tom shook hands with each of them. “You’ve been apprised of the circumstances?”
“I’m excessively looking forward to humiliating Brookhurst,” Lord Ashford said grimly. “The man’s an ass and his reign of terror in the Lords ends today.”
“We oughtn’t get ahead of ourselves,” Tom said. “Nothing is certain, and if I’m not successful in this, it might taint your own reputations while utterly ruining mine.”
“That’s assuming wehadsterling reputations to begin with,” Lord Marwood said with a grin.
Tom lifted his hand, signaling for quiet. His whole body vibrated with tension. “That’s Brookhurst’s carriage.”
“We’re with you,” Blakemere said, knocking his fist into Tom’s shoulder. “Take the bastard down.”
The elegant vehicle rolled to a stop, and a footman leapt down to unfold the steps and open the door. One of Brookhurst’s polished shoes appeared before the entire man emerged. The duke brushed at his cuffs and adjusted the brim of his hat.
The time was now.
Feeling the gaze of dozens of MPs on him, Tom strode to Brookhurst. He drew up in front of the duke, fighting the urge to plow his fist into the son of a bitch’s face.
“Northfield,” Brookhurst said icily. He didn’t offer even a cursory bow.
I’ll fucking kill him.
“You have spread baseless slander about me,” Tom said in barely more than a growl. “Because of you, thetonbelieves me to be a panderer, and the resulting ignominy has tarnished the honor of my family.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Brookhurst flared his nostrils in affront.
Low muttering rose up from the observing crowd.
“Everything I said was true,” the duke added. “That is undeniable.”
“I do deny it,” Tom said bitingly.
Brookhurst looked over to see their audience. Distinguished MPs watched with open fascination, and at the sight of them, Brookhurst smirked. “You cannot prove that.”
