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He’d expected to come today and be arrested, if he were honest. Which he usually was. For the past six months, his younger half-brother, Wyatt, the Viscount Ware, had been leading a second life as a shadowed hero, stealing through the streets of London and capturing criminals.
And while England was a country of people’s law and order, the practice wasn’t precisely legal.
So when they’d had to expose the identity of the hero in order to bring an impostor earl to justice, Ralph had decided to complete the deed and take whatever punishment came with revealing his identity. He’d been half of the hero, anyway.
Besides, Wyatt was a viscount and newly married. His life and his future were of far more importance than Ralph’s. “I beg your pardon?” he said to the man across from him.
The other gentleman pursed his lips, clearly unimpressed with the request to repeat his words. “Her Majesty has asked for your aid.” Ralph said nothing as the man continued. “She’s aware of your connection to the Viscount Ware, which puts you in an ideal position to travel to the Earl of Kinross’s funeral.”
“For the purpose of?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he shifted in the delicate chair. Ralph, a former boxer, was a large man, both broad and muscular with anvil-like fists and massive thighs. The furniture had clearly been made for someone far more refined than himself. It appeared as though it might buckle under his weight at any moment.
The other, much smaller gentleman cleared his throat, leaning forward as his voice dropped to a whisper. “There are some questions involving the earl’s death.”
Damn. The last thing he’d wanted was to become embroiled in an investigation. One that the queen had taken a special interest in. That sort of attention never ended well for someone like himself. “What kind of questions?”
The man moved further out on his chair, his features animated for the first time during their interview. “The earl was seen in perfect health not a week before his demise.”
Demise?
“What was more, the relationship between father and son was contentious at best.”
Was he to find out if the son had killed the father? If the queen knew that he was Wyatt’s bastard brother, then surely she also knew he’d come close to murdering his own sire. Several times. And that likely made him an ill-chosen candidate to investigate parricide.
In fact, the death of his father had been a recurring fantasy through much of his childhood. “I’m not certain—”
The other man raised one of his knobby fingers. “The queen is prepared to offer you significant compensation for your trouble.”
“Compensation? What sort of compensation?”
The dignitary managed to look down his long and rather hawkish nose at Ralph. “I’m not at liberty to say, though I can tell you, any favor from our queen ought to be revered, not questioned.”
It was Ralph’s turn to frown. This man was beyond pompous, a trait he usually met with violence. He’d had a lifetime of the elite looking down upon him, and while he could consider himself less than, he’d accept that sort of behavior from no one else. “You’re asking me, a bastard, to accept the hospitality of a lord of the realm and then spy on him. Do you have any idea what sort of trouble that might bring?”
The man tilted his chin lower, giving Ralph an even more condescending glare. “You have the queen’s backing.”
“Until I don’t,” Ralph answered, his massive arms crossing. Any man who’d lived on the edge of society as he had knew one never trusted a handshake and a promise for some undisclosed future payment. “What assurances do I have?”
The man’s gaze narrowed. “For a man who went about saving the city from all sorts of criminals, you seem loath to take on the queen’s justice.”
That was likely a fair point. Wyatt would have surely already said yes. But Ralph had not grown up a member of the peerage, he’d spent his life observing the upper class. And, thanks to his father, being abused by the elite—literally. His father had beat him often and with fervor. Which meant he had no rosy assumptions about how this might end. “If it’s money, I’ll know the sum in advance.”
Lord Whatever-his-name-was lifted his chin. “It’s more than just that.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said again, swallowing a lump. Because those words had him suddenly wondering if something real was actually going to come out of this and only fools hoped.
The man rested his hands on his knee. “Her Majesty is willing to offer you the title of the Earl of Pembroke. She’s keeping some of the assets, of course, but you’d be given the country estate and the land that surrounds it to support your seat. And the London townhouse, of course.”
Ralph’s mouth fell open, shock reverberating through him. “Are you saying…”
“Yes, my lord.” The man’s mouth curled around the address as though he’d tasted something bitter. “To thank you for your service to your country and for a small bit of additional aid, the queen has gifted you a legacy. Congratulations.”
“You can’t be serious.”
The man rose and crossed to a desk, pulling out several documents. “I can assure you, it’s very serious. Here is the proof. I will keep them until the investigation is complete, obviously. Once done, you’re welcome to take these to a solicitor, share them with your brother.”
“I don’t get the title until I’ve proven the new earl’s guilt or innocence?”
“That’s right. Which is why you’ll attend under your current name.” The man put all but a single sheet back into the desk.
