Chapter Two
Three years later
“Come again?” Percysaid.
“You are the new Duke of Grandfellow,” the solicitor repeated, his sneer tempered, no doubt by the prospect of Percy’s newfound and obviously fabricated power and fortune.
And if the list of properties were any indication, they wereimmensefabrications.
Percy looked around the small office, checking for feet hidden under the ghastly green drapes or in the corners between overfilled bookcases.
When the Duke of Camine had sent him on his “errand” this morning, Percy had been sure it’d had something to do with a fraudulent claim to the estate or something equally mundane. Now he was certain Hamish was having a go at him as revenge for some previous grievance.
“Your Grace?”
Percy turned on the solicitor, knowing exactly where his knife would fit between the man’s third and fourth button of his silk vest.
The man swallowed audibly. He cleared his throat and laid a stack of papers on the desk between them. “The list of properties and tenants are here for you to check.” The man looked up and hastily added, “At your leisure, of course. You’ll find noindentures. It is entailed, of course, but I’ve served as solicitor for the Grandfellow estate for forty years,” he said with evident pride. “The land and farms were left in fine order by the previous Duke of Grandfellow. I trust you’ll find no area for complaint. If you’ll sign the deed to the estate, I will send the rest of the paperwork after you are settled.”
Percy shook his head.
This had gone too far. He’d wasted half the morning coming to this side of London, and even more time finding a presentable vest and coat, complete with a nauseating top hat and cane, as good a disguise for a gentleman’s associate he’d ever worn.
The Duke of Camine may have forgotten Percy’s former partner, the lunatic hellbent on murdering the lot of them while they slept, but Percy had not. After Nic’s appearance at the Leishires’ ball and his subsequent capture by the Merry Men gang, then his break from jail and attempted kidnapping of Camille Louis, Duchess of Lux and also Hamish’s sister, at the Cock ’n Hen tavern, Nic had escaped by jumping headfirst into the river. That had been three years ago. Their small group of friends—Hamish and Charlotte, and Renard and Camille—may have been gullible enough to believe Nic had drowned in the Thames after being cornered once again by the Merry Men, but it would take more than a poisoned bit of water to rid the world of that rat.
Percy cracked his knuckles. If Hamish had time to come up with such elaborate pranks, perhaps it was time Percy reminded his friend how he’d earned his street nickname, Vengeance, and how aptly the description fit.
He pushed back his chair and stood. He made it as far as the door, when the other man shouted.
“Wait!” The solicitor scrambled after him. “Where are you going, Your Grace?”
Percy didn’t bother turning around. “I’ve more important things to do with my time than be a part of this farce.”
“Farce? Sir, the title and land pass to you, whether you wish them to or not. As the only living male relative of the previous duke, there is no one else to inherit Grandfellow. As the law of primogeniture states, the land is yours by right.”
Percy scowled. “You mean by control.” He had to hand it to the old man, hesoundedhaughty and put out, like any decent gentleman’s solicitor. Whichever thespian troupe Hamish had found him in, Percy would make sure to hire the little man the next time he decided to infiltrate the Home Office. Even the man’s facial hair, mutton chopped and sharply groomed close to the chin, had an authentic combination of white and grey.
Guess it wouldn’t hurt to play along for a few minutes while he devised the best plan to make the Duke of Camine bleed from his ears and nose.
Percy leaned against the office door and crossed his arms over his chest. “And how exactly am I related to the duke again?”
The man frowned. “One moment.” He went back to the stack of papers on his desk, making a grand show of selecting a particularly fine piece of parchment.
This should be good.
The man placed a monocle in his left eye and read, “Jackson Cole, Duke of Grandfellow, son of Frasier Cole...”
Percy frowned. Why did that name sound familiar?
“Cousin to Jackaby Cole,” the man continued. “Whose son was Jack Cole, father to—”
“Me,” Percy said. “You say the previous duke was my grandfather’s cousin.” The names certainly sounded familiar. He did have a vague memory of a man called “Grandpappy Jack.”
If this game hadn’t been at his expense, Percy would have applauded the other man’s dedication to detail.
But the charadewasat his expense.
His gaze narrowed. “You certainly did your research.”
