Page 54 of Indecently Employed
“I did attend the reception, you know.”
“Didn’t see you at the breakfast, you know. You might’ve stayed, made sure she’d settled. That all was well.”
“Andisall well?”
Marcus glanced over his shoulder and served him a sour glare, which told Ajax that Harmonia likely was, in fact, perfectly well.
“I did speak with her before the wedding, when she was in low spirits, and offered her refuge should the need arise. Though I didn’t see you anywhere near Oswine House that week, if I recall correctly.”
“Oh? Should I have flitted in with a pithy remark or two and then fucked off to some northern wasteland like you?”
“Everyone knows I’m never long for London, and I’m nothing if not consistent. You might consider taking a page from me; voters aren’t fond of capriciousness.” Ajax’s practiced aloofness spilled out without any effort, or even thought. Irritated by the jab at Yorkshire, he couldn’t resist adding, “I daresay your constituents in, what was it—Lower Sadgill? I daresay they’d appreciate having their MP in residence on occasion.”
“It’s Knockton.” Marcus cast him a sidelong glance, his jaw flexing. “You have opinions about politicking now, do you?”
Ajax blew out a frustrated sigh and changed his tack. “Yorkshire is my home,” he offered as both an explanation and an apology. “I am loath to be away for long, and I left London too soon, you’re absolutely correct. And I did worry about Harmonia; I wrote to her.” Egad, it sounded pathetic even to his own ears. One letter.
Marcus halted outside the door to the billiard room, his brown eyes studying him. “You know, I do believe you’re actually contrite, by your standards.”
Ajax sniffed and smoothed the knot in his neckcloth. “Of course I am.”
“It doesn’t suit.” Amusement teased at Marcus’s eyes.
Ajax worked his jaw, trying his best to be forthright instead of clever. “Is… is it all well, then? With Rickard?”
Marcus gave him a wry smile, then opened the door.
Thomas Rickard stood leaning against the wall, holding both a cue stick and a drink in one hand, with the other tucked casually into his pocket. Although he was of average height, he possessed a quietly menacing presence. At his feet, in front of the fire, his wiry gray lurcher sat up from its repose; its tail began thumping tentatively against the floor.
“Ask him yourself,” Marcus said in a clipped tone as he crossed the room to retrieve his own cue from the rack, apparently not satisfied with the only vaguely apology-like words Ajax had ever offered him in thirty years.
Ajax felt a small surge of optimism.That was it, thirty years!His nephew was only eleven years younger than him. The recall of such basic information about a family member bolstered him, provided him with proof. Proof that he cared.
The dog heaved itself up and padded over to him, sniffing his hand. Ajax scratched it behind the ears, not taking his eyes from its owner.
“Ask me what?” Rickard said, his face dispassionate, his voice sounding as if he had swallowed a throatful of smoke. If Ajax hadn’t been acquainted with the man, he’d have taken it for a slight, perhaps even a challenge, but Rickard was always this coarse. Ajax found himself wondering if Rickard had perhaps been choked half to death in his other life while mucking about with the Ottomans. Of course, there was no way of telling, aside from asking directly. Not that Ajax ever would. Rickard’s stern and quiet nature bothered him. There was something unsettling about people who only ever said exactly what they meant.
“How your wife fares,” Marcus said, lining up his shot on the green baize of the massive walnut table.
The crack of the ball coincided with the shuttering of the shorter man’s face. “What?” Rickard groused, setting his glass on the marble mantelpiece. Sensing a change in his owner’s tone, the dog sauntered back over to him and sat at his side.
“How is our dear Harmonia?” Ajax ventured.
Rickard glared at him.
Christ. This was what being in a family was like, was it? The soft thud of the balls ricocheting against the rails petered out, ending with one in pocket. Well, alright then. Ajax looked forlornly at the glass of liquor on the mantel. He could do with a drink.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Rickard was obviously taking pains to keep his voice level, but Ajax caught a brief wince about his eyes before he reached down to scratch his dog’s ear.
“You know damn well what I mean. You talk ofmydistance, nephew?” Ajax jerked his head in Marcus’s direction even as he kept his stare on Harmonia’s new husband, who straightened up, anger now plain on his face as Ajax continued, “When Mr. Rickard here wouldn’t touch Oswine House with a barge pole forweeksbefore the wedding?”
Rickard flexed his hold on the cue, and Ajax felt a momentary unease. He’d never trusted Mr. Rickard’s personal history—or, rather, his lack of one. And if the scars on the man’s hands were any indication, Ajax was sailing dangerously close to his brother Titus’s fate. He swallowed; he had no desire to end up called out by the most recent addition to the rogue’s gallery of Sedleys. For he somehow reckoned his height advantage would amount to nothing—or less—against this one.
“Aye. I did, in fact.”
Marcus leaned forward on his cue, glancing between the two of them with mild amusement. “Is that so? Harmonia never mentioned.”
Rickard stared at him.
