“I’ve not decided yet. But be sure it will include your removal from Waldiche Keep!”
With which, Giff flung open the door and slammed it behind him. He stood fulminating for a moment, fury and disappointment vying for supremacy. Why could the wretch not at least have tried for a compromise? Was he so sunk in considering himself a victim of fate he could not even take an olive branch offered in good faith?
Beginning to walk along the gallery, but slowly, Giff’s mind churned along with his gut. This was not how he’d hoped to end it. Whether or not Piers was his father’s bastard seemed now to be irrelevant. He’d half hoped to find Piers reclaimable if he’d been able to hail him for his brother. Could he ever truly have left the fellow in charge of his estates? When Piers had himself avowed he would not keep any promise he might make?
Disappointment was winning. This effectively cut his choices. India had never felt so far away. And Waldiche Keep was becoming a prison to him.
Reaching the stairs, Giff began to descend, his mind still back in the chamber, the image of Piers’s recalcitrant features imprinted there.
“Giff! Thank goodness! I was afraid you’d be up there for an age!”
His attention snapped in, and he halted on the stairs, seeking the source of the most unexpected voice in the world. “Delia! What are you doing here?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Barely able to speak for the thumping in her chest, Delia beckoned Giff down. “We had to come! We went first to Mr Hammersley, and he is with us.”
“You mean the lawyer Hammersley? Who is we?” Giff reached her and grasped her fingers, making them tingle.
Delia clung to his hand, though his face was shadowed in the gloom of the wide hall, lit only by a single candelabrum. “Your uncle escorted me. I have so much to tell you, but what of Piers? Captain Rhoades says you fought.” She passed a frantic glance over his person. “You are not hurt, are you?”
He grinned. “Devil a bit. It’s Piers who is injured this time.”
“He deserves it, the wicked villain!”
“Yes, there was some satisfaction in drawing his blood, I’ll admit.”
The anxiety that had been riding Delia for hours began to subside, and she sighed out a relieved breath. “Thank goodness you are all right! I’ve been on the fidgets ever since we left your grandfather’s house.”
Giff’s face changed in an instant and he released her, stepping back. “My grandfather? What the deuce!”
“For heaven’s sake, don’t get upon your high ropes, Giff! I had to go, and it’s a good thing I did, let me tell you. Though he’s the most horrid old man, and quite mad.”
Giff made an impatient gesture. “I told you I wouldn’t sue to him at any price, didn’t I?”
“Yes, which is exactly why I said nothing to you about my intention.”
“So you went behind my back! Delia, how could you?”
Bitter disappointment made fury bubble up. “Very easily, you pig-headed horrible creature! And when I think of what I’ve been through at his hands, and all on your behalf, I could readily hit you, Giff!”
She turned on the words and headed back towards the open door of the hideous downstairs saloon into which the party had been shown on arrival a short time before. They had found both the captain and Lord Tarporley in possession, and Delia had swiftly learned of the fight and that Giff had gone up to confer with Piers.
A hasty footstep sounded behind her and Giff seized her arm, swung her around and caught her into a strong embrace. His voice came muffled and low. “Forgive me, my darling flower girl! I’m an ungrateful brute!”
Delia’s fury melted into astonishment, and then, as the import of this address sank in, elation soared. He did care! She struggled to free herself and his hold loosened, but he kept his arms about her. She looked up into his face and found him rueful.
“I’d been wishing for you, Delia, for I don’t know what to do and I wanted to consult you.”
She caught her breath. “Never mind that. What did you call me?”
Perplexity showed in his eyes. “When?”
“Just now.”
“Flower girl?”
“More than that!”