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“Nathan isn’t stupid, Eric.” She squared her shoulders. “He’s going to know that something’s wrong. He’ll make sure you don’t get the title.”
Eric barked out a laugh, sauntering around the room like he owned the place and touching everything like he owned it.
“You overestimate his abilities, Vanity. Just because he’s a captain in the army, the Duke of Wellington’s best soldier, doesn’t mean that he’s going to find out what’s happening. He’s not going to know, because you’re not going to tell him.”
“You think I won’t?”
He gave her a pointed look. Vanity gritted her teeth.
“I know you won’t,” Eric said softly. “Not unless you want to tell him that he shouldn’t have been the Earl in the first place.”
“Why wait until now?”
Eric’s eyes darkened. He looked dangerous. Frightening. Vanity wanted to cry. She couldn’t stand to be near him.
“I waited until now because the man I called my father was dying. He told me everything with his last breath, showed me the letters. I was denied it my whole life. Now, I want my birth right.” He chuckled. “Maybe I should have been named Esau instead of Eric. Far more appropriate.”
Vanity was shaking. She wasn’t going to hold on for much longer. She wasn’t about to lose her composure in front of this...she didn’t know how to call him.
“Please, just go. I’ve done what you asked.”
“For now.” Eric was still smirking as he headed for the door. “But once I’m the Earl of Brixton, you won’t be able to get me to leave.”
With a final wink in her direction, he left, shutting the door behind him. It was only then that Vanity collapsed, slumping to a chair before she fell to the floor. Her heart would not stop racing.
* * *
“Captain Reynolds, Sir!”
Nathan turned, lowering his rifle as one of the privates hurried over to the shooting range. He almost went right out in front of a target, only to have one of the officer’s shout and wave him out of the way. Nathan shook his head. The boy was barely nineteen. He was going to get himself shot by his own people if he didn’t pay attention.
But he was more curious by the letter that Private Simmons was holding. If it was for him, it had to be important. More than likely from his mother. Nathan hadn’t heard from her in the long time. The Dowager Countess wasn’t impressed that he wouldn’t stay after his father’s funeral and had called him several names that Nathan hadn’t realized she knew.
It had been interesting, but not enough to keep him at home. He was needed here, where his men were. They needed him, and Nathan was more than happy to oblige.
Private Simmons hurried over, stopping with a wobble and saluted him. Nathan leaned his rifle against the chair he had brought out.
“What is it, Simmons?”
“A letter for you.” Simmons held it out. “Master Sergeant Wren told me to bring it straight to you, Sir.”
“Thank you.” Nathan plucked the letter from the lad’s hands. “That will be all.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Simmons saluted again and hurried off, giving the shooting range a wide berth. Young he was, but he was a fast learner. Especially with Lieutenant Reese glaring at him.
“Oh, what’s that?” One of the other officers lowered his rifle and walked over, nodding at the letter. “A letter from a lady friend?”
Nathan barked out a laugh. “When has that ever happened?”
“Well, I thought it might have been from a certain lady.” Anthony Booker waggled his eyebrows. “Like Lorraine Brooks.”
“Lorraine Brooks?” Nathan hadn’t heard that name in a long time. “Not a chance.”
Lorraine Brooks, now Lady Chapman, Countess Yaxley. Nathan had heard of her marriage some years ago and had felt immense relief. At least she wouldn’t be chasing him anymore. The woman had done plenty of that in their first two seasons and she hadn’t taken the word no for an answer. Lorraine was certainly not one to follow the rules when nobody was watching.
“She has written to me before, Tony, but those disappeared within six months.”
