Page 133 of Thief of the Ton
“What wouldyouknow about decency, honor, and friendship, boy?”
“A damned sight more than you!” Peregrine cried. “You set out to ruin de Grande because you envied him. But you couldn’t leave it at that, could you? Not content with relieving the man of nearly everything he owned, you saw fit to claim for yourself that which you knew he cared for the most—the token of his late wife’s love.”
“I don’t know what you—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Peregrine roared.
Crockery clattered, followed by a cry, as the footman dropped a tray laden with dishes, which shattered as they fell to the floor.
“You think I’ve never heard of bid rigging?” Peregrine continued.
The earl averted his gaze. “Heard ofwhat?”
The old bastard was lying. Over the years of investigating thefts, Peregrine had learned that a man exhibited a certain type of behavior when attempting to spin a falsehood…a clearing of the throat, a tapping of the fingers, or a furtive glance to one side.
“Don’t take me for a fool, Father,” he said. “A Louis XVI mantel clock must be worth at least a hundred guineas, but you secured it with a bid of two shillings. How did you manage that?”
Father glanced to one side again. “Good fortune.”
“A man makes his own good fortune,” Peregrine said. “Isn’t that what you told me when I was a child? But you…” He gestured toward his father. “You made yours at the expense of an innocent man.”
The earl resumed his attention on the plate in front of him. “I care not what you think.”
“You never did,” Peregrine said, “but I’ll wager the partners at Griffin & Sons would have something to say if they knew what you did. They don’t take kindly to bid rigging. What did you do—collude with Hythe, Francis, and the others? Or did you threaten the other bidders at the auction?”
“I don’t stoop to violence, boy!”
“That doesn’t absolve you, Father. You’re no better than the man on the street who robs a passerby. In fact, you’re worse. You didn’t do it to feed your family, or to save yourself—you did it out of gratification of seeing your former friend suffer.”
“And what if I did?” the earl said. “De Grande had what I wanted!”
“He hadwhatyou wanted?” Peregrine shook his head in disgust. “To you, Lady de Grande was a commodity—a possession you envied, rather than a woman you loved. Dear God, Father—I always knew you were a bastard, but I had no idea exactly what kind of bastard you are.”
He thrust his hand into his pocket, then drew out two coins and tossed them across the table.
“What’s this?” the earl asked.
“Two shillings—in lieu of the clock.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“It never should have been,” Peregrine said. He turned and approached the door, shouldering past the footman.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the earl demanded.
“Outside,” Peregrine replied. “I’m in need of air. The atmosphere stinks in here, and I don’t mean the bacon.”
“But you’ll be back?”
“No, Father. After today, I never intend to come back to this place—until the day I can be assured thatyou’llnot be here to plague me.”
The earl paled as he caught Peregrine’s meaning. “Son, y-you don’t mean that…”
“When haveIever lied, Father?”
Ignoring the plea in the old man’s eyes, Peregrine exited the breakfast room. His father might be old, but age had not tempered his selfishness. The sooner Father left England, the better. Peregrine had no wish to set eyes on the man again.
Once outside, he drew in a lungful of fresh air. Though he longed to leave Marlow Park as soon as possible, he’d already ridden Poseidon to the brink of his endurance, and Houseman had taken the carriage. He’d have to remain at Marlow Park for another day. But that didn’t mean he had to be in the same room as the bastard who’d sired him.
