The Heart of a Scoundrel (The Heart of a Duke #6)(2)

Waters wet his lips but said nothing.

“Five thousand pounds, your unentailed property in Hampshire.” Though Edmund had little interest or need in a country property. He didn’t leave the glittering filth of London. “Your pathetic wife’s jewelry.” The man winced. “Your eldest daughter’s dowry.”

“Have you called to collect?”

He strained to hear the man’s whisper. Edmund spread his arms wide. “Indeed, I have.”

The man closed his eyes a moment. “And you’re sure you wouldn’t want my daughter. Quite beautiful she is, quite—”

“I’m quite certain,” Edmund said, placing mocking emphasis at the man’s redundant choice of words. “I’ve little interest in your simpering—”

“Oh, no,” Waters gave his head a frantic shake. “Not simpering at all. If you care for feisty, spirited gels, my Phoebe will—”

“I’ve already stated, I have no interest in your virginal daughter,” he whispered. Though an unholy humor twisted inside him at the truth that, for a bag of coin, a man would sell even his daughter.

The viscount closed his mouth quickly and gave a jerky nod.

Edmund reclined in his seat. He captured his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He did, however, have an interest in one virgin. A particular virgin with nondescript, brown hair, a slightly crooked lower row of teeth, and a pair of dull, brown eyes. In short, an uninteresting lady who’d never hold even the hint of appeal for a practiced rogue such as himself. The only thing to set the lady apart from all other ladies—her name: Miss Honoria Fairfax. The beloved niece of Margaret, the Duchess of Monteith. That love would lead to the girl’s ruin. Another icy grin pulled at his lips. He stood, unfolding his length to display the towering six-foot four-inches that terrified lesser men, such as this coward before him.

Waters recoiled, burrowing deep into the folds of his chair.

“You see,” Edmund began, wandering casually over to the sideboard at the corner of his office. “There is something I will require of you.” He selected the nearest decanter, a half-empty bottle of brandy. He pulled out the stopper and tossed it upon the table where it landed with a thunk.

The viscount remained silent. He hungrily eyed the crystal decanter in Edmund’s hands. Only the man’s ragged, panicked breaths and the splash of liquor streaming into the crystal glass split the quiet. Bottle and brandy in hand, Edmund wandered back over to his desk and propped a hip on the edge. He took a sip. “Miss Fairfax,” he said at last.

The man cocked his head and with confused eyes, looked about as though expecting to find the lady in question there. “Miss Fairfax?” he repeated.

Edmund swirled the contents of his glass. “I’d like something that belongs to Miss Fairfax.” Her good name. Her virtue, and more—the agony of Margaret knowing her beloved niece would be forever bound to the man she’d thrown over for another. A thrill ran through him as the sweet taste of revenge danced within his grasp. Unfortunately for Miss Fairfax, she had rotten blood running through her veins and, as such, would pay the ultimate price for her aunt’s crimes.

“I don’t know a Miss Fairfax,” the man blurted.

Edmund stilled his hand mid-movement and he peered at the viscount over the rim of his brandy. It, of course, did not surprise him the man should fail to note those minute details of his daughter’s life. Likely, his lack of notice would result in that quite lovely daughter he’d described with her legs spread wide for some unscrupulous rogue.

“Beg p-pardon,” the man said on a panicky rush. “I—”

“Miss Fairfax is a friend of your daughter’s,” he interrupted. He glanced across the room at the long-case clock, ready to be done with this exchange.

Lord Waters scratched his brow. “She is?” He frowned and Edmund could practically see the wheels of the man’s empty mind turning. Then, an understanding lit his unintelligent eyes.

“Not the beautiful one,” he said of the other young woman Waters’ daughter considered a friend. It really was quite unfortunate the stunning Lady Gillian Farendale, whose sister had been jilted by some worthless cad, was not, in fact, the one he sought. He’d have delighted in taking his pleasure in that lady’s body.

“Ah, the other one.” The man guffawed. “A taste for the ugly ones, do you?” he said with a crude laugh. “Then, they’re all the same when you have them under you.” He dissolved into a paroxysm of laughter. “That one has lovely bosom.” That fact likely accounted for the modest scrap of hideous fabric the lady donned with a nauseating regularity. A shame the young lady went through the trouble to hide her one mentionable attribute. Though convenient, considering the important plans he had for Miss Fairfax and her shawl. He eyed the man through hooded lashes until the demmed fool registered Edmund’s dark displeasure.

His laughter faded and he swallowed audibly once more. “I know the one,” he said. He gave his cravat a tug. “Th-though my daughter has large bosom as well and is far prettier than the Fairfax chit. Are you sure—?”

Edmund fixed an icy glower on the man that forced him into silence. Then, he took a long, slow swallow of his drink and set the empty glass down. Folding his arms across his chest, Edmund stood over the man in a method he’d long used to rouse terror in much stronger men than this coward before him. “She wears a shawl.” He dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. “I would like that shawl.” Once he had that piece of fabric in his possession, it would set his calculated plan into motion. And from there, he would have more. A devilish excitement stirred in his chest.