Page 55 of Every Rogue Has His Charm

“I am insinuating nothing. I believe my words were perfectly clear. You are not welcome here. Will never be welcome here, or in any home where the Duchess of Hartwell resides.”

“How dare you speak to me thus, sir? I demand—”

“What was it you advised, Laughton?” Maxim spoke across him, his voice hardly above a whisper. “‘Be careful’? I’ll say the same to you—but only once. Don’t cross me. Don’t try to defend your abhorrent conduct. Or this lovely meal shall be your last.”

In a surprising show of wisdom, Laughton snapped his mouth shut.

“Six years ago,” Maxim went on, with a hasty glance toward Caro, “I met a young woman so eager to defy her father’s ridiculous edicts, she was willing to sit for hours in an unheated library just to read a book. So desperate to escape his petty tyranny, she was willing to marry me.”

“I don’t have to listen to this attack on my character,” Laughton whined.

Maxim struck the table with his palm forcefully enough to make the silver jump and rattle. “Indeed you do. You know full well it was my intention to see her well provided for—her, not you. You contravened my wishes, Laughton. I hoped to set her free, while you deliberately ensnared her. You”—and here he sent a look around the table, pausing at each member of the family—“and you, and you—you all took advantage of her kind heart and her generous spirit.”

“I cannot fault them for doing as he bid.” Caro’s voice was soft but clear.

Those words did not surprise Maxim. Neither did they appease his anger. “Were they not free to resist him, as you did?” He understood now, in a way he hadn’t when he was a boy, that men like Laughton and his grandfather were weak but needed others to be weaker still. If Maxim’s upbringing had done nothing else, it had taught him the importance of strength.

Caro’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, but you see, he gave them less reason to fight him.”

And fighting him had made her strong.

He understood what she was trying to tell him without her having to speak the words. “Well, then. It seems I must thank you after all, Laughton.” If Caro had not needed to defy her father, they surely would not be married. “Without you, who knows what might have been?”

The earl straightened and gave a self-satisfied smirk.

“And here,” Maxim went on, sliding his palm across the tablecloth, smoothing the wrinkles he’d made, “is how I propose to show my gratitude. I will clear Brent-Ashby’s gaming debts. I will settle a suitable dowry on Lady Catherine if she wishes to marry, and a stipend if she does not. And I will ensure that both Lady Laughton and Miss Brent receive whatever care is required to restore their good health.”

Wide eyes greeted that announcement, Caro’s widest of all.

“On two conditions. First, each of you seeks and is granted the forgiveness of my wife for your deplorable conduct to her—and I warn you, a simple apology will not do.”

Gazes began to drop to the table, accompanied by sheepish murmurs.

Laughton gave a choked laugh of disbelief. “What of your deplorable conduct?”

“The difference, Papa,” Caro interjected softly, “is that my husband did not set out to hurt me. And upon discovering that he had, he expressed regret and vowed to atone.” She shifted her eyes to Maxim, and they glowed with warmth. “Over the past few days, he has shown more care for me than you ever have.”

“Why, you ungrateful little—” Laughton snarled.

Maxim pushed to his feet. “I warned you.”

“And the second condition?” Brent-Ashby ventured, not daring to glance toward either his sister or his father. The young man’s debts must be hefty indeed.

“I will not have my efforts undercut at every turn. If you agree to accept my help, you must sever ties with him.” Maxim jabbed a finger toward Laughton.

A collective gasp rose around the table and then fell to a murmur.

Had he gone too far? What he asked would be difficult, especially for the countess. But Laughton was a cancer that must be excised completely if there was to be any chance at health and happiness.

“You have no right,” said Laughton, “no right to interfere with another man’s wife and children.” Silence followed that proclamation

To Maxim’s shock, Brent-Ashby was the first to break it. “Are we not free to choose?”

“Choose?” sputtered his father. A vein bulged on his forehead as his face began to redden.

“Understand me,” Maxim cautioned the younger man, sensing what might hang in the balance. “If you ever return to the tables, you will also return to your father.”

Brent-Ashby gave a curt but solemn nod. “Understood.”