Page 10 of The Wrong Rake
More than that, he had used Simon’s name. Every quiz in Bath could go to the devil too, as far as Simon was concerned, but still…he had used Simon’s name.
And very likely, the bills from his stay in Bath would be arriving on Simon’s doorstep shortly.
It was the outside of enough.
And if dealing with Adam required Simon to go to Standish and learn the details of Adam’s misbehavior, and then resolve the matter and earn Standish’s gratitude, well then—that would be…acceptable.
Abandoning the bills and ledgers where they lay, Simon charged out of his office, determined to go at once to see Standish. He would be businesslike and serious, revealing no ulterior motives for his visit whatsoever.
Because he had none, needless to say.
He had only just finished tying his cravat, having been working in his shirtsleeves with no neckcloth or coat, when he heard a knock at the front door.
Simon’s heart gave an unsteady lurch. Standish? Perhaps. Probably not. Still, he made quick work of shrugging on a blue coat that made him look rather dashing, he thought, and made for the stairs.
But as he reached the head of them, a familiar voice drifted up to him—and not Standish’s.
Adam’s voice.
Shock and disappointment crashed over him, followed quickly by rage.
Bloody Adam! How dare he show his face after this most recent debacle! He ought to have been hiding from Simon and fearing his retribution, not coming to call on him.
And this couldn’t possibly be a less convenient moment. Without knowing precisely what Adam had been doing in Bath under Simon’s name, he’d be at a decided disadvantage.
It would be no use to hide; the servants hadn’t been warned that he wanted not to be at home to callers, and one’s own brother couldn’t be turned away like a tradesman, no matter how detestable he might be. Simon clattered down the stairs in a towering temper, ready to wring Adam’s neck.
Only to come to a sudden halt when he reached the foot of the stairs and Adam turned to look at him.
Because it seemed that someone else had already made the attempt, or something close to it. One of Adam’s eyes had swollen shut, surrounded by puffy red and purple bruising. A cut across the bridge of his nose and a split lower lip completed the destruction.
Simon’s chest squeezed, his heart sinking down into the soles of his boots.
Had Standish done this? Had he departed Perdition after fucking Simon’s mouth and leaving him a note promising, essentially, to behave like a gentleman, and then done…this?
In the shock of it, he nearly forgot his fury; if nothing else, his anger would need to wait.
“What the devil happened to you?” Simon demanded without thinking as Adam stepped forward. “Who did this? A tall fellow, red hair?”
Adam gaped at him for a moment, blinking, his uninjured eyelid moving while the swollen one stayed in place. It made a grotesque sight. “Yes,” he said after a pause. “Yes, he was, a veritable animal! Some associate of yours, I presume?” His good eye gleamed, a small smile curling up the corners of his mouth, the split in his lip beginning to bleed again. “You’ll need to make it up to me, Simon, and I happen to need a few hundred pounds.”
And that brought Simon back down to earth with a jarring thud.
The other night, he’d cut Standish off when he’d been about to provide details of the timing of the affair with his sister, knowing that his suspicions would be raised if Caesar gave too pat an alibi for Simon’s movements.
And now, like an idiot, he’d done the same to himself: in his anger and shock, he’d fed Adam precisely what he needed to play into Simon’s assumptions and, of course, extort a large sum of money from him.
Good God, but he despised his brother some days.
Most days, really.
And if Standish’s story wasn’t exaggerated…what a bastard. Although Simon couldn’t even hope that was literally true. They looked too much alike not to be full siblings, unfortunately.
Simon hadnotbecome part-owner of a successful club through this sort of stupidity, damn it all. It was time to show a trifle of the shrewdness and self-control, not to mention the ability to dissemble, that had gotten him here in the first place.
“What in God’s name did the fellow say to you to justify this outrage?” Simon asked, summoning the appearance of sympathy from—somewhere. The sight of a face so nearly identical to his own all bloodied and bruised turned his stomach, and anger and doubt put his mind in a whirl. But he had to give Adam enough rope to hang himself with—at least until he could see Standish. “Did he give you a reason for assaulting you? I presume you gave a good account for yourself, and that he’s as bruised as you.”
Adam let out a false-sounding little laugh. “Of course I did. I mean, perhaps it’ll not show as well. But I landed him a decent facer or two.”
