This was close as an English duke would ever come to begging.
“I am prepared to make it worth your while,” the duke continued.
“Pardon?” Alex frowned. “Worth my while?”
“Yes. I know the Crown’s solicitors prepared a portfolio of the marquisate’s holdings for you, so you have seen the wealth on offer. I understand that in letting go of the title, you are releasing a significant source of income. You are, after all, technically the legal heir. I am prepared to offer you the sum of thirty-thousand pounds to quit the field and sign the Writ of Attainder. Thereby, allowing my grandson to inherit this lot.” Ferndown shot Alex a wry smile. “If it would sweeten the pot at all, I can also see that Galahad is thrown into the mix.”
Alex blinked, positively winded.
Thirty. Thousand.Pounds.
It was a king’s ransom.
Enough, that when added to his already large reserves, he could live well for the rest of his life. No work needed, should he choose, and without the pressure of a peerage on his shoulders.
Alex didn’t require the funds.
But Ferndown was not wrong. Money and Galahad—yes, he would be taking the horse, too—did indeed sweeten the pot.
“Shake hands on it now,” Ferndown continued, extending his palm. “Come with us tomorrow to London. We’ll have it all settled in a trice. You with your money and us with the signed affidavit saying you will not contest the Writ of Attainder.”
It was on the tip of Alex’s tongue to agree. To shake hands and give his word as a gentleman.
It was what he wanted, after all.
Everyone won.
But before he could reply or raise his hand, a shout from Lord Frank drew his attention.
A brace of pheasants burst from the brush, badly startling the poor steward who fell backward, arms wind-milling.
Lord Frank swiveled in his saddle, tracking the birds with his gun, not paying attention to Alex and Ferndown who were forty yards behind him.
Lord Frank fired, his aim too close to where Alex sat atop his horse.
Galahad squealed and startled, jumping sideways.
Had that damn idiot just grazed his horse with bird shot?!
That was Alex’s first and last thought, as Galahad instantly bucked, then reared, and then took off at a gallop, racing straight for the cover of a clump of trees.
Only Alex’s instinctual expertise as a horseman kept him in the saddle.
But as Galahad barreled into the forest, Alex realized that he would have been better off to allow the stallion to throw him.
Skilled horsemanship was useless against the forest itself.
Branches whipped him and tugged at his coat.
A low, wide branch jutted across the path, right at chest height.
Galahad was moving too quickly for Alex to react in time.
In one wrenching motion, Alex was swept clean off Galahad’s back.
Alex spun and tumbled before hitting the ground. Hard.
The forest went black.
