Grayson’s pensive mood clung as he approached his darkened town house. He had given the staff an evening off after the impromptu birthday celebration they contrived this afternoon, but he had no qualms about putting himself to bed without the services of the butler, valet, and footmen who normally swarmed the halls. In fact, he rather enjoyed the solitude that met him.
It was not the first time he had walked through the shadowed rooms alone, and he felt no threat as he drew off his gloves and tossed them on an elegant satinwood table. His reputation as a ruthless opponent extended from political circles right down to the streets and was such that even the pickpockets usually left him alone.
Still, he had not earned his hard-won renown by relaxing his guard, and when he stepped into his study, his senses were roused to alertness. A subtle presence tickled the back of his neck and made him move casually toward the desk drawer that held his pistol.
“Hold there, gent!” The command confirmed his suspicions, and a figure stepped out of the shadows of the thick draperies. Grayson would have laughed at the sight of the begrimed urchin, except that there was nothing funny about the weapon trained upon him. The young man was either very brave or very stupid to dare the Marquess of Wroth’s home.
Grayson was intrigued. Lifting one brow, he eyed the ill-kept youth. “Do you think to hold me up?” he asked, incredulous.
His words seemed to disconcert the boy, whose poorly fitting clothes and matted hair looked as if they could use a good wash. “I ain’t no criminal. It’s you who must answer for your foul deeds!”
Foul deeds? Grayson momentarily ignored the pistol, held in a surprisingly small but steady hand, and inclined his head in interest. “And to what, exactly, do you refer, young man? My opposition to the bill that—”
“I ain’t talking about your politics. I’m talking about your morals or lack thereof!”
Lack thereof? The youngster’s speech held enough surprises to make Grayson study him closer. Despite his bedraggled appearance, the boy held himself straight, his feet spread in a ready stance for shooting. Yet there was something distinctly odd about him that Grayson couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“No one threatens me, pup,” he said. Although he did not raise his voice or change its tone, he conveyed a silky menace that had been known to make grown men shudder.
The urchin didn’t even blink.
“I’m here to avenge my sister, whom you seduced and got with child,” the young man said.
Grayson could not mistake the accent this time or the cool delivery. This was no ordinary guttersnipe. Who the devil was he? And what was this business about a sister?
“I can assure you, pup, that I do not consort with females of your family’s ilk,” Grayson answered smoothly.
“Don’t take that high-stepping tone with me. You liked her well enough when you ruined her. Now it’s time to pay the piper.”
“And that is you, I assume?” Grayson said, inclining his head in a contemptuous fashion that made the boy flush. Strange little fellow. Grayson couldn’t help admiring his heroics, however misplaced, but he had no desire to take a bullet for the sake of them.
“Look here, I have no idea what you have heard about me, but I do not prey upon virgins of any stamp. Perhaps your sister is simply trying to protect herself—”
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