Jessica Howerty fell for her brother's best friend when she was a young girl, and never quite recovered. Now, all grown-up, she knows that a disreputable rake like Jacob Hurst is the last thing she should want. After two seasons in London, she's tir...
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Feeling in need of a drink that evening, Jacob made his way to the library where he knew his father kept a cupboard with excellent brandy. The library took up nearly the entire length of the principal part of the manor and had windows facing the courtyard, letting in ample light during daytime for reading. Despite not being a man with much patience for reading, he had always quite liked the room and always spent a lot of time in there whenever he was visiting Holcombe. His father, who in fact did read a lot, would usually bring the books to his private chambers or his study, which had suited them both well and neither had objected to the arrangement. Upon entering the library tonight, it dismayed him to find his father sitting in a comfortable chair with a book in his hands.
"I beg your pardon," he muttered and turned back. "I didn't realise you were here. I will lea—"
"Come now," his father interrupted somewhat impatiently. "Surely we can stand spending a few moments alone in a room together."
He wasn't so sure, but he didn't want his father to think he was fleeing his company, so he ventured further into the room without comment. Finding the cupboard where the liquor was stored, he retrieved a glass and a bottle before hesitantly walking over to sit in a chair close to his father. When the duke didn't make any comment and kept reading his book, Jacob relaxed a little and filled the glass with amber liquid. Taking a sip, he almost choked when his father suddenly looked up from his book.
"You drink too much."
Swallowing with difficulty, he stared at the older man. "I beg your pardon?"
"You drink too much," the duke repeated without looking at him, now having returned his attention to the book he was reading.
"I don't see how you could comment on the issue as you are hardly around me enough to know how much I drink."
"I receive reports," the duke answered idly.
Jacob put the glass down on a nearby table and glared at his father. "Are you having people spy on me?"
"I wouldn't quite put it like that," the duke replied, still appearing immersed in his book. "However, since you do not deign to visit or write me yourself, I have to rely on others for information of your exploits in London. I'm quite appalled. Your tastes leave much to be desired."
"At least look at me when you insult me," Jacob said tersely and was gratified to see his father lower the book and lift his head to gaze at him. By then he almost regretted asking for it, because there was something in his father's eyes that he never had made out, and it always unsettled him. When he was a little boy, he had tried so hard to gain his father's attention and approval, and when it wasn't forthcoming, he'd simply stopped trying. Now he rather fancied that he didn't want it, and he did a lot of things with the satisfaction of knowing that his father would not approve.
"I must admit," his father said, his grey eyes not leaving him, "that I'm quite surprised to see you here. I would have thought you would much rather be in London where you can wreak havoc and act like the disreputable rake you fancy yourself to be."
Jacob chuckled, but there was a bitter quality to it he didn't much like. "Your image of me is very flattering, Father. You know exactly why I'm here."
When the duke only raised a mildly questioning eyebrow, it forced him to grit out, "Your letter."
"I see. You realise of course that this was not the intention when I sent it to you."
"I bloody well don't know why you sent it to me," he said tersely. "But I felt it warranted a visit."
"Well, as you can see, nothing untoward is happening. So you can safely return to London and your... amusements."
The way his father said amusements made Jacob grind his teeth, but he found enough self-control to not reply. It was rather amazing how a father and son could be so different from one another in temper and personality, and so completely unable to be civil to each other. In his moments of darker humour, he found it amusing—in an ironic sort of way—not so when he was in the face of it. He was loath to admit, but it bothered him greatly that his father found him so lacking. By some perverse need of retribution, he did his best to appear even more so, and he'd be damned if he knew why.
"I believe we've spent enough time in each other's presence as to pass it off as the bare minimum required of the civilised world to believe us a loving father and son," the duke said, drawing his attention as he stood up and put his book aside. "I trust you will not miss me as I retire for the night."
"Good night, Father." He stood and offered a mocking bow.
The duke quit the room, leaving Jacob alone with his glass and a bottle of brandy. Exactly what he needed for a pleasant evening. A derisive smile played at his lips. It was such a joy to be home.
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