"Well! I don't have to put up with that from you."

"No, you don't," Michael agreed. "Why are you still here? Haven't you fouled the air in this room long enough?"

Damian raised a hand, silencing Michael.

"Let's get back to Georgina Fogarty," Damian said. "Where is she?"

"I'll tell you where she is," Portia retorted, "when you tell me where Miles is."

Damian sighed, figuring he'd love to have Michael take a switch to her, but he wasn't in the habit of beating women or having them beaten.

"I don't know where Miles is," he claimed, "and this is your last chance to confess what you did to Georgina."

"I did nothing."

"Will you pretend Sophia Marshall is a deaf mute? Her mother told her that you cooked up the entire scheme to hurt Georgina."

"I realize Georgina is your doxy, and we're all aware of how she shamed herself with you. She couldn't stay at Kirkwood after she was disgraced."

He narrowed his gaze, struggling for calm. "It's your opinion that Miss Fogarty is disgraced?"

"Yes. Her low morals have been revealed so she couldn't be allowed to live among respectable people. Nor should you be allowed so maybe you deserve each other. If you go after her, you'll simply be chasing a harlot. No one who matters wants her at Kirkwood-no one has ever wanted her-so why would I help you bring her back?"

Portia had rattled off so many insults that Damian couldn't tabulate them all. Her disdain for Georgina made him glad he'd orchestrated the trouble he had for the Smithwaites. Her brothers were ruinous gamblers, just as Miles was ruinous.

Although Portia hadn't been apprised yet, Damian had bought up her brothers' debts. Her father had mortgaged his assets to pay off what his sons had squandered in London's gaming halls. With a few swift signatures on official paperwork, he could double the acreage of Kirkwood. He'd been wondering if he should, and her tirade settled the issue.

Michael chimed in again, asking Damian, "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to beat her? I have no qualms about thrashing such a malicious tart. I'd definitely be happier if she learned to shut her mouth."

"Please escort her out to her carriage."

"I'm not leaving Kirkwood," Portia insisted. "I wed Miles, and I am mistress of the estate. Why won't you listen to me?"

"You're insane," Damian advised her, "and I'm too aggravated to fuss with you. Besides, your parents need you to return home immediately."

"My parents? Why would they?"

"They're about to lose their property to me too."

She bristled with offense. "My father would never sell to you."

"He didn't. I'm foreclosing-as I foreclosed on Kirkwood."

She scowled. "How could that be possible?"

"Your brothers are gamblers, and your father has taken out mortgages to save them from debtor's prison. I've purchased them all, and after meeting you and discovering how cruel you were to Miss Fogarty, I don't want you as a neighbor."

Michael walked over to her chair. "Let's go, Miss Smithwaite. Your appointment with Mr. Drummond is over."

He lifted her to her feet, and she wrestled with him to prevent her departure.

"Explain yourself!" she demanded of Damian. "What are you talking about? You'll foreclose? What does that mean?"

"It means I own your home, and I'll be by next week to evict you."

Clearly it dawned on her that she probably shouldn't have been so awful to him. She inhaled a deep breath to compose herself. "But...but...we've always lived there. It's belonged to our family for generations. You can't do that to us."

"I already have, Miss Smithwaite." He nodded to Michael. "Get her out of here."

Michael started out with her, and she stopped fighting. She appeared stunned, then she burst into tears, and she wasn't very pretty when she cried.

"Everything is ruined," she sobbed, glowering at Damian over her shoulder.

"It certainly is-for you," Damian said. "As to myself, I've never been better."

"Yesterday was my wedding day! I married Miles so all of my dreams could come true."

"Well, Miss Smithwaite, if that's as big as your dreams take you, perhaps you should pick some other dreams."

"Am I a widow or what?"

"I have no idea. You should consult with an attorney. Oh, wait. I just remembered. You don't have any money to hire a lawyer."

"I'll find Miles, and when he arrives, he'll show you."

"I'm trembling in my boots."

"What should I tell my father?"

"You needn't tell him anything. He can read, can't he?"

"Of course he can."

"I'll be serving legal papers shortly. After he studies them, he'll know exactly what's transpiring."

"You've destroyed us, and you don't even care!"

"You should level that charge against your brothers. They're the ones who bankrupted your father."

"My parents will never survive the scandal."

