One
Agitation shook Emerson Whitmore’s hand. “Did you kill him?” He picked up a decanter of amber liquid and poured out a finger of whatever handy spirit it happened to be to keep from strangling his half brother, Benjamin Massey. The man was a disaster waiting to happen, yet shockingly was still aliveandin one piece. A note penned on expensive vellum suspiciously resembling—resembling?—blackmail was seared on his brain.
Greetings, sir.
There are those who might take an interest in your cousin’s failure to present himself upon his father’s death—and how conveniently that omission places your brother within reach of the title. Once such matters are set before the magistrates, they have a way of proceeding further than a gentleman might wish. Fifty thousand pounds ensures my silence.
Oh, it was definitely blackmail, and secured within the inner pocket of Emerson’s practical waistcoat. It seemed to burn through his shirt, scorching his torso. The barb was perhaps taking things a tad too far, since his half brother had an aversion to blood. But Emerson wouldn’t put anything past those upstarts Ben ran with.
Ben’s eyes flashed fire even as he dusted imaginary lint from the shoulder of his excellently cut wool coat. A far cry from Emerson’s own serviceable brown, since most days he could be found in the sooty confines of an old warehouse near the docks where Whitmore’s Wholesale was housed. “I’m offended you think me capable of such an atrocity,” Ben bit out.
Emerson snorted, effectively masking the depth of his irritation. He had half a mind to toss the missive in the fire and wash his hands of the deathbed promise his father hadextorted from him in looking after Ben. But guilt had a way of digging beneath one’s skin even if it felt like pouring salt in an open wound. “Don’t sound so hurt. Your deviousness knows no bounds.”
Resentment fleeted Ben’s expression. “Your faith in my character is sadly lacking, but then it always has been, hasn’t it?”
Emerson grimaced.Not always.Benjamin was a charming enough fellow, a trait acquired from their father that had bypassed Emerson somehow. Perhaps something to do with his brother’s aversion to blood. He shook his head, holding back a pulse of amusement that would not be appreciated. Ah, well.
Where their father had been inherently honest, Benjamin’s acumen to truth was almost nil.
Occasionally, Emerson’s sympathies stirred—how could they not when their father had not trusted his younger son with the simplest of tasks? Emerson suspected had he not been brought into the household, Ben would have flourished, but after the death of Mrs. Massey, their father had been vastly overwhelmed.
“You aren’t even listening to me.” Ben’s exasperation jolted Emerson back to the issue at hand.
Insinuating Ben had disposed of their cousin Oscar, the current earl of Hallandale, when no one had seen him for what amounted to an indeterminate length of time was low, even for Emerson.
“I visited the old earl before he died. He said he hadn’t seen or heard from Oscar in an age.” This last was issued with Ben’s annoying smugness, spoiled the effect by frowning. “He’s probably dead.”
According to the note in Emerson’s pocket, that was very likely the case. “I don’t believe ‘probably’ would pass muster before the Committee on Privilege of the House of Lords,” Emerson informed him dryly.
His half brother rallied. “If the powers that be don’t locate the heir, you know very well I’m next in line for the earldom regardless.”
“Unless”—Emerson paused to ensure he had his half brother’s full attention—“Oscar has sired an heir of his own.”
Ben froze.
“I see that possibility hadn’t occurred to you.” Emerson pulled on his cloak of courteous indifference, the one that had served him so well from childhood through the time he’d left the farm and moved to London and opened his business that had led him to great prosperity.Mr. Whitmore.A title Emerson much preferred. He shuddered at the thought of belonging to the peerage. It was enough to having him break out in hives. “Nevertheless, Ben, you must cease going about calling yourself Earl of Hallandale. Neither Parliament nor the Crown will look favorably on it should something have happened to Oscar. Thecurrentearl.” This he added, in the event Ben proved too dazzled by the title so near at hand.
“We shall see.” Ben began his ritual of fidgeting, shoving a hand in the pocket of his coat, out, then in again. A sure sign that Emerson had pricked his brother’s conscience, if not having tugged at a thread of apprehension.
Emerson poured himself another glass of his excellent brandy. After a slight hesitation, he poured one for Ben as well offered it to him, who, of course, disregarded the gesture. Emerson sighed. “Look, Ben, just don’t go harrying off doing things at the whims of those whelps you run with. They don’t have your best interests at heart.”
Gorman, Stockton, Collier, and Lampert were the quintessential bored lords Emerson detested. He could only imagine what set in motion Ben’s hair-brained impatience of claiming the title so quickly. While Emerson would love nothingmore than disentangling his half brother from around his neck, his promise to Papa ensured Ben’s well-being.
“You’ll look after him, Emerson.” It wasn’t a question. “Benjamin’s not as tough as you. He requires a strong hand. My cousin would just as soon as toss him in the gutters.”
It was always the same.Take care of your half brother. I took you in after your mother died. You owe us.“Of course, Father. But you know he won’t like it.”
“Bah, I vow, someday he’ll appreciate you.”
Emerson blinked. That day had yet to arrive. “You should return to the farm.”
Ben bristled as if he’d been prodded with a barbed rod. “I sold the farm.”
Emerson stared at his brother, wondering if he’d spoken a foreign tongue, yet the words were indeed English. “What?”
“I sold the farm.” He fidgeted again. “I had every right.” He not only sounded defensive, his fists clenched at his sides and his body lean forward as if poised for attack, rather than fending off an attack.
A red haze sheened Emerson’s vision, and his jaw tightened. He fought off the irrational rash of fury and said calmly, “I hesitate to ask but where the devil are you living?”
