Page 78 of If the Slipper Fits
As usual, Zeke’s words proved correct.
When they called on Bolton, it hadn’t taken long to recognize the baron and his father as birds of a feather. Caden found himself in the baron’s dark-paneled, tobacco smoke-filled game-room. He watched the mantle clock tick in mounting misery as the two men played billiards, waxed laconic over their perceived woes, and drank themselves stupid.
Long buried images flooded his mind. Bolton complaining about tenants, shrewish women, and gambling losses. His father, stumbling around the green-baize table, bemoaning the death of his wife and the lack of sympathy shown him by his father, the earl. And then there was the problem of Zeke.
Caden shook his head to clear the memory. It stuck like a red-wine stain on a white linen shirt.
Jaw clenched, he joined Bolton’s party of one. To the barman’s look of inquiry, he gave a gruff, “Ale.”
A moment later, a frothy-topped stein appeared before him on the polished bar.
As if suddenly cognizant of Caden’s presence, the baron leaned onto his elbow, angling his body toward him.
A nearly overwhelming compulsion to smash his fist into the man’s face threatened to overwhelm Caden’s good sense. Bolton deserved that and worse for what he’d nearly done to Anna.
But he did not have the luxury of indulging his need for vengeance. Not now. Not yet.
The older man’s thick brows arched, as if he recognized Caden’s malevolent intent and found it vaguely intriguing. “Do I know you?”
Caden couldn’t bring himself to speak for fear of what would come out of his mouth.
A slow smile curved Bolton’s thin lips. “By God, you’re one of Thurgood’s boys. I’d recognize you lot anywhere. You have his look—right down to that shiner. He had more than his share of those.”
He scrutinized Caden, eyes narrowing in thought. “You’re not the heir, though. The younger, I think.” He snorted. “Your father didn’t have your flat stare down, that’s for certain. If he had, he might have occasionally bested me at cards.” Bolton chuckled. “Name’s Bolton. Believe I met you when you were a lad.”
Caden wrestled his anger under control. Barely. “I believe so.”
“I tell you, Bolton, when I look in my eldest son’s eyes I see my father, the stingy prick who won’t give over the title andfundsrightfully mine.”
“That’s a bloody crime, Thurgood.”
“Mark me, Ezekiel’s just like him. Looks at me like I’m dirt. Then there’s this one.” He aimed his cue stick and a fond smile at Caden. “Makes me proud. He’s got myjoie de vivre, my charm. Alreadyhe can talk a penny off a miser, and no female alive can resist him. When he’s a man, he’ll be just like me.”
With a ruthless effort of will, Caden banished the long-ago memories. The present needed his full attention. So far, he was doing a bang-up job.
Bolton’s brows furrowed, as if he didn’t know what to make of Caden’s somber attitude. Finally he shrugged and took a large swallow of brandy.
“What brings you to York?” Caden asked, striving for a conversational tone.
“Heading for a house party. You’re not by any chance on your way to one?”
His hands clenched into fists. He slid them into his trouser pockets. Soon, he’d deal with Bolton. “Leaving one.”
“In this weather? Get caught with the wrong man’s wife?”
If he only knew. “Matters at home require my immediate attention.”
“Pity.” The baron’s eyes turned sly. “By any chance, leaving Femsworth Manor?”
Caden issued a nod. “As it happens, yes."
“Rumor has it the Dowager Duchess of Wentworth’s a guest.”
He pretended to consider the question. “I did make her acquaintance, briefly. The lady keeps to herself.”
The baron nodded with greasy satisfaction. “I hear tell she travels with a young companion.”
He drew the snifter to his mouth and downed the remaining liquid with one toss of his head.
