A Bride by Moonlight by Liz Carlyle Read Free Book Online

father. That brings me to another topic.” Sir George looked suddenly uncomfortable. “I’ve had another letter from your grandfather. From Lord Duncaster.”
    Napier stiffened. His paternal grandfather, Henry Tarleton, sixth Earl of Duncaster, was a bitter old man, long estranged from Napier’s father. Indeed, Napier had never even laid eyes on his grandfather until last autumn, when Sir George had sent him to the vast family estate in Wiltshire to investigate a curious letter.
    “Meddling again, is he?” Napier grumbled.
    Sir George waved his hand as if it were no matter. “He presumes upon our old family friendship. Do you know, I believe I am to this day the only person connected to the Metropolitan Police who was entirely certain of your late father’s exalted family connections.”
    “Which was just as my father wished,” said Napier tightly.
    Sir George set both hands flat upon the tabletop and cleared his throat.
    “Duncaster acknowledges, Royden, that you’re now his heir,” he finally said. “Lord Saint-Bryce, your father’s elder brother, has been dead two months, God rest him, so you’re all that’s left. And, simply put, Duncaster wishes you to come home.”
    Napier stiffened. “The only home I have ever known, sir, is London.”
    “And whose choice was that?” asked Sir George quietly. “I took a particular interest in your father, not because I was close to him, for I wasn’t. No one was. He took care to see to that. But our long-standing family friendship—ah, that was one thing your father could not alter. Nicholas might change his surname to Napier. But that Tarleton blood? Oh, blood is immutable—much as you might wish otherwise.”
    “I’ve never given it much thought, one way or the other,” said Napier.
    “I believe you have,” said Sir George softly. “You went home last year at Lord Hepplewood’s behest.”
    “ Twice ,” said Napier tightly. “I went to Wiltshire twice. Once by your order to investigate that strange, rambling letter which he sent to you , not me. And yes, I went a few weeks later for his funeral. I . . . I still don’t know why I did.”
    Sir George’s face tightened. “Royden, you are wasting yourself here in London. And now your life has a greater purpose.”
    “Sir, how can you say that?” Napier shoved back his chair with a sharp scrape. “By God, I’ve given my life to this department and to this city. And how can any purpose be greater than truth and justice?”
    But the question rang hollow, even to his own ears. Always Napier had aspired to follow in his father Nicholas’s footsteps. And now . . . and now he did not know even the meaning of truth. Or of justice.
    Worse, he was beginning to wonder if he’d even known his father.
    Napier had always believed that to accept anything Lord Duncaster might offer him would be rejecting all that his father had sacrificed for when he’d left the family and changed his name. Was there not honor in living by one’s own wits? Or in wishing to succeed without the support of a rich and powerful family?
    But what, precisely, had Nicholas Napier sacrificed?
    Surely not his own honor? Surely he had not wished merely to punish Lord Duncaster over a quarrel? Could a man be so prideful—so bent on retaliation—he might sacrifice his own morals for money? That he might take bribery and convict an innocent man?
    Surely it was not possible.
    “I shouldn’t have said a greater purpose,” Sir George amended, drawing Napier from his reverie. “Just an unexpected turn. Lord Hepplewood was Duncaster’s best friend. And now, within the space of six months, Duncaster has also lost the last of his three sons. To outlive one’s children—dear God! That sort of grief is incomprehensible to me. Now your grandfather has no one.”
    Napier scowled. “He has his widowed sister, Lady Hepplewood, still happily ensconced beneath his very nose,” he said, “not that she has ever spared my lowly branch of the