Page 75 of Making of a Scandal
“Shall I regale you with more woeful stories of being tossed over by the only woman I’ve ever given a damn about? Her engagement is now public knowledge, you know. She has decided to move on from hermistake—that would be me, by the way—and wed her perfect, shining knight.”
Paul groaned as he shifted on the bed, trying to sit up straight. Nick went to help, gently easing his uncle up and bracing him with pillows. He cringed at the pained grunts Paul made, but it couldn’t be helped. These days, the man was in constant agony and every touch hurt. Nick did his best to make their contact minimal.
“I cannot tell you … how sorry I am that your efforts … were all for naught.”
So was he, but not only because he would now be forced to sit back and watch Calliope marry Martin. There was still the matter of the rest of his life to think of, a distasteful prospect now that he must now make his plans with the knowledge that Calliope would not be part of his future.
“It’s all right.”
“It isn’t,” Paul insisted.
“All right, it isn’t. But it will be. I tried. I knew my chances with her were improbable, but I had hope that … well, it is no longer of any consequence. There is another matter I want to address.”
Paul raised curious eyebrows.
“When you first mentioned my inheritance, I didn’t want to hear of it. I didn’t want to believe that I would lose you.”
Paul’s hand landed weakly atop his. “And now?”
“Now, I am ready. It may never feel right, profiting from your demise.”
“You mustn’t think of it that way. Think of it … as a gift. My legacy … left to the son … of my heart.”
Nick lowered his head, but the tears he’d been fighting for days finally spilled. With a sniffle, he patted his coat but found no handkerchief. Using the back of his hand instead, he swiped them away.
“I wanted it for Calliope. I wanted to be worthy of her, to have something to offer other than my illustrious name. And devastating good looks.”
Paul’s thin laugh made him smile, and Nick supposed he would find a way to survive if he could still manage to jest even when he felt like laying down to die.
“Now, I need it for myself. Wanting her and losing her, being made to see that my past has the power to destroy my future … I have to change it. I cannot go on believing there is no hope, or that I cannot havesomethingof my own. I want you to know I intend to make you proud. I’ll care for Newburn and manage the money, and I’ll never squander the opportunity you are giving me.”
His uncle smiled, his lips trembling and his eyes watering. “My boy, I have always had … faith … in you. I’m already … proud.”
Alarm rang through him as Paul’s head slumped, his eyes rolling shut. But, a swift press of fingers at his wrist calmed Nick as he realized his uncle merely slept. Paul usually slumbered through most of the day, and even short spurts of conversation were enough to exhaust him.
Leaning back, he watched Paul sleep, his heart like a lead weight in his chest. Exhaustion plagued him, but he couldn’t surrender to sleep, for when he closed his eyes,shewas there—beautiful and haunting.
She might be back from London by now, which brought her close enough to run to. He could bang down her door until she agreed to see him. He would demand she listen to him, and if that didn’t work, he might plead or beg. If she still wouldn’t give in, he knew how to batter her defenses. He could kiss her until she broke apart in his arms, remind her what they had together.
With an exasperated sigh, he sat up straight, finding that his brother had come into the room. Jasper took over his place in the chair, urging Nick to rest. He’d been in here since last night and his eyes itched, but he was determined to occupy himself somehow, otherwise he’d go running to Hastings House and make a fool of himself over a woman who didn’t want him.
No, that wasn’t right. She wanted him … she was simply afraid to let herself have him. What else could he do that he hadn’t already done? If he could reshape the world so she needn’t stand on the fringes of society, he’d have already done that. Seeing as he was not omnipotent, he found himself at a loss. She had made her choice, and by not even returning his letter or doing anything to explain her actions, Calliope had made it clear she was done with him.
He tore through the house, going to his room to change clothes and have Thorpe carry a message to Paul’s solicitor. A meeting would need to be arranged so he could begin learning all he could about the land he was set to inherit. Then, he dashed down the stairs, desperate to outrun his thoughts of Calliope and the harbinger of death hanging over the Burke household.
He set out with no destination in particular, but eventually arrived on Benedict’s doorstep. There was no good reason for him to have come here, especially when by now, his friend had received his letter. He’d also be aware that Dominick had failed at securing Calliope and was ready to rub it in his face. It was the damnedest thing, but he didn’t care if Benedict blistered his ears. Anything was better than the deathly silence in his flat, or the rasping sounds of Paul struggling to breathe.
A footman ushered him to the back of the house, into what was supposed to be a gallery. Benedict used the space for training, and was about his practice right now, stripped to the waist and wearing a pair of padded gloves as he circled the man Nick recognized as his trainer. The two jabbed and swung at one another with graceful movements and harsh grunts, the impact of gloves against flesh interspersed with the thud of boots against polished floors.
Benedict had just healed from his last match, but he was already preparing for another. It took a moment before he recognized Nick’s presence in the room, then he held up a hand for his instructor to cease and stared at him, mouth tight and face glistening with a sheen of sweat.
“You have a lot of nerve coming here after that letter,” he snapped, then added to the other man, “That’s enough for now. We can resume tomorrow.”
“I’ll return at dawn. We’ll add another hour to make up for this distraction.”
Benedict cringed, but nodded his agreement. “Right.”
They were left alone then, Benedict leaning against the wall and raising an eyebrow at him.
