Page 29 of The Vagabond Viscount
“Yes.”
Flynn let go of Augusta and marched back to where the other woman and her friend stood. He held out his hand. “Give me the ring.”
She went to protest, but he stepped closer. “Go and tell your father that he should hold on to his money and cancel any plans for a wedding celebration. Earl Bramshaw has no sway over me or whom I marry.”
The woman slipped the ring off her finger and handed it to him. “This is not the last you will hear from my family. Rest assured that you will pay for this, Lord Cadnam.”
Flynn raced back to where Augusta stood. He pressed the ring into the palm of her hand. “This is yours, and it always will be, Augusta, my love. I am going home to pack my things, and then I shall come and speak to your father. I promise that you and I shall be engaged before the end of this day.”
“I love you,” whispered Augusta.
He bent and kissed her once more, then a determined Flynn headed for the gates of Hyde Park.
His destination—Bramshaw House and the long overdue showdown with his father.
ChapterThirteen
Flynn’s fisted hands bashed the knocker hard against the front door of Bramshaw House. He didn’t give a damn about the passersby who grumbled about there being no need for such uncivilized force. That gentleman likely had a key to the door of his own home.
I am not going to cave to his demands. I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees for another single day.
When the head butler finally opened the door, Flynn brushed past him. “Where is Lord Bramshaw?”
He got a slow looking up and down for his troubles. The expression on the butler’s face was an all too familiar one. It spoke of him trying to decide just how big an explosion was about to go off and where best he should be when it happened. Flynn couldn’t blame the man. He had been standing in the wrong place too many times himself and suffered for it.
“His lordship is in his study. But I don’t think he wishes to be disturbed,” offered the butler.
Flynn paused. No one needed to explain what those words really meant. They were Bramshaw House staff code for ‘The earl is deep in his cups, and if you know what is best, then you will go back out the front door.’
But Flynn wasn’t in the mood for hearing any sort of caution; he was done with taking a step back. Reaching his father’s study, he didn’t bother to knock. He pushed open the door, smashing it against the wall.
The earl, who was seated behind his desk, whisky glass in hand, shot out of his chair. His eyes were glazed, but he was steady on his feet. He set the glass down with a violent thud. Dark amber liquid spilled across the wooden top, stopped only by scattered papers which began to soak the whisky up.
“What the devil are you doing?” bellowed the earl.
Flynn’s gaze went to where his father’s cane usually sat. The earl had a special one for use in this room. The bookshelf-lined walls absorbed more sound than other parts of the house, so the cane was thick. His son’s cries of pain never escaped the earl’s study.
Anger tensed Flynn’s body. He didn’t care that his brain was screaming in warning that he should flee. “You sold me into marriage. To some woman who just accosted me in the middle of Hyde Park. And who called Lady Augusta Kembal a whore!”
The earl busied himself with picking up the sodden papers and heaping them into a pile. “Yes, well Lily is a bit rough around the edges, I will grant you that. And she will take a bit of training to get her up to some sort of social standing. But once you have bedded her, I am sure she will come to heel.”
With one eye on the cane, Flynn stepped closer. He was ready to snatch the weapon up and toss it into the fire if his father made the slightest move toward it. “I am not marrying her. I am going to marry Augusta. And how dare you steal into my room and take my mother’s ring?”
Earl Bramshaw’s eyes narrowed. “How dare I? You will marry this girl, or you will be out on the street. That ring was a cheap trinket that your bitch of a mother only wore to vex me. She refused to wear the betrothal ring I gave her.”
That had Flynn hesitating for a moment. His mother had loved that ring, said it was her most precious possession other than her son.
It probably meant more to her than any jewel you could have offered.
He had never stood up to his father before today. But over the past few days, Flynn Cadnam had finally grown a spine. “I am not marrying Lily. If you want to save your fortune, then marry her yourself.”
That was a sobering thought. If his father did remarry and managed to sire another son, it could make things difficult for him. A second son would stand behind Flynn in the line of succession for the title, but who knew what mischief the earl could make for Flynn in the meantime.
The earl began to cough, his thick neck and rounded cheeks turning a deep red. He gripped the edge of the desk while his lungs demanded more air. Flynn stood impassively watching. Any other dutiful son would offer to pat the earl’s back, but not him. There wasn’t a single day when he didn’t silently wish that his father would breathe his last. No son should wish his father dead, but Flynn often did.
“I married once, never again. Women are wicked creatures. They steal men’s hearts and set them to flame,” growled the earl.
“You have to cancel the special license. I am not going through with the wedding, no matter what you say or do,” replied Flynn.
