Page 24 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke
Wareham was standing in the doorway, his fingers on the handle of the open door.
John smiled the smile he had taught himself in London in the last few weeks, the one which screened out all other expression, his grandfather’s smile, and straightened but did not stand.
There was an insolent, seemingly angry glint in Wareham’s light blue-grey eyes. He neither bowed nor nodded his head, showing no deference to his noble employer.
The old man’s monster roared to life inside John as he waited, imparting the cold condemning glare he had also learned from his grandfather. Silence stretched across the room as Wareham stared back.
‘Your Grace.’ Wareham finally relented, nodding slightly and showing more defiance than deference.
The bastard. What is this?
John wished to make him do it over, but that would be churlish. It was far better to let it pass. Wareham must surely realise his days were numbered if he continued to behave this way. He must know John would not be lenient or soft. Sentimentality had been thrashed out of him as a child, and Wareham had watched.
‘Is there something I may help you with?’ Wareham closed the door, his whole demeanour challenging John’s presence in the room.
John was furious. He was entirely his grandfather’s monster now.
‘Take a seat.’ John indicated the chair on the far side, refusing to vacate Wareham’s. John owned this house, this office and the money passing through these ledgers – let Wareham remember that.
When Wareham sat, John held every muscle in his face steady. Thank God he had learned how easily his emotions could be read when he had been in London and mastered that. Now, he wore a mask of indifference.
‘I would have thought if you wished to view the ledgers, you would have asked me to bring them to you?’ Wareham’s tone was tipped with steel.
You?It was an unforgivable insult not to use John’s title.You!No one called a duke you.
‘Who owns the estates you manage, Mr Wareham?’ John felt as though a sandstorm had swept over him, his vision blurred with a red mist and his skin prickled with anger.
‘You do, Your Grace.’
Even when Wareham used John’s title it sounded offensive.
‘And please tell me then, Wareham, therefore, who owns this office and these ledgers?’
A flicker of confusion crossed the man’s face, but then he stated, ‘Your Grace,’ the challenge slipping away from his voice.
‘And who employs you?’
‘Your Grace.’ There was a darkness at the heart of Wareham’s eyes. A darkness that said this would not be the last of this conversation.
John smiled his grandfather’s vicious smile. ‘We have that straight then. Let us move on.’
John decided not to mention the loan just yet. He did not wish to give Wareham any chance to cover his tracks.
‘I have decided to review every aspect of my estate. I shall take these accounts now to help me do so and I wish to see all the supporting receipts and invoices. You may begin a new ledger.’
Wareham’s eyebrows lifted.
He had not anticipated John’s direct interference, and that meant, hopefully, the reason for the loan was still hidden somewhere in these books.
The older man’s icy gaze held John’s.
When John had sat at this desk with him as a boy the man had been brash, intolerant and rude. John had thought it a lack of patience for a youth. Now he presumed it was more. Wareham had never acted this way with his grandfather.
John did not move.
‘Now, Your Grace?’ The man finally understood.
‘I am here, am I not, Mr Wareham? So yes, now would be a good time.’
