He could practically hear them mentally rehearsing the speech they meant to deliver. They exchanged glances—crafty, knowing looks.
“Your Grace,” the taller one began, holding his hat like a supplicant but failing to mask his scheming. “Ewan Harcroft. This is my younger brother, Bram. We’re here about our sister’s lad—God rest her soul.”
Malum let the silence stretch. The brothers exchanged glances.
“I’ll get to the point, then. Blood matters,” Ewan continued, adopting an air of false sentiment. “He is family, after all.”
“Interesting timing,” Malum said flatly.
“When we told Ester to take the brat to you,” the younger brother spoke up, “we didn’t realize?—”
He was cut off by a stern glance from his older brother, but Malum had a pretty good idea of what he’d been going to say:
We didn’t realize the baby’s father was a duke.
“The thing is,” Ewan Harcroft plunged onward. “We’ve had a change of heart about him,” he insisted.
“Sit down,” Malum eventually said, a command that they hurried to follow as he took the dealer’s place at the table.
It didn’t matter one iota that Ernest wasn’t his actual son. The child had been left on his doorstep.
Blood obviously hadn’t mattered to them then. He doubted these men even knew their nephew’s name.
The Harcrofts—red-faced, as they should be—couldn’t quite meet Malum’s glare. They shifted to the edges of their seats, glancing around as if the elegance itself was enough to make them uneasy. It likely was, considering their background.
“A change of heart…” Malum murmured. His gaze sharpened, his tone coolly detached.
Both nodded, and Ewan Harcroft let out a sigh that was clearly meant to sound wistful. “He’s a bastard, but the brat deserves to know his mother’s kin.”
A small smirk tugged at Bram Harcroft’s mouth. “The family business could use an extra pair of hands in a few years’ time.”
In other words, if these two had their way, young Ernest would grow up little more than a slave.
Unless… Malum waited. Because this wasn’t what they truly wanted. If it was, then they would have simply kept the boy from the beginning. No, they had heard about that damn article. And now, they were hoping to profit from the circumstances.
“In that case,” Malum bluffed, “I’ll send one of my men to fetch him.”
Their consternation was almost laughable.
“No need to be hasty,” Bram Harcroft rushed to say. “We don’thaveto take him back.” He glanced over to his brother.
“Right,” Ewan Harcroft rushed to agree. “The boy deserves to know his father. Likely best for him, isn’t it? But…walking away from all that’s left of our dear sister, that’s no small heartache. Being—being forced to give him up, having to turn our backs on our own blood.…” He let his words hang in the air, exchanging a second glance with his brother before facing Malum again. He scratched his chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “Ten thousand pounds should do it. We’ll let him stay.”
These two had dared to use an innocent child as leverage. Unacceptable.
Malum leaned forward, allowing a vague smile to tug at his mouth as he narrowed his eyes. “Let me be sure I understand. You want ten thousand pounds to abandon your suddenfamilial sentiments.”
The brothers nodded hesitantly.
“Walk out now,” Malum said, his tone sharp, “or leave in a box. Your choice. This conversation is over.”
Malum rose almost languidly and turned on his heel, more than happy to put an end to this little meeting. But before he could close the door, the younger Harcroft, evidently not as sharp as his brother, succumbed to a moment of ill-advised pride. “Arrogant sod!” His voice rang out, laced with poorly concealed anger. “You think you can get away with treating us like—like trash? You’ll regret this, Malum!”
Malum paused in the doorway, his disdain saying what words didn’t need to. Empty threats weren’t worth a reply.
When he passed Boris, his voice cut through the air. “See the Harcroft brothers out,” he said. “And make sure they regret ever coming here.”
Malum waited to stretch his shoulders until he’d stepped into his office.
