He sat in the chair directly across from Langford and waited silently.
Langford’s fingers twitched against the baize. “I object to being forced here in the dead of night by your henchmen.”
“I did not think you would answer an invitation.”
“You were correct.” When Michael did not reply, Langford sighed. “I assume you’ve called me here to gloat about Falconwell?”
“Among other things.” Michael reached into his coat pocket, removed the evidence of Tommy’s birth, running the paper through his fingers.
“I confess, I was surprised you’d stoop to marrying the Marbury girl, even for Falconwell. She’s not exactly a prize.” He paused. “But the land was the goal, was it not? Well-done. The ends justify the means, I suppose.”
Michael’s teeth clenched at the words, so close to the way he’d described their marriage at the beginning of this journey. He hated the echo, the reminder that he was just as much of a beast as Langford.
Don’t do this. Penelope’s words echoed through him, a pleading request, and he stilled, feeling the aging edges of the paper against the pad of his thumb. You are so much more than you think. Michael turned the square of paper over in his hand, considering the words, his wife’s blue eyes pleading with him to be more. Better. Worthy.
I love you. Her last weapon against his revenge.
Curiosity made Langford impatient. “Come on, boy. What is it?”
And with the quick, curt words, Michael was twenty-one again, facing this man, wanting to crush him. Only this time, he had the power to do so. With a flick of a wrist, he let the letter fly across the table with perfect aim.
Langford captured it, unfolded, read. He did not look up. “Where did you get this?”
“You may have my lands, but you do not have my power.”
“It will ruin me.”
“That is my dearest hope.” Michael waited for the moment of victory. For surprise and regret to flash across the other man’s face before he looked up from the paper and admitted defeat. But when Langford met Michael’s gaze over the yellowed parchment, it was not defeat that shone in his eyes.
It was admiration. “How long have you been waiting for this moment?”
Michael shuttered his gaze, forcing himself to lean back in his chair, shielding his surprise. “Since you took everything from me.”
“Since you lost everything to me,” Langford corrected.
“I was a child then, with only a handful of games behind me,” Michael said, anger rising. “No longer. I know now that you pushed the game. That you threw it, let me win until it was all there in one enormous bet.”
“You think I cheated?”
Michael’s gaze did not waver. “I know you did.”
A ghost of a smile—enough to prove Michael right—crossed Langford’s lips before he returned his attention to the damning paper. “So now you know. The child was my brother’s whelp, born of a local farmer’s daughter. The woman I married was useless—large enough dowry but unable to birth a child. I paid the girl and took the child as my own. Better false heir than none at all.”
Tommy had always been different from this man, never as cool, never as calculating. Now it all made sense, and Michael found that somewhere, deep within, buried where he did not think there was emotion to be found, he felt sympathy for the boy who had once been his friend—the boy who had tried so hard to be a son to his father.
The viscount went on. “There were only a handful of people who were close enough to recognize that my wife never bred.” He lifted the note, a small smile on his lips. “I see now that even they were not to be trusted.”
“Perhaps they decided it was you who was without honor.”
One of Langford’s brows rose. “You continue to blame me?”
“You continue to deserve it.”
“Come now,” Langford scoffed. “Look around you. You built this place; you rebuilt your life, your fortunes. What would you do if you were forced to give them away? To pass them off to someone who’d never had a hand in their growth? In their success? Are you saying you would not do the very same thing I did?” The older man set the paper to the table. “It would be a lie. You have as little conscience as I, and there’s the proof.”
He leaned back in his chair. “It’s a shame I was saddled with Tommy and not you; you would have made me a fine son, with how well you learned the lessons I taught you.”
Michael resisted the urge to recoil at the words, at the implication that he and Langford were similar, even as he recognized their truth. And loathed it.