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“Harlot! Jade! If my judgment is questioned, I will simply say that, as their guardian, it is my sacred duty to keep the boys away from the poisonous influence of their mother, a known wanton. Your beauty may blind others to the impurities of your own character, but I know all, madam. I know all about your little bastard, and the provisions you made for her.”
    Shocked, Emma trembled, her face white. “What?” she gasped.
    Seeing her tremble, Hugh smiled. “It was the one thing I did not bring out in court. When my poor nephew died so suddenly, I knew it was my duty to take his private papers into safekeeping. One doesn’t want such things to fall into the wrong hands, after all.”
    “You have my letter,” Emma said dully.
    He smiled. “I have your letter, madam. I always thought my nephew indulged you too much, but it is to his credit that he refused to let you pass your bastard off as one of his lawful children.”
    “I will kill you,” Emma whispered, her nails digging deep into the palms of her hands.
    He laughed harshly. “I have thought of that, madam. If anything happens to me, your letter will be made public. Your little bastard—what is her name? Althea? Athena? Attila? Unless you heed me, she will learn that her aunt is really her mother. Her little life will be ruined. As for your legitimate children, they will repudiate you, and despise you, too, if they don’t already. I could make your letter public now, of course, if that is what you prefer?”
    Blind panic seized hold of Emma. She struggled to keep her head clear. “No,” she said, biting her lip. “Don’t. Please.”
    The last word was forced from between frozen lips.
    He smiled horribly. “Oh! You’re prepared to be reasonable then? Good. Pay my debts, and I will be reasonable, too. There is no need for your little Agatha to ever know the truth.”
    Emma went rigid with contempt. Helpless hatred poured from her eyes. “You shall have a banknote for seven thousand pounds,” she said icily.
    His fleshy lips curved in a grotesque smile. “Could you find it in your heart to make it ten thousand?” he asked. “One is always so strapped this time of year.”

Chapter Three

    Otto disliked Nicholas the moment the young man popped his golden head into the billiard room, throwing off Otto’s concentration, and causing him to scratch.
    “Sir, you interfered with my shot,” Otto complained, retrieving the cue ball from the corner pocket. He had removed his coat for the game, but, otherwise he was impeccably over-dressed in black satin breeches and a silver-embroidered waistcoat. His white silk shirt was heavily adorned with lace, and he wore his usual diamond rings.
    “I beg your pardon, sir!” Nicholas stammered, lingering in the doorway. “I am just arrived at Warwick Palace. I was told I might find some of the other guests here.”
    “I dismissed them,” Otto explained. “I do not require an audience.”
    To his surprise and annoyance, the younger man came deeper into the room. “You must be the Duke of Warwick,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Nicholas. Nicholas St. Austell. You have a magnificent home. Thank you for inviting me.”
    Otto merely looked at his hand. “I am not the Duke of Warwick,” he said coldly. “The Duke of Warwick is only twelve years old. This is not my house. I did not invite you.”
    Nicholas withdrew his hand. “I beg your pardon.”
    “As I said, I don’t require an audience.”
    “Quite,” said Nicholas. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but would you mind if I rang for a servant? I keep getting lost! I’ve never been in a palace before.”
    “There’s no need to state the obvious,” Otto said languidly. “By all means, ring the bell.”
    Evidently too stupid to take offense, the young man went on doggedly, “I was in the Admiralty, in London, once, when I took my lieutenant’s exam, but that was nothing compared to this place. It’s hard to believe this is a private residence. I