The Unknown Heir

‘I suppose you were not about to crack me over the head in the hope of stealing my purse?’

‘Fair go,’ the man whined as he struggled to his feet. ‘I were only tryin’ to earn an honest crust, me lord.’

‘I do not think the watch would consider assault and robbery an honest way to earn your living, rogue.’ Jared’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. He had pulled a small pistol from his greatcoat pocket and held it cocked and ready. ‘Or perhaps it wasn’t money you were after?’

‘He said I could keep whatever I found in your pockets,’ the man stated, eyeing Jared’s pistol nervously. ‘You ain’t goin’ ter shoot me, are yer?’

‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,’ Jared said coldly. ‘If you try to escape custody, I would be well within my rights to shoot you in the leg. Such wounds turn bad in prison and you might die there, alone and untended.’

‘I might be of use to yer, me lord,’ the man said, beads of sweat on his brow as he looked into Jared’s eyes, because he didn’t doubt that he would shoot if provoked. ‘I could tell yer somethin’ that might save yer life.’

‘Indeed?’ Jared’s brows arched. ‘Why should I believe anything you say?’

‘It weren’t yer purse he wanted,’ the man said with a crafty leer. ‘He wants yer dead, me lord.’

‘Who wants me dead?’

‘I don’t rightly know his name, sir—but I could tell yer where he lives when he’s in town. He thought ’e had me fooled, but Harris Tyler knows a thing or two about fooling hisself.’

‘You are saying that someone paid you to crack me over the head?’

‘That be the truth of it, me lord. He said he didn’t care how I did it, but I was to kill yer ternight.’

‘And how did you know who you were to kill?’ Jared wasn’t sure whether to believe his tale. ‘Where did you meet this man?’

‘A gentleman, he were, me lord, just like you. He came looking fer me at the Crown and King in Cheapside; it’s where I hang out, see—and he told me there were twenty guineas in it if I done you in.’

‘He gave you my name?’

‘No, me lord, just took me to your hotel. We followed you here, sir. He told me to wait until you came out, as you’d likely be two parts to the wind and easy prey.’

‘He did, did he?’ Jared frowned. ‘Did he give you your money, rogue?’

‘No, sir. He said he would come to the Crown and King termorrow at eight of the evenin’, and give it me then.’

‘And yet you know where he lives?’

‘I know where he went after he left me ’ere,’ the man said. ‘I followed ’im, see—I like to know things about a cove who offers me money to do murder—but I can’t swear to it that it were ’is house. There were others comin’ and goin’.’

‘Possibly a house party,’ Jared said. ‘Well, Tyler, if that is your name. I think you had better take me to the house, and then we’ll see. As you said, it is possible that you might be of use to me, but we should get one thing clear from the start. I may use you, and I may pay you if you serve me well—but I make a bad enemy. I would not advise you to get any ideas about double crossing me.’

A shudder went down Harris Tyler’s spine as he looked into the icy eyes of his former victim. ‘If I’d known what manner of man yer were, me lord, I wouldn’t ’ave tried nothin’…cross me ’eart and swear to die.’

Jared smiled. ‘I doubt you have a heart, Tyler—but if you don’t want to die, keep faith with me.’

‘It’s me missus and the little ’uns,’ Tyler whined. ‘Sick she’s been and no money for the doctor.’

‘And I was born yesterday,’ Jared replied in a pleasant tone that belied the threat beneath. ‘I’m giving you one chance, Tyler—and you can start by telling me anything you can about this man, and by showing me where this house is.’

‘Well, sir, I did notice one thing when his head was turned from me, sir. He has a small scar behind his left ear. You can’t see it most of the time, but his hair was tied with a bow, and when he turned his head I saw it for a moment.’

‘A scar behind his left ear?’ Jared studied his face. Was he inventing the scar—had he invented the whole story? For the moment he would go along with it, because there were only a handful of people who knew he was in London. A rogue attacking him in the hope of robbing him was one thing, but a mysterious man who had paid for him to be murdered was quite another.

Hester sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. It was thick and reached to the small of her back when she let it loose from the strict confines to which she habitually consigned it. With her hair loosely waving, and in the soft light of the candles, Hester looked younger than she was, a wistful expression in her eyes as she stared unseeingly at her reflection.

