Page 30 of The Vagabond Viscount
He took a deep breath, doing his best to steady his rapidly fraying nerves. So many nights he had imagined standing up to the earl and challenging his father’s tyranny, vanquishing him with his clever words. But the courage of his dreams wasn’t the same as the truth of reality. His father didn’t cave in an instant.
“No? Well, here is your choice, my lad.” Earl Bramshaw moved back behind his desk, his hand settling on the grip of the top drawer. He opened it and took out a knife. Flynn’s gaze locked on the short, deadly blade. He had seen his father use it to cut meat from the bones for his dogs. In that capacity it was an everyday hunting knife, but in this moment, it transformed into something else.
A threat. A warning. A weapon.
His father’s large fingers closed over the knife, and raising it, he began to twirl it round his fingers. For a nobleman, he had far too much skill with handling such a sharp, brutal weapon. “Your choice, Viscount Cadnam, is this,” he sneered. “Either marry the chit and in doing so settle my debts, or I will cut you out of my life for good.”
That last remark was delivered as he lifted the knife and plunged it deep into the pile of wet papers. It made a sickening sound, and Flynn was reminded of being a young boy and watching the Bramshaw Hall farmhands as they carved up a fresh kill from the estate’s livestock. His stomach churned.
Get a grip. He is just trying to intimidate you.
His father’s words didn’t hold the same power they normally did. He didn’t cower or beg. Flynn straightened his back. For the first time in his life, he held his father’s disapproving eye.
I will not live under his violent hand a minute longer.
“So be it. I will go and pack my things. I swear that after I depart this house today, I won’t set foot back inside while you still draw a mortal breath. The next time I walk through the front door will be when I am Earl Bramshaw.” Flynn bowed to his father, then turned for the door.
Today he would take his meager belongings and leave. He would go straight to Mowbray House and speak to the Duke of Mowbray. As long as he and Augusta were together, nothing else mattered.
From behind him came a bellow of fiery anger and unrestrained rage. Blinding pain shot through Flynn’s back, and he dropped to his knees. Wincing through a haze of searing agony, he caught sight of the earl as he stepped in front of Flynn and raised the knife for a second time.
“You will never leave this house alive,” roared his father.
Blackness descended, and Flynn knew no more.
ChapterFourteen
Augusta had sat up late into the night, watching out the window of her bedroom, waiting, looking for any sign of Flynn. Victoria had stayed up with her until the early hours, but when she had eventually fallen asleep, her face pressed against the glass, Augusta had told her to go to bed. Until Flynn arrived, there was nothing either of them could do.
The following morning, a bleary-eyed Augusta took her place at the breakfast table. She struggled through several cups of tea. When the Mowbray House head butler brought in the morning mail, she sat up in her chair, eager to see if a note had been sent from Bramshaw House. Gideon received several letters, but there was nothing for her. No news from Flynn.
Not a word. Flynn, don’t fail me. Not now. Please.
While Coco and Richard happily exchanged details of their respective plans for the day, Augusta glanced at Victoria. The sad smile her sister offered from across the table had her swallowing down a lump of dread.
He said he was going home to pack and then come here. Where can he be?
Her mind was running at a furious pace. Had Flynn done as her dark fears whispered and caved to his father’s demands? Was the man she loved right this very minute standing in front of a priest and saying his wedding vows to another woman? That horrid thought had Augusta pushing her untouched plate of food away.
What will I do if that is what has happened?
“Are you coming shopping with us this morning, Augusta?” asked Coco.
Augusta envied Coco for her happy ignorant bliss. Her sister hadn’t a care in the world past where her next pretty bonnet came from. “I don’t think so, Coco. I’m not feeling the best this morning.”
Gideon cleared his throat. “Are you ill, Augusta? You look quite pale and drawn. I can’t say walking in Hyde Park late on a chilly day is the wisest of things to be undertaking. You seemed quite distracted when you got home yesterday.”
Trust her brother to cut to the chase. Gideon had never shared her opinion that getting out and going for a long walk was beneficial to one’s health. Unlike Flynn, he was far more inclined to take the carriage.
Flynn.
Where are you?
Not knowing was slowly killing her. He had said he was going home to confront his father. If he’d had it out with the earl, he should at least have sent word by now.
Apart from Victoria, no one else at the table had the slightest clue as to Augusta’s distress. And with everyone still in the dark regarding the nature of her and Flynn’s relationship, it was near impossible for her to raise the subject of the viscount without also raising suspicions.
“I hope you will be feeling well enough to go out tonight. I’ve heard the party at Lord and Lady Browne’s is being catered for by a hot new French chef. He is rumored to be one of the best pastry chefs in all of Europe. They paid a fortune to bring him over for the next six months and are planning a series of special banquets for the coming season,” said Victoria.
