“Neither I nor my sire spent time in jail, Gervais. My oats have certainly never been that wild.”
“Shall we air all our dirty linen here or in private?” Two emotionless blue eyes stared at Dalton for a moment, who had mirrored Giles’s combative stance and was glaring out of his one good eye for all he was worth. “But be in no doubt, nephew, air it we must.”
Giles gestured to the drawing room. “You have me intrigued, so I shall spare you five minutes before I send Dalton for the authorities.”
Gervais wandered into the room as if he owned the place, running his hands along the expensive striped silk damask that covered the settee. While Galahad sat, he waited until Giles had closed the door before he spoke again.
“A nice place you have here. Clearly you enjoy spending the Sinclair fortune.”
“This house and everything in it came from my pocket.” At least Gervais couldn’t take that away. “I have always had a talent for speculation.”
“I’ll bet your father loved that.” Bitterness laced the other man’s tone. “Back when I knew him he disapproved of the stock market. It was always too risky for his staid tastes.” Because his uncle seemed determined to remain standing, and because Giles did not want to appear the least bit intimidated, he sat and crossed one leg over the other in a relaxed pose.
“The duke never changed that opinion.”
“I’m not surprised. He never liked spending money. He was too much like our father in that respect. Sour-faced, straitlaced, and tight-fisted, the pair of them. Both much preferred to leave it all to gather dust while they congratulated themselves for the impressive numbers scratched in their precious ledgers. It is such a shame my brother lacked the backbone to be his own man, asI’ll admit he showed some promise for a while in his youth. Even cut himself off from the old man for a whole winter in outraged rebellion at his unreasonable demands.” Had he? This was all news to Giles when his sire had always claimed to have put duty over everything, exactly as the family motto stated. “Still married the bride the old man had picked out despite his short-lived stint in Wales. Duty over everything and all that. Even if you cannot stand the wench who stood next to you at the altar.” Gervais picked up a silver box and turned it over to peer at the maker’s mark. “But clearly you are cut from different cloth.” He smiled again as he put the box down. “A very different cloth indeed.”
Diana would ask the most direct question, so he did, even though he feared the answer. “What do you want, Gervais?”
“What I am due.” He glanced around the room then pinned him with his glassy stare. “Your fortune and your title.”
He forced a laugh. “Have you imbibed of too much Christmas spirit?”
“I am the legal heir.”
He tried to remain amused. “I suppose you are, presently,mylegal heir. If I happen to die without issue… but as you see I am hale and hearty and quite robust so have no immediate plans to follow my father into the ground. Unless your plan is to murder me? If it is, you probably shouldn’t have forewarned me of your dastardly plans as now I am on my guard.”
Gervais offered him a smug smile. “I am my brother’s legal heir. The second son of the twenty-fifth Duke and Duchess of Harpenden.”
“But I am the only son of the twenty-sixth.”
“You are his bastard, Giles, and I have proof.”
Dread settled like lead in his stomach, but he made sure his expression remained amused. “Then I should be intrigued to see it, as it is news to me.”
“Your mother was a harlot.” Galahad decided to open his mouth for the first time. “And we have a letter that confirms it.”
Gervais shot his son a warning look, and the boy seemed to shrink under his glare.
“Oh, a letter…” Giles’s voice dripped sarcasm. “From the alleged harlot herself, I imagine. Because that is all the proof anyone needs of your outlandish accusation. I might as well hand it all over now, I suppose? Lock, stock, and barrel, as clearly the scribbled words of a random prostitute trump the official records of my birth, my patents of nobility, and my father’s will.” He shook his head laughing. “I wish you luck with that, gentlemen. I suppose I shall soon see you and your damning letter in court.” He frowned. “Oh… wait. Wouldn’t that mean also alerting the courts of your return, Uncle Gervais? And there I assumed that was the last thing you would ever do when there is a noose somewhere that still has your name on it.”
“They don’t hang dukes.” Gervais was unperturbed, a worrying sign he had something both damningandconclusive in his pocket. “And we both know that I shall soon be one. And there can be no trial without witnesses, and thankfully everyone who could bear false witness against me is dead.”
Giles sighed and slowly unfolded himself from his chair, making a great show of examining his cuffs as if bored with all Gervais’s nonsense. “What I know, without a shadow of a doubt, is that our five minutes are up, gentlemen. While your little visit has been entertaining if nothing else, alas, it is Christmas Day and I havebetter things to do than indulging in your fanciful whimsy any longer.” He swept his palms in the direction of the door. “Knowing my officious and suspicious butler, he’s already called the constable and the watch, so I shall bid you a fond adieu as I am sure you are equally eager to be gone before they arrive.”
Gervais smiled as he sauntered to the door. “I shall keep in touch, Giles.”
“It isYour Grace, Gervais.” Suddenly, the title he had always dreaded owning mattered.
“For now it is.” The older man laughed as he clicked his fingers at his son, then sailed through the door to where Dalton hovered in the hallway, a scowl on his face and a well-used pistol now slotted into the thick leather belt now wrapped around his waist. “But be in no doubt those days are numbered—Your Grace.”
Obviously feeling empowered by his father’s threats, Galahad prodded Giles’s chest with his finger as he walked past. “You just better pray, cousin, that you find your father’s harlot before we do.” A telling sentence that briefly narrowed Gervais’s soulless eyes before he covered it with an oily smile.
“Until next time, nephew…” He made a great show of glancing around the hallway and smoothing his hand over the frame of Giles’s favorite Canaletto. “Enjoy your good fortune… while it lasts.”
They left, and left Giles reeling. As soon as Dalton slammed the door he limped back toward him with a grim expression. “Bet you wish I’d shot him on the doorstep now.”
“Exactly how much of that private conversation did you eavesdrop on from the keyhole?”