"Isn't it curious how fast a person's life can change? One moment, you were a bride and mistress of this grand estate. The next, you were nothing at all."

"I can't bear it!" she wailed.

"I sympathize completely, Miss Smithwaite. It's dreadful to have the foundation of your world yanked away. What will become of you?"

Her expression grew sly. "If I give you information about Georgina, will it help our cause?"

"You had your chance to tell me about her." He waved to Michael. "Get her out of my sight, but have her driver tarry for a few minutes."

"Why must I tarry?" she asked.

"You're taking your mother-in-law with you, but I have to speak with her first."

"My mother-in-law?" Portia looked confused as to whom he referred. Then her jaw dropped in shock. "You mean Augusta? I can't take her with me. My parents can't abide her. They'll never let her in the door."

"She's your problem now, Miss Smithwaite," Damian said.

Michael tugged on her arm, and she was dragged from the room.

"Be seated, Augusta."

Augusta entered the library, her nose in the air as if Damian Drummond emitted a bad smell.

"Don't you dare call me Augusta!" she told him. "I am-and will always be-Mrs. Marshall to you. You will not disrespect me."

"Be seated, Augusta," Mr. Drummond repeated as if she'd registered no complaint.

"I'll stand."

Mr. Roxbury had escorted her down, and the journey had been very much against her will. She'd been manhandled by him, and she was mad as a hornet.

"Sit, you old witch," Roxbury commanded.

"I will not."

Roxbury was bigger and more determined. He put a palm on her shoulder and applied pressure until she had no choice but to obey. She bristled, but slunk down, and she glared at Drummond. If her eyes had been loaded pistols, he'd have been dead on the floor.

He stared back, and he was totally poised, evincing no sign of upset. How could she be so furious and aggrieved, while he was suffering no heightened emotion?

"You're leaving Kirkwood today," he blandly apprised her.

"I am not."

"You are. I can't figure out why I let you dawdle on my property this long."

"Where is my son?"

"I haven't the slightest clue."

"You've murdered him!"

Roxbury leaned down. "Mind your manners when addressing your betters or I'll gag you."

"My...my...betters!" she sputtered with affront.

"Mr. Drummond is the owner of Kirkwood. In addition to this paltry estate, he has assets around the globe: ships and gold mines and a sugar plantation in Jamaica. What have you to compare to all that?"

"If he actually owns all those things, I'm sure he stole them from their rightful owners."

Roxbury sighed and peered over at Drummond. "Shall I gag her?"

"In a minute. I'm still questioning her."

"You can question me until the end of time," she boasted, "but I won't answer."

"Where is Miss Fogarty?" he asked.

"How would I know?"

He scoffed. "Does everyone in this accursed manor think Miss Sophia is deaf? She already told me what you perpetrated while I was away."

"Whatever Sophia said, she was lying."

"Ah, Augusta, you're so maternally inclined," he sarcastically jeered. "Where is Georgina?"

"Since you appear desperate to discover her location, it's the last information I would ever provide."

He studied her with a great deal of disdain, and she was amazed by his disregard. He'd been such a polite boy, so courteous and cordial. How had that obliging child grown to be this imperious, enraged bully?

"I'm aware of your licentious interest in her," Augusta said. "You'd convey her to Kirkwood merely to disgrace her a bit more. You shan't do it, Damian Drummond! I won't permit it."

He rolled his eyes. "I swear, you Marshalls are all deranged."

Just then, Sophia bustled in. She was carrying some papers, and she rushed over and gave them to Drummond.

"I found these in Mother's desk," she said. "They contain all the details about Georgina's father. We'll be able to fetch her home with no trouble at all."

"Sophia!" Augusta snapped. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm helping him to find Georgina. You never cared about her, but I always loved her. We're bringing her back."

"We are not."

"It's not up to you, Mother."

Sophia's reply left her so angry that she wondered if she wasn't about to suffer an apoplexy.

"You duplicitous little shrew," she spat at her daughter.

Sophia laughed. "That's certainly the pot calling the kettle black."

Mr. Drummond perused the papers, then he gazed at Mr. Roxbury. "This tells me what I need to know."

"Then may I remove Mrs. Marshall from the premises?" Roxbury asked.

"Yes, and please advise the servants that they are never to allow her back in. Anyone who assists her in any fashion will no longer be employed by me."