Page 103 of My One and Only Duke
“You are the reason my dukedom is in such disarray?” Quinn asked. “The reason an old and respected title has fallen into ruin? You put Arbuthnot up to pilfering the Walden coffers, you warned him when the College of Arms was asking too many questions.”
The pattern made sense now, though the insight wasn’t likely to do Quinn much good. The aristocracy was inbred, and the old duke would naturally have turned to a titled neighbor for support when advancing age made managing the ducal properties difficult. Tipton doubtless had encouraged the late duke to bide in Berkshire while the Yorkshire family seat was plundered by Tipton’s minions.
“You stole from an old man who had no family to look out for him, and then you tried to have me killed,” Quinn said. “My duchess says I should forgive and forget, but that—”
“I’ll hear no talk of your duchess,” Tipton retorted. “That you, of all people, should inherit the Walden title is insupportable. I’m glad I was able to all but bankrupt the estate you inherited, Wentworth. You deserve penury at least for poaching on my preserves. Beatrice, for the last time, get away from him.”
“Stay where you are, my lady.” Quinn considered distance, angles, hard surfaces, and his own reflexes, but if he managed to dodge two bullets, he’d be leaving Beatrice at risk. Even as he weighed odds and options, he spared a thought for one more regret.
He should have listened to Jane sooner. He should have heeded her sense of caution, should have let her legion of nannies keep him safe, because he was about to do something very, very stupid—even stupider than confronting Beatrice under her husband’s roof—and kick over yet another hornet’s nest.
“Go ahead and shoot me, Tipton, and my duchess will see those letters published in the Times.”
* * *
“Told you he were in trouble,” Ned whispered.
Jane brushed a rhododendron frond aside. “I will kill him.”
“Quinn?” Althea murmured from Jane’s left.
“That puling disgrace of an earl. How dare he?”
“You won’t have to kill him,” Stephen said. “I’m happy to oblige.”
“That leaves the countess to me,” Constance added.
Ned had led them to this garden, but the next step was up to Jane. Inside the little parlor, Tipton was holding forth again.
“You all but imposed yourself on my wife,” Tipton said. “Beatrice confessed all when certain rumors reached me on the Continent. Thank God somebody had the presence of mind to notify me of the goings on in my own household or there’s no telling how many of your brats I’d be supporting.”
“Himself will do the killing,” Ned murmured. “Has a fearsome proper temper, he does.”
“You sent an innocent man to the gallows.” Quinn spoke from the depths of an arctic fury. “You brought scandal down upon my house, abused the privileges of your station, and broke the law, all for the sake of your stupid, stubborn pride. So you can’t live as extravagantly as some. You still live better than most. And if your neglected wife grew lonely, what of it? Is that worth having murder on your conscience? Why couldn’t you let it go?”
The hairs on Jane’s arms raised. “Ned, you stay here, Stephen and I will lead. Quietly, now.”
“Have you any idea who so kindly summoned you from the Continent to your family seat all those years ago?” Quinn went on.
“Of course not. Gentlemanly honor demands discretion, not something you’d grasp. Beatrice, step away from him.”
“Stay put,” Quinn retorted. “Two little bullets from that peashooter won’t bring me down. I’m not about to oblige yon titled arsewipe by dying when my duchess expects me home in time for supper.”
Jane paused immediately to the left of the French doors. Stephen waited behind her, leaning heavily on a cane. Jane held up three fingers, then two, then one, and marched through the door.
“Your Grace,” Jane said, coming up on Quinn’s right side. “Introductions are in order.”
Tipton swung his gun from Quinn to Jane, then back to Quinn. “Madam, I know not who you are, but you’ve chosen a very unfortunate time to break into my home.”
“Timing is so important,” Stephen drawled. “Lovely day for a social call.”
Quinn’s smile was positively menacing. “I see my sisters refused to be left out of the gathering. What say you now, Tipton?”
“I say I have the only loaded gun.”
Quinn shook his head. “Stephen?”
Stephen raised the pistol he’d been holding in his free hand, a stout, ugly firearm capable of bringing down a…a pompous arsewipe.