It was very strange that she had been on the point of writing to Mr Grant earlier that day, she thought, and wondered what had brought him to town. She had discovered his letter waiting for her in the hall on their return that evening. It was a very proper letter, informing her that he was in town for a matter of a few days and would be happy to be of service to her in any way he could. She had only to send for him, because he was staying at the Carrick and would call on her before he left town. She would reply to it in the morning, but for the moment she was not certain what she ought to say to him. Would it be proper of her to discuss her worries concerning the heir?

She had no such doubts about talking to Mr Knighton, because she trusted him to keep her confidence, and she had known him for most of her life. She did not know Mr Grant well, and though he seemed sincere, he might not be the best person to speak to about Mr Clinton. After all, should anything happen to the American, he would be the next in line to inherit. Mr Knighton, on the other hand, had nothing to gain from such a tragic occurrence.

Hester closed her eyes, determined to put it all from her mind. Lying here worrying would not help her. She would spend the morning with the American heir. If he continued with his masquerade, she would ask him why he was trying to deceive her.

Hester was ready and waiting when Jared arrived the next morning. She noticed that he had abandoned the ill-fitting clothes he had been wearing the previous day. His coat was a little shabby, but she could not doubt that it had been tailored by an expert; his boots were old, but discernibly of good quality, and his breeches fitted him well. His shoulders were broad, his body lean and strong looking, his face attractive rather than handsome. She decided that her godmother had been right—he would pay for dressing.

‘Well, sir, are you ready to be fitted for the outfits you will need if you are to be introduced into society?’ Her eyes challenged him, meeting his so boldly that he was momentarily startled. He could almost think that she had seen through his disguise—and yet how could she?

‘I am not sure that I can afford to patronise the best tailors,’ he prevaricated, knowing that he might be recognised at some of them.

‘You must have good hats and boots,’ Hester said. ‘Besides, Grandfather has opened an account for you at his bank. You may spend what you wish within reason. He will make you an allowance for other things once you have settled on a proper sum between you, but you must have a decent wardrobe.’

‘Must I?’ Jared’s eyebrows rose. What he had learned from Tyler the previous evening had put him on his mettle. If the man were to be believed, his life was in danger, and that meant he could trust no one—perhaps even this woman might be other than she seemed. ‘Well, I do need a decent hat, so perhaps we should visit the haberdasher you mentioned.’

‘Lock’s are not merely haberdashers,’ Hester reprimanded him with a sparkling look. ‘They are the hat makers, Mr Clinton. No one who is anyone would dream of going anywhere else.’

‘Indeed?’ A look of mockery came to his eyes. ‘I have plenty of good hats at home that did not come from that particular establishment.’

‘Indeed?’ Hester looked at the battered example he had taken off as they met. ‘If that is so, one wonders why you did not bring them with you?’

‘Ah…’ Jared smothered a laugh. She had him there. He had spoken too hastily. ‘Perhaps I should say that I had plenty of hats once.’

‘You were once in the position of being able to live decently, I believe?’ Hester said. ‘Mr Birch gave us only sketchy details, Mr Clinton—but we have been told that you lost everything gambling?’

‘Yes, most of what I had,’ Jared agreed, keeping a bland expression as he lied. ‘I still have a small property back home.’

‘Yes, well, Grandfather isn’t rich either,’ Hester told him. ‘He has some property and the land. Unfortunately, his sons and grandsons were mostly gamblers, including my father.’

‘Do you think it right that I should take the duke’s money for clothes?’ Jared asked, his expression giving nothing away. ‘No point in pretending to be what I ain’t—is there?’

‘I am not at liberty to confide my grandfather’s plans for you,’ Hester said with a frown. ‘I do know that you must be presentable if you are to succeed in the best circles in English society.’

‘I’m not sure I wish to succeed. In fact, I wasn’t planning to stay around long enough to meet your society friends, Miss Sheldon.’

‘Oh but you must,’ Hester cried. ‘If you don’t…Grandfather is relying on you, sir. Surely you want your inheritance? It is not as much as it might have been, but it is still considerable and it might—’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘No, it isn’t for me to say.’

‘But you are privy to his plans, aren’t you?’

Hester felt her cheeks becoming warm under his scrutiny. ‘It would be quite wrong of me to disclose anything he may have told me.’

Jared sat down, crossing his long legs in front of him. He gave her a direct look. ‘I have plenty of time, Miss Sheldon.’