Page 4 of A Duke Changes Everything
“A visitor insists on speaking to you, sir.” Before Spencer could say more, another shout echoed from the gaming floor. “He’s not a member.”
“Then tell him to call at another time.” Before Calvert, Nick had been petitioned by three other gentlemen seeking funds. He’d had enough for one evening, and he’d promised to join Iverson and Huntley to celebrate the club’s anniversary.
“Two of my men have him restrained, but I suspect you’ll wish to see him.” Despite how his polished accent lent every syllable elegance, Spencer never wasted words.
“Why?”
“Sir.” Spencer hesitated. “He says he’s come about your father—”
“My father is dead.”
“About your father’s estate, Mr. Lyon.”
Nick’s eyesight blurred. He heard his breath, rapid and wheezing in his chest like a rusty squeezebox.
He hadn’t thought of the estate in years. He did everything in his power to never think on the blighted place.
“He insists on seeing you, sir,” Spencer continued. “Says his name is Granville.”
Nick’s head shot up. He knew that name. A crony of his father’s who’d become a mentor to Nick’s older brother.
“Sir Malcolm Granville?” Huntley asked. “I went to school with his son. Shall I go and speak to him?”
Nick’s throat filled with bile, and he didn’t protest when Iverson nodded at Huntley, who headed downstairs to deal with their belligerent visitor.
“Do you think Granville’s come to say your brother is after money again?” Iverson asked quietly.
“He won’t find any here.” Nick swigged down another glass of bubbly wine to clear the bitter taste in his throat. “Knowing Eustace, he could spend more in one evening than most of the men downstairs wager in a week.”
In the sixteen years since his older brother had inherited the dukedom, he’d spent enough to nearly empty the ducal coffers. Nick wanted nothing to do his wastrel brother or the bloody estate that was the Tremayne legacy.
A few minutes later, Huntley returned and approached the cart of drinks, just as he had when he’d first arrived. His expression was the same mask of jovial nonchalance he always wore, but for the telltale tightness in his jaw.
“What did he say, Huntley?” Nick dreaded the answer. Any news of his brother wouldn’t be good.
“He said two letters were sent from your brother’s solicitor with no response from you.”
Nick drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, trying to temper his agitation. “I no longer bother with opening any correspondence from him. Is that all he wanted? To complain on Eustace’s behalf that I haven’t opened my post?”
Huntley shoved a shaky hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Nick. Recall that I’m only the messenger, will you?”
Every muscle in Nick’s body tensed. “Go on.”
When Huntley merely swallowed hard and stood gaping at them, Iverson stepped forward.
“What is it, man? Just tell us.”
Nick saw Huntley’s shoulders sag and his lips begin to move. Far off, he could hear the man’s voice, but it took long minutes for the words to register. For the horror of it to sink in—the past he loathed had come back with a vengeance.
“Your brother, Eustace, is dead. As of a week ago, you’re the Duke of Tremayne.”
Chapter Two
Mina Thorne held the letter in her hand so tightly, the foolscap began to crumple. She’d been gripping the envelope for half an hour, unable to let it go, because everything else she cared about seemed to be slipping away.
In three days’ time, she might lose her position. Her home. Friends at Enderley Castle who’d become as dear as family.
Concealing the letter and her trembling hands below the level of her desk was easy enough. Willing away the flutter in her stomach was proving harder, but Mina had become rather good at pretending.
