Page 43 of Twice Upon a Midnight

“And if you win, do you honestly think Pensworth will let you get away with murdering his only son and heir? At worst, you’ll swing for it. At best, you’ll be locked up in Newgate and never again see the light of day. You’ll lose your business, your reputation, everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve—and you’ll lose Ella, whether you win or lose. Is that what you want your life to become?”

The weight Spenser carried on his shoulders—had carriedfor years—snapped something deep inside him. He suddenly had enough. Enough of being excluded simply because of who he was, because of his work, because of his informal education, because he wasn’t good enough to please those who thought he was their inferior. Enough of being trapped in a life he didn’t choose for himself. Enough of being thought of as nothing more than a man who could be beaten and thrown away like garbage.

Enough.

He spun on his heel and stormed toward the door.

The old man’s voice cracked as he called out, “And thenI’lllose you, too. What am I supposed to do without you?”

“Exactly as you did before.” Spenser paused in the doorway, but he couldn’t bring himself to look over his shoulder as he threw out in anger, “You won’t be my responsibility then.”

Guilt pierced his chest, but he didn’t stop.Couldn’tstop. He’d stood by long enough in his life and let others kick him down. Never again would he let someone like Simon Radcliff threaten and torment him simply because of the difference in their birth status.

So he hurried through the house to the front door, not slowing even when he heard Martin call hoarsely down the stairs after him, “No, lad, you’re wrong! Haven’t you figured it out yet? I was never your responsibility. You aremine!”

But Spenser charged out the door without stopping.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

S

penser paused at the front door of Pensworth Place, the London home of the Duke of Pensworth and the first childhood home he could remember. He clenched his jaw against the pain as he ignored the lion’s head brass knocker in favor of relentlessly pounding his closed first directly against the hard wood.

He didn’t feel the need to be polite. This wasn’t a homecoming, and he sure as hell wasn’t here as the prodigal son. He hated this place. His mother had died here, and the last memory he had of her was her limp and feverish body on her deathbed in a suffocating, dark room that smelled of medicine and stagnation. Only a few years later, he’d been torn even from this place and banished to live with relatives he had never met and didn’t know. Nothing in his life had been the same after that.

He gritted his teeth and began a new round of pounding.

The massive door opened, and the scowling butler froze when he saw Spenser. He blinked, and his mouth fell open as if he were staring at a ghost.

“Hello, Fergus,” Spenser bit out, itching to pound his fist one last time against the door for good measure. And for spite. “Is Simon home?”

The man’s eyes grew wide. “Master Spenser—I mean, Mr. Rhodes.” The well-trained butler was so flustered at finding him on the doorstep that he didn’t know whether to bow or step aside to let him pass. So he simply stood there in the doorway, gaping.

Spenser didn’t blame him. He hadn’t visited this house in years, not since he first returned to London from the north when he was nineteen. He’d called on his stepfather then because he had wanted to see the bastard’s face when Spenser announced he wasn’t going into the army or the Church or any one of those other so-called gentlemanly professions sought after by younger sons of peers— No. He was there to announce that he was opening a business and planning to work with his hands on a print shop floor.

His stepfather had simply stood there in the entry hall, saying nothing. When Spenser finished his announcement, the duke nodded, wished him luck, and told Spenser to give his regards to his mother’s family. Then he turned on his heel and walked back into his study.

Spenser hadn’t been back. Until today.

“Is my brother at home?” he repeated.

Fergus finally found his voice. “No, sir. Lord Walmesley doesn’t reside here any longer.”

“Where does he live?” He clenched his hands into fists.

Fergus hesitated. “I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”

Spenser blew out a harsh breath. It wasn’t Fergus’s fault that his stepfather had ordered him to treat Spenser this way. After all, the old butler was even more at the duke’s mercy than he was. But he also wouldn’t be stopped in this confrontation with his Pensworth family, one that had been a very long time in coming.

“Then how about my stepfather? Is Pensworth home?”

He hesitated again. “His Grace isn’t accepting visitors.”

“You mean he isn’t accepting visits fromme.”

The tips of his ears reddened with shame as he answered quietly, “Yes, sir.”

“Then I’ll be sure to tell him you attempted to stop me so he doesn’t blame you.”