The matter of your title is another issue. You will have to go before the courts to officially renounce your title and Oak Run since the family seat lies adherent with the title.”

Nick threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t want it. A refusal should suffice.”

Grimley folded his hands in his lap and pursed his lips in disapproval. Clearly, Nick did not meet his expectations. Well, he could care less. The solicitor had pushed his way into his life uninvited, and he didn’t owe him anything.

Grimley bent to pick up his leather satchel from the floor. “I daresay you’ve suffered a shock. I will leave you now to process this news. You will surely come to your senses in the morning.”

“I don’t think so” Nick bit out, his jaw aching from clenching his teeth.

Grimley settled his somber, brown beaver hat on his head. “Just so. I’ll be in contact. Much depends upon you. Aside from the property, you bear responsibility for countless lives.”

At his lifted eyebrow, Grimley explained. “Tenants, servants. And of course there are Lady Brookshire and her relations. They still reside at Oak Run.”

“Lady Brookshire?”

“Your brother’s widow,” Grimley replied as if he should have known.

Had the man not yet figured out that he did not keep abreast of family matters? That Grimley in fact addressed the blackest sheep ever expelled from a family bosom?

“I’ll show myself out. Good day to you, gentlemen.”

Mac called out to the solicitor’s retreating back, “Have a drink on your way out. Just tell Fred at the bar it’s on the house.”

Grimley’s back stiffened before exiting, indicating the unlikelihood of him accepting that offer.

“Starchy fellow,” Mac muttered.

Nick replied with an indifferent shrug, willing his jaw to unclench.

Mac kicked his feet up on the desk and wasted no time getting to the point. “Nicholas Caulfield, the Earl of Brookshire. Nice ring to it, eh? You inheriting it all—that’s a good comeuppance for the old earl. Fancy that! I’ve partnered up with a nob. Wait till everyone hears. Suppose this means you’ll be changing your ways? No more hanging about here. Can’t be seen with riffraff like me.”

Leaning back in his leather chair, Nick laced his hands over his flat stomach and frowned. “I’m the same man. I don’t intend to change. Besides, I need to be here to keep an eye on business.”

He raised a dark brow sardonically. “You don’t expect me to leave it all to your care, do you?

Who would do the books? You can’t add two and two. We’d be back on the streets in a month’s time.”

Mac tossed a hand over his heart in mock pain. “You wound me, boy. Didn’t I find you in the streets and get you your start?”

Nick raised his snifter of brandy to his partner in salute. “I’ll give you that, but I was the talent, remember? You couldn’t draw a winning hand to save your life.” He grinned. “Still can’t.”

“I haven’t lost it,” Mac defended, tapping his temple. “I just took enough blunt off young Lord Derring to buy that racer I’ve had my eye on.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Lord Derring. That pasty-faced nob does not qualify as talent. He’s so in debt I could take the clothes off his back any day I choose.”

Mac’s eyes widened. “I had no idea he was that far gone. Why’ve you let him carry on, then?

This is a business, Nick, not a charity.”

“I don’t want the reputation that will go along with devastating a duke and his family. Bad business, that. Never fear, I shall collect the young lord’s debt in due time.”

Mac gave a little shake of his head. “Should have known there was a business angle to it. There ain’t a charitable bone in your body.”

“Quite so,” Nick agreed, neglecting to mention his transaction with old Basslye’s bride just moments ago. Mac didn’t need to know everything.

They sank into silence. He knew Mac was giving him time to think, to mull things over in his mind until he was ready to discuss the subject hanging so heavily in the air. It didn’t take long.

“How can I be a part of that world again?” Nick spread his hands out wide in front of him. “One day I’m riding a pony between my Latin and fencing lessons and the next I’m…” He let his words hang in the air for a long moment as the past reared its ugly head. The old, sour taste he so loathed filled his mouth and throat. He wanted nothing from the man that had destroyed his mother or from the world that had turned a blind eye.

He took a long swig of brandy, thinking he might have to get foxed. Voices, laughter, and the faint whirring sound of a roulette wheel floated from below. Nick knew he should make an appearance. Bess was acting hostess tonight and would pout if he didn’t come down, but he wasn’t in the mood to socialize. The dark shadows of his past had been roused, spoiling his humor. “I don’t intend to claim the inheritance.”

Mac nodded his head slowly, rolling his heels on Nick’s desk. “You could do that,” he allowed.

He knew there was more coming, and knew Mac well enough to know that he wasn’t going to like what he heard.

“But there’s power in the aristocracy, and that license we’ve been trying to get to open the gaming hell across the river will be ours in a blink if it’s an earl asking.”

Just discussing the inheritance roused a whole host of uncomfortable memories. He could not imagine actually stepping in his father’s shoes, no matter what it brought him.

“Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve accomplished, has been with my own sweat and blood.”

He tapped the desk.

“Aye, and taking the inheritance won’t change that.”

“I don’t want a thing from my father.”

Mac scratched his head. “Isn’t it technically your brother that’s dead? Thought your old man’s been dead for some time?”

