Page 98 of A Cinderella to Redeem the Earl
‘At my expense.’
‘You must think I am a complete fool,’ she snapped. ‘I know you could easily afford to forgive part of the debt, if you wished. I am not sure why you are doing this, but I get the feeling you are doing it on purpose. I had no idea you were so cruel and unfeeling.’
Astounded, he stared at her. She wasn’t angry, she was furious. As if it really mattered to her what happened to young Long.
Long’s father hadn’t given a damn about what would happen to Damian’s family all those years ago.
If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t ask. Would she? But then if she knew the truth, she would learn of her own father’s complicity in the scheme.
He hesitated.
‘Well?’ she snapped.
‘This is business. The man owes me hundreds of pounds. You are not being logical.’
‘Logical?’ She handed him the washcloth. ‘I know you could find a way to get your blood without a pound of flesh.’ She stalked out. Left him feeling...bereft. Alone.
Well, he had been alone for years. It was nothing new. She should be grateful that he had decided that only Long would bear the weight of his retribution, not treat him like some sort of ogre.
But then he would never tell her that, would he, or she would guess at his original intentions. Intentions he would not be able to carry through.
Damn. He should have guessed that whereas most women would have given up upon realising he was serious, Pamela would stand by her guns.
And his accusation of unfaithfulness had been a low blow indeed.
Damn it all.
A tap on the door made him look up. Hope leaped in his chest. Had Pamela changed her mind?
His valet entered.
Hope dissipated. ‘Pass me a towel, please. I’m done here.’
His valet obliged. ‘Apparently His Grace, the Duke of Camargue, awaits you in the drawing room.’
Good Lord. What now? Dukes did not normally show up on one’s doorstep like common men. They summoned lesser mortals. Clearly the matter of what the Duke had described a worthless tract of land had become a matter of urgency.
‘Then I must hurry.’
Pamela entered the drawing room and stopped in surprise at the sight of an elderly gentleman rising to his feet. ‘I beg your pardon. I was unaware that Dart was entertaining.’
And she wasn’t prepared for visitors. She’d been coming for her reticule containing her calling cards. She needed to send a message to Mr Long.
She could see it on the table containing her needlework bag.
‘I am Camargue,’ the elderly man said, peering vaguely at her over the top of his spectacles.
Camargue. The Duke. She dipped a curtsy. ‘Mrs Clark.’
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance.’
The Duke spoke with a heavy Scottish burr and leaned heavily on a cane.
‘Please, be seated. I am sure His Lordship will not be long.’
She eyed her reticule. Should she grab it and leave? Come back later or—?
‘Good afternoon, Your Grace,’ Damian said from behind her.
