Page 43 of Feathers in the Wind
Adam shrugged. What could he say? Nothing that would excuse the fact he intended to cuckold his brother.
‘She crooked her finger and I followed. I’m not proud of that but I was young, Denzil.’
Denzil studied him from narrowed eyes. ‘I s’pose I would have done the same thing if I’d been you. It's the sort of thing I would do. I’m not exactly a faithful husband. I’ve a boy you know?’
‘Robin told me.’
‘A little bastard like you. Louise won’t let me bring him to Marchants so I pay his mother an allowance. He lives well enough.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Charles.’ Denzil laid his head back against the chair. ‘I’m a fool, Adam. A fool with a beautiful, venal woman for a wife who just has to click her fingers and I’m at her feet like a slathering lap dog.’
Adam leaned forward. ‘Denzil, for what it’s worth, if I had my time again...’
Denzil looked at him. ‘Well, you had time to regret it, didn’t you? I knew you weren’t dead, you know. They wanted a ransom. I told Father not to pay it.’ He frowned and pressed his right forefinger to the surface of the table. ‘No, that’s not right. Louise persuaded me it was better to leave you to rot in Germany. I told everyone you were dead, even Father.’
Adam let a long silence pass between them and when he did speak, he kept his voice low and flat to hide the anger that welled inside him. ‘You left me to rot? You let Father die thinking I was dead? I’m not sure whose crime is worse, Denzil.’
Denzil traced an imaginary line across the table top. ‘I genuinely thought you were dead. I had a report that you had died of fever in Leipzig. Only found out you had survived after father had died and I had a letter telling me of your release.’
Liar, thought Adam as Denzil’s gaze remained fixed on the table top.
‘Do you have any idea what I endured in that accursed place?’ Adam pushed back the sleeves of his shirt and held out his wrists to his brother. ‘Do you know what these scars are? Manacles, Denzil. And there are other scars I could show you.’ He broke off, the years of injustice and suppressed fury seething to the surface. ‘You speak of being jealous of me, but do you have any idea what I had to do to make myself worthy of father’s attention? Then you let him die thinking I was dead.’
He struggled to control his anger. Was that what Denzil was trying to do? Provoke him into violence?
He wouldn’t—couldn’t—give his brother and his wife that satisfaction.
He drew a long, slow steadying breath. ‘As I see it, Denzil, the table between us is now clear of debt. I owe you nothing, nothing at all.’
Denzil toyed with the now empty wine bottle. ‘You’re right. I’m not proud of my actions, or my inactions,’ he said, ‘but I had Louise to consider. I do love her, you know.’
‘So you say, but you’re not in love with Louise,’ Adam said. ‘Not really. You’re in lust with Louise. There is a huge difference. She has your balls in her vice and you just go where she leads you.’
‘You’re right of course. I would do anything for her. Anything,’ Denzil said.
Adam fixed his stepbrother with an unblinking gaze. ‘Even kill me?’
Denzil looked up at him from underneath his shaggy fringe and nodded, his face grim. ‘Louise hates you.’
‘I do know that,’ Adam said with an ironic twist of his lips.
Denzil flung himself out of the chair and paced the room. He stopped, resting his knuckles on the table, and leaned forward, his face only inches from Adam’s. ‘Damn it. I should have just shot you when I had the chance. Saved us all this trouble.’ He turned away and slumped back into his chair. ‘You know what? I couldn't. I couldn't damn well shoot you in cold blood. You’re my brother.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘In fact, I’m going to let you go.’
Adam raised an eyebrow.
Denzil waved a finger. ‘Well, not me.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘I’ve had an idea. Get yourself ready to leave, Coulter. I’ll be back shortly.’
* * *
Perdita slept badly,haunted by dreams of Louise's green eyes and a hangman's noose. In the dark of the night she awoke in a sweat to hear footsteps outside her door. The catch on her door jiggled. She lay motionless, rigid with terror as the door opened. Even in the dim light of the night candle that he carried, she recognised Denzil’s bulky figure in the doorway and her heart raced with terror. Had he come to kill her, or worse?
The floorboards creaked as he walked across to the bed. He raised the candle and looked down at her. Perdita screwed her eyes tight, bracing herself for what was to come.
He shook her shoulder. ‘I know you're awake. I want you to come with me,’ he slurred.
She sat up, catching the bedclothes up to her chin, her voice unnaturally high and tight. ‘What do you intend to do with me?’