He laughed humorlessly. “Please, don’t let me relate to you the kind of brother I had. He was little better than my father.” Nick stood and looked out the window at the city skyline. The lights of London flickered and blinked in the inky night. “I don’t want a thing from either of them.”

“I understand you got your demons, but this seems the best revenge to my way of thinking. I doubt there’s another earl that pinched a pocket or heard his own belly rumble in hunger before.

You grew up in Whitechapel, for God’s sake. You could get in among the peerage and make some change. By God, you’ll have a seat in the House of Lords.”

Nick smiled indulgently. “I’m no reformer.”

“Well, you could be if you chose. Hell, or don’t.” Mac, only two years his senior, seemed far older as he threw his hands up in the air and said, “Thumb your nose at them and take Bess to all their fine balls.”

“Now that’s a thought.” His smile deepened at the thought of the buxom woman with her painted face, loud gowns, and brassy red hair rubbing elbows with the peerage.

“Besides, what about the tenants and people you’re now responsible for? To my way of thinking, you can’t simply turn your back on them.”

Smile gone, Nick sighed and looked over his shoulder at Mac. “And my half brother’s widow.”

Mac’s brows rose. “What will you do with her?”

“I suppose I’ll have to set her up somewhere in grand style and cater to her for the rest of my life.” He ran both hands through his hair, rumpling the locks in aggravation. “Guess I better pack.”

Mac grinned, sitting forward in his chair. “Want some company?”

“I need to do this alone.” He had no idea what to expect upon returning to the home of his birth, but he knew he needed to confront the demons of his past by himself.

Mac nodded in understanding, but the disappointment was clear in his face.

Rising to his feet, Nick downed the remainder of his brandy before excusing himself, glad for the solitude awaiting him. As close as they were, even Mac could not understand how the prospect of returning home rattled him.

The instant Nick entered his room, he knew he was not alone, which was too bad because he wasn’t fit company. There was a slight movement on the bed. Lady Basslye’s n**ed figure took shape as she rose to her knees. An uncertain, hopeful smile flitted about her lips. He leaned against the door and observed her lazily, his mood dangerous.

“You’re still here,” he said flatly.

She nodded, flaxen hair dancing against her generous br**sts.

“You should have left.”

“I know you cleared the debt… but I wanted to stay. For once I want to choose who shares my bed.” Her eyes darkened as she eyed the long line of his body.

Nick pushed off the door and crossed the room, his strides long and fierce. He buried his fingers into her soft shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her savagely, releasing all the anger and frustration brewing inside him, forgetting his determination to leave her untouched.

Perhaps he was that big of a bastard after all.

He stripped his clothes and lowered both their bodies to the bed, his movements mechanical, his touch perfunctory. It was only a temporary escape. A distraction from the emptiness, from the perpetual night that lived inside him.

As she rubbed her body against his, he felt only a flicker of interest flare to life. It was impossible to feel anything when one was but a hollow shell. A living, breathing man should feel. Only it had been years since he had felt anything at all.

Chapter 3

“What else does a woman do when she is increasing?”

Meredith stood with hands on her hips, surveying the room that had been the Brookshire nursery for generations. She had seen her fair share of births in the managing of Oak Run, but it had not taken long to recognize she knew little about preparing for a baby’s arrival.

“You are asking me? Dearest, I am quite ignorant when it comes to babies.” Aunt Eleanor looked about the nursery with something akin to unease, running a finger along the edge of the crib as if it were an unpredictable animal that might bite at any moment. “Blessedly so,” she added with a shiver, removing her finger from the crib.

“You practically raised me,” Meredith pointed out as she sniffed the stale air and moved to open the windows wider.

“But you were such a precocious child—so well-behaved. Your father did not tolerate bad behavior. I felt like I was dealing with a peer and not a child.”

Meredith grimaced at the accuracy of her aunt’s assessment. She had not known a carefree, fun-filled childhood. The stern visage of her father had squashed any such gaiety. She had been an adult all her life. A solemn, proper adult. Perhaps it was best her father was unaware of the world around him. It saved her from enduring his censure for the perjury she was committing.

Shaking aside the disturbing thought, she stepped back from the window. “You will grow accustomed to a child about the place.”

“Yes,” Aunt Eleanor nodded in agreement. “Especially as this baby will be our salvation. Since we are going through such trouble, perhaps you should acquire two babies. One could act as a backup in case something happens to the original?” She took in Meredith’s considering look and hastened to say, “Please, I only jest.”

“The idea does have merit, Aunt. I shall think on it.” She turned so her aunt could not see her twitching lips as she fought back a smile.

“No need for twins. One baby shall suit our purposes,” Aunt Eleanor sniffed, exiting the nursery.

Meredith frowned at her aunt’s departing words. They sounded so mercenary. Although reluctant at first, she had warmed to the notion of having a child. She had every intention of loving this baby—of lavishing on him all the love and attention she herself had never received. With that in mind, she examined the room critically.