Suddenly You(73)

Jack knew exactly what she meant. They would maintain the facade of distant friendship, work together occasionally, their relationship kept carefully impersonal. As if he had never taken her innocence. As if he had never touched and kissed her intimately, and known the sweetness of her body.

His chin jerked downward in an abbreviated nod. “Have you told Hartley about the affair?” he couldn’t help asking.

She surprised him by nodding. “He knows,” she murmured, her mouth twisting wryly. “He is a very forgiving man. A true gentleman.”

Bitterness spread through him. Would he himself have accepted the information like a gentleman? He doubted it. Charles Hartley was indeed the better man.

“Good,” he said brusquely, feeling the need to annoy her. “I would hate for him to stand in the way of our professional relationship—I foresee making a pile of money off you and your books.”

A scowl worked between her brows, and the corners of her mouth tightened. “Yes. Heaven forbid that anything should stand in the way between you and your profits. Good day, Mr. Devlin. I have much to accomplish today…Wedding arrangements to make.” She turned to leave, the white plumes on her little blue bonnet agitating with each step as she headed for the door.

Jack forbore to ask sarcastically if he would be invited to the blessed event. He watched stonily, not offering to escort her out as a gentleman should have.

Amanda paused at the doorway, looking back at him over her shoulder. For some reason, it seemed that she wanted to tell him something else. “Jack…” Her forehead was scored with a perturbed frown, and she appeared to struggle with words. Their gazes locked, troubled gray eyes staring into hard, opaque blue. Then, with a frustrated shake of her head, Amanda turned and left the office.

With his head, heart, and groin all burning, Jack made his way to his desk and sat down heavily. He fumbled in a drawer for a glass and his ever-present decanter of whiskey, and poured himself a drink.

The sweetly smoky flavor filled his mouth, soothing his throat with a hot glow as he swallowed. He finished the drink and poured another. Perhaps Fretwell was right, Jack mused sourly—a man of his position had better things to do than carry crates of books. He would forgo any kind of work today, as a matter of fact. He would simply sit here and drink, until all feeling and thought were extinguished, and the images of Amanda na**d in bed with mannerly Charles Hartley would drown in a sea of spirits.

“Mr. Devlin.” Oscar Fretwell hovered in the doorway, his bespectacled face showing concern. “I did not wish to bother you, but—”

“I’m busy,” Jack growled.

“Yes, sir. However, you have another visitor, a Mr. Francis Tode. It seems that he is a solicitor in charge of dispensing your father’s estate.”

Jack was very still, staring at the manager without blinking. Dispensing his father’s estate. There could be no reason for that unless… “Send him in,” he heard himself say in a flat tone.

The unfortunately named Mr. Tode actually did resemble an amphibian, diminutive of stature, bald, and big-jowled, with moist black eyes that were disproportionately large for his face. However, his gaze was keenly intelligent, and he wore a demeanor of gravity and responsibility that Jack immediately liked.

“Mr. Devlin.” He came forward to shake hands. “Thank you for agreeing to see me. I regret that we have not met under happier circumstances. I have come to deliver a piece of very sad news.”

“The earl is dead,” Jack said, gesturing for the solicitor to have a seat. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Tode nodded, his liquid black eyes filled with polite sympathy. “Yes, Mr. Devlin. Your father passed away in his sleep last evening.” He glanced at the whiskey bottle on Jack’s desk and added, “It seems that you have already heard.”

Jack laughed shortly at the man’s assumption that he was drinking out of grief over the passing of his father. “No, I hadn’t heard.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. “Good God, how closely you resemble your father,” the solicitor remarked, staring as if mesmerized by Jack’s hard face. “There is certainly no doubt as to who sired you.”

Moodily Jack swirled some whiskey in his glass. “Unfortunately so.”

The solicitor did not appear to be surprised by the negative comment. No doubt the earl had acquired a good many enemies during his long, pernicious lifetime, including a few bitterly discontent bastard children. “I am aware of the fact that you and the earl were…not close.”

Jack smiled slightly at the understatement and made no reply.

“However,” Tode continued, “the earl did see fit before he died to include you in his will. A token, of course, to a man of your obvious means…yet it is something of a family prize. The earl left you a country property with a small estate manor in Hertfordshire. Well situated and maintained. A jewel, really. It was built by your great-great-grandfather.”

“What an honor,” Jack murmured.

Tode ignored the sarcasm. “Your brothers and sisters certainly think so,” he replied. “Many of them had an eye on it before your father’s passing. Needless to say, they were universally surprised that he left it to you.”

Good, Jack thought with a sting of mean satisfaction. He took pleasure in having displeased the privileged group of snobs who had chosen to take so little notice of him. No doubt there was a great deal of whining and grousing about the fact that an ancient family property had been left to an illegitimate half brother.