“There’snothingmore between us.” She stepped back. “You agreed to start over, that we would be partners. But it’s clear I never truly knew the man I made that promise with. Duke, gentleman, childhood friend... I don’t know who the Duke of Grandfellow is nowadays, but I do know one thing.” She shook her head. The words tore through her, but she held herself straight, when the rest of her was crumbling from the inside. “You’re a fraud.”
Chapter Twenty
Jackson’s back metthe mat with a bruisingwhack, the sound reverberating off the brick walls of the refurbished mill.
Roberts, not a hair out of place, crouched down and smiled. “Had enough, Your Grace?”
Hardly.
The taste of fear was still on his tongue. Anna’s words rang in his ears.
You’re a fraud.
Jackson dragged himself to his feet, his back stinging and his jaw aching from Roberts’s last punch. He raised his guard and yelled, “Again!”
Roberts sighed and raised his own fists. “No empathy for a poor earl’s son.”
Jackson sneered. “Your family’s wealth may not rival the royal coffers, but one would hardly call your prospectspoor.”
“I was referring to my knuckles,” Roberts said, rubbing the raw skin. “If I’m expected to beat you into a more amiable position, I’m likely to bruise bone.”
Damn jester. “I didn’t ask you to spar.”
“No,” Roberts drew out the vowel to facetious effect. “You stormed in and threw a punch at the first fighter who met your eye.”
“Agent Harper was up for a round,” Jackson pointed out. “You have no right to interfere.”
Home Secretary Sidmouth had seen the old mill transformed into a sparse but well-maintained gym: boxing ring, sawdust-filled bags hung from the ceiling, and a rug-lined track around the building’s interior. A frequent haunt for agents—retired and active—to keep in fighting shape... or to keep the demons at bay. Few needed an invitation to slide between the ropes.
Roberts expertly ducked to avoid Jackson’s next attack. And again. The bugger had the gall to yawn.
“When you’re finished,” Roberts said, “I’ve a mind to pay another visit to our detained barkeep.”
Jackson kept his arms up. “Any word yet on the other players in the counterfeiter’s ring?”
Roberts shook his head. “Our newest inmate is particularly tight-lipped, I’m afraid.”
Jackson huffed. Roberts was a patient man. The harder the nut, the more delight the man would take in cracking the shell open with slow deliberateness.
“Why use a sharp knife when a dull spoon savors the experience?”A direct quote.
“Though it was clear upon first inquiry that we caught the majority of the inner ring,” Roberts said. “The supplier, the organizer, the front man, the enforcer: seems everyone but The Printer himself was in that back room.” His look was considering. “We did good, Jackson. We severed the body.”
But not the head.
Jackson didn’t need to be an authority on Greek mythology to know this monster would grow its limbs back.
“What of Hobbs? Did Sidmouth get anything more from him?” Jackson asked, throwing a straight punch that Roberts expertly knocked away with the back of his hand.
Roberts voiced what Jackson already suspected. “Why inform a pawn of the game when it is meant to be sacrificed?”
Frustration turned Jackson’s next punch wide.
Roberts lowered his guard in response, the action a declaration of war.
Jackson lunged, but Roberts danced away. Temper rising, Jackson half-turned as he threw his next swing. Not even a clip as he met empty air.
“Stop evading andfight,” he panted.
