Page 52 of Sinfully Wed
Holly bowed and exited. Tamsin’s choice of butler ran the Emerson household with military precision and little drama. He was fierce in his protection of the family, seeing it as his sworn duty to ensure the safety of Tamsin and Aurora. Important since Jordan was often caught up in the duties long neglected by Bentley. Lady Longwood had not been able to place her slippered foot inside Jordan’s front door again thanks to Holly.
Drew was not often in residence. This week, it was to a house party hosted by Lady Robley. Jordan didn’t want to know how his brother had received an invitation; he assumed it was while rolling about the sheets with the countess. His younger brother was going to get shot by a jealous husband one day if he wasn’t more careful.
“Mr. Patchahoo,” Jordan said in greeting as he entered the drawing room. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Mrs. Cherry is making a roast tonight. You’re free to join us if you like.”
“I couldn’t, my lord.” A small blush crawled up the solicitor’s cheeks.
“Liar.” Jordan strolled towards the sidebar, giving a fleeting glance to the portrait of his parents in a field of daisies, once more in its proper place above the fireplace. Holly found it beneath a sheet in the attic. Thank goodness Bentley hadn’t sold it or destroyed it out of spite. “Brandy?”
Patchahoo nodded, studying the portrait of Lord and Lady Emerson before turning back to Jordan. “My lord, there is a matter of some urgency on which I must speak.”
“Not the contract with Whitehall, is it? Did he try to add something else to it? That I must bed his daughter at least twice monthly or some nonsense? Consummation of the marriage wasn’t included in the original agreement, as I recall. An oversight on his part.”
Guilt he shouldn’t feel gnawed at Jordan. Not for nearly lifting Odessa’s skirts in that tiny alcove at Lady Curchon’s; that particular desire hadn’t abated. But his loss of temper after. Jordan had lashed out at her, the resentment towards Whitehall, Dunnings, and even Bentley erupting out of him in a great wave.
The solicitor’s color deepened. “No, my lord. The contract, as I said before, only dictates your treatment of Miss Whitehall before and up to the wedding. Making her Lady Emerson seems to have been Whitehall’s main concern. There is the provision that he will,” Patchahoo cleared his throat, “reward you for every child. Handsomely. But that is more—”
“Inducement,” Jordan interjected. “A reward for bedding his daughter and getting her with child. He mentioned it to me. I find it rather disgusting.”
“As do I, my lord. But rest assured, the marriage contract is solid. Duly witnessed. Not a farthing can be added to the debt owed to Whitehall. The amount has been agreed upon. Miss Whitehall’s dowry will transfer to you on the day of your marriage.”
Every single pound, every marker of Bentley’s, no matter how obscure, been accounted for and double checked by Patchahoo. No mysterious sums could suddenly make an appearance. No loans were to be made by Whitehall to any member of the Sinclair family. No business dealings of any kind. Whitehall assumed, wrongly of course, that paying Jordan for every child Odessa delivered would guarantee his influence for years to come.
Only a few days ago, Whitehall claimed to find yet another marker of Bentley’s. A sleight of hand Patchahoo had firmly refused, referring to the already signed contract. Whitehall fumed. Threatened. But Jordan’s solicitor held firm. The terms had been set.
“I cannot wait to be rid of Angus Whitehall and his daughter.” The thought gave Jordan a slightly hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Things would have been much easier if Odessa had stayed a smelly, undesirable troll possessed of macabre tendencies. The desire for each other at Lady Curchon’s, thefiercenessof it, shocked Jordan. He had only touched Odessa to prove a point. That he couldhaveOdessa but didn’t choose to. Things may have gotten out of hand. Words were spoken that should not have been. Dunnings had been revisited.
Odessa’s face, her shock at his tirade, had been genuine. She didn’t know what Angus Whitehall had done to bring Jordan to her door. He accused her of causing Bentley’s accidentandthreatened Captain Phillips. No good ever came of Jordan losing his temper.
“You plan to reside at River Crest, my lord? Not in London after the wedding? I will assume that Miss Whitehall will remain in town.”
“Yes, but not here.” Jordan circled his hand around the room. “Find her a house with a fashionable address. A small staff. A sum will need to be set aside for her every month. I want no further contact with Miss Whitehall or her father. Whitehall gets a title for his daughter and nothing else.”
That was his revenge on Whitehall for beggaring Bentley and forcing Jordan to wed Odessa. He could not be allowed to win, under any circumstances. Thumbing his nose at Whitehall, assured that his adversary was not only powerless but beaten, was the only outcome satisfactory to Jordan.
The sound of Odessa in that small alcove, her muted cries of arousal and the press of her body against his, flitted through his mind. The unexpected desire for her twisted mercilessly around his cock. He should never have touched her.
“Find her a house,” Jordan bit out, trying to staunch his arousal at the mere thought of Odessa. “I can’t have her in this house if I’m in London.” The knowledge that she would be under the same roof would be too tempting.
“I understand, my lord.” Patchahoo turned once more to the portrait of Jordan’s parents. “As I said, there is a matter of some urgency I need to discuss.” He held up a hand. “Urgency may be incorrect, my lord. More curious, I think, in nature, but the matter requires your attention.”
“I am most intrigued.” Jordan handed Patchahoo a brandy before settling himself in a chair.
“Lord Emerson, your father, was a client of my firm for many years before his death. Bentley inherited us, so to speak, with the title. I was only a clerk when I met your father and the first time I learned of Dunnings. A useless, forgotten estate in Northumberland of little note, according to my superiors.”
“I lived at Dunnings for over a decade, Patchahoo. I’m aware of the estate’s limitations.”
“But did you know.” Patchahoo gestured to the portrait of Jordan’s smiling father in a field of daisies. “That Lord Emerson refused to sell Dunnings?”
“Fortunate, else I’m not sure what other region of Hell Bentley might have sent us all to.”
“There were at least two offers prior to your father’s death, both for ridiculous amounts. Worth far more than Dunnings merited. I suppose that is what made him curious.” Patchahoo regarded Jordan with an odd look. “And me, suspicious. I was put in charge of your brother’s affairs roughly a year or so before his death. Bentley instructed me to sell Dunnings.” The solicitor cleared his throat. He twitched, clearly uncomfortable.
Jordan shrugged. “As I expected Bentley would have. He cared nothing for us, Patchahoo, and would have been more than happy to see us tossed into the streets. You shouldn’t feel bad about following his orders. He was your employer.”
“Yes, but Bentleydidreceive a handful of offers for Dunnings, or rather, I did on his behalf. I declined them all without his knowledge.”
Jordan’s glass paused at his lips, surprised at Patchahoo’s confession. The solicitor was one of the few honest gentlemen left in England. “How out of character for you.”
