“Yer payment to Boss is due.” The brute repeated the words in a sort of bored Cockney grumble, as if he’d said them a hundred times before.
His partner, shorter but bulkier, spoke up more loudly. “Past due. Pay up, Pembroke, or we’ll take what we can for what you owe.”
“Go to hell.”
The short man lunged at him, and James hit him with a quick jab to the nose.
“Bleedin’ hell,” the man squealed, holding his nose.
James remained ready to strike again, but the small man merely glared at him.
“Get out.” James spoke through clenched teeth, and the larger brute leaned in as if to hear him better. “Get. Out.”
“Not until we’ve taken what you owe.” When the larger man started for the drawing room, the butler, Jeffries, struck out his cane and braced it across the doorway, blocking the way. Then Jeffries handed James a pistol he’d drawn out of his pocket.
A small thing, snub-nosed with a fat revolver barrel.
James took the weapon and pointed it at the leader, cocking the weapon, not even sure it was loaded.
“Take your partner and go while you can.”
The big man looked wary and made a move to slip his hand inside his coat.
“Don’t.” James sprang toward him, pointing thegun at his chest. “Tell Beck he’ll get his money soon, but there will be no more bullying tactics. No more threatening my staff or invading my home. Understand?”
The smaller man began to retreat, still holding his sore nose, but the larger of the two kept still, glancing once at the revolver aimed at his chest.
“When does he get what you owe?”
“As I said, soon.”
“Boss won’t wait much longer. Did you stumble into a windfall, Pembroke?” Dubious though his tone was, the glower on the man’s face seemed set in stone. Even as he spoke, the hateful expression was immovable.
“What I stumbled into is a title. As of three days ago, I am Earl of Rossbury.”
The brute’s brows arched high, and Mrs. Wilton let out a gasp, then mumbled an oath James couldn’t quite make out. Jeffries released a raspy chuckle, and Jenny, the housemaid, squeaked as if she’d just spotted a mouse in the scullery.
“Tell your boss that,” James said, lifting the weapon from the man’s chest and then using it to wave them toward the front door.
James and his staff all let out a sigh of relief when the men relented, and Mrs. Wilton locked the door behind them.
“An earldom?” Jeffries asked in his low voice.
“Apparently.”
“My lord, blimey.” Mrs. Wilton tested the honorific with a proud little smile. “Shall we prepare to move the household?”
“I’m afraid not.” James didn’t have time to tell them everything. Only one thing mattered now. “I will need help preparing for a journey to Scotland.”
The assembled staff members exchanged raised brow glances.
“When do you depart, my lord?” Jeffries asked.
“Immediately.”
Chapter Two
When Lady Lucy Westmont made up her mind to do something, dissuading her was well-nigh impossible.
