He winced. So many emotions flooded him. Anger, hope, love and disappointment all churned together. It made his whole body freeze as he tried to parse what he should feel and what he should say.
‘My lord,’ Lucy said as she addressed his father. ‘I told you I would let you know—’
‘He is my son. I will not be stopped again.’
Cedric frowned. ‘You stopped him before?’
‘He has been here twice since you returned to England. Once after you first arrived, then again two nights ago.’ Her tone hardened. ‘He was in no fit state for us to answer the door.’
‘Kept me from my own dying son!’
Lucy’s tone was tart. ‘He was sleeping, not dying. And you were not kept away. We do not let drunks into the ducal household.’
‘And you,’ his father said, ‘you conniving, thieving bitch—’
Cedric didn’t think. Life aboard a ship had changed his reactions. Refined argument was rarely possible there, and violence had to be stopped immediately. So he did what a sailor would do when woken from a dead sleep by a man threatening something—or someone—he cared about.
He grabbed the water pitcher and threw the contents straight at his father. He nearly lost his grip on the pitcher itself, but habit had him keeping the makeshift weapon in hand.
His aim was true. Lucy remained dry while his father was abruptly drenched. If he were aboard ship, Cedric would follow up with a knife to his father’s throat. But he didn’t have a knife on him. Instead, he spoke with as much strength and authority as he could muster. Which, it turned out, was quite a bit.
‘My apologies, Miss Richards. My father is unwell.’
‘Why you impertinent whelp—’
Cedric surged up from the bed. It was awkward, which meant he didn’t have full power. But he was standing at his full height within seconds. And since he was taller than his father, the man backed up in shocked surprise.
Lucy didn’t say anything. He heard her gasp as she shrank back. He hated that she was witness to this, but he was too committed to stop now.
‘Please excuse us, Miss Richards,’ he ground out. ‘My father and I must discuss appropriate behaviour.’
‘Uh… I…’
‘Lucy,’ Cedric said, his tone softening. ‘Go.’
Her chin firmed as she gave him a quick nod, and then she swung the bedroom door wide. At her gesture, the butler and a very large footman entered the room. He also heard the heavy tread of another rushing up the stairs.
Very good. But he knew that he needed to be the one who put the Earl in his place. Otherwise, the man would huff and puff about uppity staff and never learn the lesson he needed right now.
‘Are you in control of yourself?’ he asked his father.
‘Are you mad?’ his father sputtered.
‘Extremely,’ he answered, his voice deadpan.
He watched his father’s eyes dart about the room. He was now outnumbered four to one as Lucy stepped out of the room and a second footman entered. ‘Cedric,’ he said, his expression shifting to concern. ‘Get back in bed. You are not well.’
‘Actually, I’m feeling better than I have in years,’ he said with grim cheer. ‘I never thought I’d hear my father insult a lady in her own home.’
‘You heard nothing of the sort,’ his father snapped. ‘I believe you have a fever. Pray lie back down. This is unseemly.’ Then he snapped his fingers at a footmen. ‘You there. Hand me a towel. My son has spilled his drink.’
The footman obeyed because that’s what servants did when addressed by an earl. Cedric backed up, giving his father room to wipe off his wet face and hair. Thank God Cedric had woken early that morning and cleaned himself up. He was even wearing a freshly laundered night shirt.
How civilised when he was feeling decidedly uncivilised.
‘Do you know,’ he said as sadness gripped him. ‘I had to learn how to discipline unruly sailors. First with my fists and later with a whip.’ His gaze found the Earl’s. ‘It’s awful to do such a thing to my own father.’
Not just his father, but an earl. That used to mean something to him, but all he saw now was a sad man who’d never had to earn what he had. His father had spent his life gambling and drinking when he could have done anything. What a waste! Meanwhile, his father waved at the men who stood guard in the room. ‘Go on. He’s under control now. No need to protect me.’