Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(11)

“Of course it is. You’ll seize on any excuse to sell Eversby Priory because you don’t want to take on a challenge.”

“It’s only a challenge when there’s some small hope of success. This is a debacle. The list of creditors is longer than my bloody arm, the coffers are empty, and the annual yields have been cut in half.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re planning to sell the estate to settle personal debts that have nothing to do with Eversby Priory.”

Devon’s hands knotted with the urge to destroy something. His rising bloodlust would only be satisfied with the sound of shattering objects. He had never faced a situation like this, and there was no one to give him trustworthy advice, no kindly aristocratic relation, no knowledgeable friends in the peerage. And this woman could only accuse and insult him.

“I had no debt,” he growled, “until I inherited this mess. God’s bollocks, did your idiot husband never explain any of the estate’s issues to you? Were you completely ignorant of how dire the situation was when you married him? No matter – someone has to face reality, and Christ help us all, it seems to be me.” He turned his back on her and returned to the desk. “Your presence isn’t wanted,” he said without looking back. “You will leave now.”

“Eversby Priory has survived four hundred years of revolutions and foreign wars,” he heard Kathleen say contemptuously, “and now it will take but one self-serving rake to bring it all to ruins.”

As if he were entirely to blame for the situation. As if he alone would be accountable for the estate’s demise. Damn her to hell.

With effort, Devon swallowed back his outrage. Deliberately he stretched out his legs with relaxed indolence and glanced at his brother. “West, are we quite certain that Cousin Theo perished in a fall?” he asked coolly. “It seems far more likely that he froze to death in the marital bed.”

West chuckled, not above the enjoyment of a malicious quip.

Totthill and Fogg, for their part, kept their gazes down.

Kathleen crossed the threshold and sent the door shuddering with a violent slam.

“Brother,” West said with mock chiding, “that was beneath you.”

“Nothing’s beneath me,” Devon replied, stone-faced. “You know that.”

For a long time after Totthill and Fogg had left, Devon remained at the desk and brooded. Opening an account book, he paged through it without absorbing anything. He was barely aware of the moment when West wandered out of the study, yawning and grumbling. Feeling strangled, Devon unknotted his necktie with a few impatient tugs and opened the front of his collar.

Christ, how he wanted to be back at his London terrace, where everything was well maintained and comfortable and familiar. If Theo were still the earl, and he were still merely the black sheep cousin, he would have gone for a morning ride on the Hyde Park bridle path, and afterward he might have enjoyed a good meal at his club. Later he would have met with friends to watch a boxing match or a horse race, attend the theater, and chase after lightskirts. No responsibility, nothing to worry about.

Nothing to lose.

The sky rumbled as if to underscore his sullen spirits. Devon cast a murderous glance at the window. Rain-tumbled air had pushed inland to settle over the downs, darkening the sky to vestment-black. It would be a ripper of a storm.

“My lord.” A timid rap at the doorjamb drew his attention.

Recognizing Helen, Devon rose to his feet. He tried to make his expression pleasant. “Lady Helen.”

“Forgive me for disturbing you.”

“Come in.”

Helen entered the room cautiously. Her gaze swerved to the window before moving back to him. “Thank you, my lord. I came to tell you that with the storm moving in so fast, I would like to send out a footman to search for Kathleen.”

Devon frowned. He hadn’t been aware that Kathleen had left the house. “Where is she?”

“She has gone to visit the tenant farm on the other side of the hill. She took a basket of broth and elderberry wine to Mrs. Lufton, who is recovering from childbirth fever. I asked Kathleen if I could accompany her, but she insisted on walking alone. She said she needed the solitude.” Helen’s fingers wove together into a pale knot. “She should have returned by now, but the weather has come in so quickly that I fear she might be caught out in it.”

There was nothing in the world that Devon would love more than the sight of Kathleen rain-soaked and bedraggled. He had to restrain himself from rubbing his hands together in villainous glee.

“There’s no need to send a footman,” he said casually. “I’m certain that Lady Trenear will have the sense to stay at the tenant farm until the rain passes.”

“Yes, but the downs will have turned to mud.”

Better and better. Kathleen, wading through mud and clay. Devon fought to keep his expression grave, when inside all was joy and exploding Roman candles. He went to the window. No rain yet, but dark clouds seeped through the sky like ink on wet parchment. “We’ll wait a bit longer. She could return momentarily.”

Lightning bolts pierced the firmament, a trio of brilliant jagged streaks accompanied by a series of cracks that sounded like shattering glass.

Helen drew closer. “My lord, I am aware that you and my sister-in-law exchanged words earlier —”