“Even if he was envious, he wouldn’t use this method to get back at his betters, as you term it.”

“Method?” Silas slammed the flat of his hand on his desk. “You talk as if he were a Machiavellian prince instead of a common land steward. He’s the son of a whore and a thief. What type of method do you think he’d use other than sneaking around poisoning animals?”

“A whore.” Bennet’s lips thinned as he poured himself another finger of whiskey. Probably how he spent all his time in London—on drink and women. “If Harry’s mother—my mother—was a whore, who do you think made her so?”

Silas scowled. “What do you mean, talking to me in that tone? I’m your father, boy. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“As if I’m likely to forget that you sired me.” Bennet gave a bark of laughter.

“You should be proud—” Silas began.

His son sneered and emptied his glass.

Silas surged to his feet. “I saved you, boy! If it weren’t for me—”

Bennet flung his tumbler into the grate. The glass exploded, flinging sparkling shards onto the carpet. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve had a mother, not your frozen bitch of a wife who was too proud to show affection for me!”

Silas swept the papers from his desk with his arm. “Is that what you want, boy? A mother’s tit to suckle?”

Bennet turned white. “You’ve never understood.”

“Understood? What’s there to understand between a life lived in the muck and one in a manor? Between a starving bastard and an aristocrat who can afford all that’s good in life? I gave you that. I gave you everything.”

Bennet shook his head and stalked to the door. “Leave Harry alone.”

He shut the door behind him.

Silas raised his arm to swipe at the only thing still on his desk, the inkstand, but he paused when he saw his hand. It was shaking. Bennet. He sank into his chair.

Bennet.

He’d brought him up strong, made sure he could ride like a demon and fight like a man. He’d always favored the boy and made no bones about it. Why should he? Couldn’t anyone see that this was the son a man could be proud of? In return he’d expected . . . what? Not like or love, but respect, certainly. Yet, his second son treated him like a pile of dung. Came to Granville House only for money. And now took the side of a baseborn servant against his own sire. Silas pushed away from his desk. He needed to deal with Harry Pye before he became any more of a threat. He couldn’t let Pye drive a wedge between himself and Bennet.

The door opened a crack, and Thomas peeked around it like a timid girl.