He should have seen it, of course. Should have imagined that Thomas Alles was still in Penelope’s world. In her life. Should have expected that he would have angled for Falconwell the moment it was removed from his inheritance.
So he’d proposed to her, and she’d accepted, foolish girl, likely thinking that she loved him—the boy to whom she’d been a friend for so long. Wasn’t that what silly girls dreamed? To marry the boy they’d known since childhood? The simple, friendly companion, the safe friend who never demanded anything but laughter?
“Still bound by Papa’s purse strings, Tom? Had to run off and marry a girl to get yourself an estate? My estate?”
“It hasn’t been yours for a decade,” Tommy spat. “And you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve her.”
A memory flashed. He, Tommy, and Penelope in a little boat on the middle of the lake at Falconwell, Tommy standing precariously on the bow of the craft, professing to be a great sea captain, Penelope laughing, her blond hair shining gold in the afternoon sunlight, all her attention on the other boy.
Watching her, Bourne had grasped the sides of the rowboat, rocking it once, twice, three times, and Tommy had lost his footing and fallen into the lake with a shout. Tommy! Penelope had cried, rushing to the edge of the boat as the boy came to the surface, laughing and gasping for air. She’d looked back, censure in her gaze, all her focus on Bourne. That was unkind.
He extinguished the memory, returning his attention to the present day, to toppling Tommy once more. He should be pleased that he’d snatched one more thing from Tommy’s grasp, but it was not pleasure that coursed through him; it was fury.
Fury that Tommy had nearly had what was Bourne’s. Falconwell. Penelope. His gaze narrowed. “Nonetheless, both the land and the lady are mine. You and your father are too late.”
Tommy took a step toward him, coming up to his full height, a match for Bourne. “This has nothing to do with Langford.”
“Don’t fool yourself. This has everything to do with Langford. You think he did not expect me to come after Falconwell the moment Needham won it? Of course he did. And he must also know that I will not stop until I’ve ruined him.” He paused, considering this man who had once been his friend. “And ruined you, in the process.”
Something flashed in Tommy’s gaze, something close to understanding. “You will take pleasure in it, I have no doubt. Pleasure in destroying her, as well.”
Bourne crossed his arms over his chest. “My goals are clear—Falconwell and revenge on your father. That you and Penelope stand in the way of those things is unfortunate indeed.”
“I shan’t let you hurt her.”
“How noble of you. What will you do, ferret her away? Guinevere to your Lancelot? Tell me, was he born on the wrong side of the blanket as well?”
Tommy went still at the words. “So that is your plan; you destroy my father by destroying me.”
Bourne raised a brow. “His legacy for mine. His son for my father’s.”
“You’ve a faulty memory if you think he ever thought of me as a son of his heart.” The words rang true—in all of their youth, Langford had never had a kind word for Tommy. He’d been a cold, hard man.
Bourne no longer cared. “It matters not what he thought. What matters is what the world thinks. Without you, he has nothing.”
Tommy rocked back on one heel, his jaw setting square, a quiet echo of the boy he’d once been. “You’re a scoundrel; I’m a gentleman. They’ll never believe you.”
“They will when I show them proof.”
Tommy’s brows knitted together. “There is no proof.”
“You are welcome to test that theory.”
Tommy’s jaw clenched and he took a step forward, anger propelling him toward Bourne, who dodged the blow before Bruno came out of the darkness to stay the inevitable brawl. The men stared down the bodyguard’s massive arms at each other. “What do you want from me?” Tommy asked.
“There is nothing you have that I want.” Bourne paused, letting the silence taunt his foe. “I’ve Falconwell and revenge and Penelope. And you’ve nothing.”
“She was mine before she was yours,” Tommy said, anger in his tone. “All those years without you . . . she still had me. And when she sees who you are . . . what you’ve become . . . she will turn to me again.”
Bourne loathed the idea that Tommy and Penelope had remained friends, even after Bourne had lost everything, even after he’d been unable to return to Surrey and resume his place—the third point of their triangle. “You’re a brave man to threaten me.” He looked to Bruno. “See him out.”