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face, but his emotions clamored for attention. Mr. Timmons had given him his father's title and honor, and John doubted he was ready to be the next Duke of Somerset.
    He rubbed a finger over his chin. Now was an ideal time to promote his idea to the one adult in the peerage who might listen to him.

    Chapter 3

    The stiff-necked Belfont butler opened the tall doors of the earl's study and ushered John inside. Though early in the afternoon, a fire crackled in the hearth.
    John set aside his riding crop and removed his gloves. A trickle of sweat slid between his shoulder blades, and he ran a finger around his collar as much from the heat as the nervous anticipation of taking Kitty's father into his confidence. Betrayal could rise from the very person from whom he sought help.
    As he reclined in a maroon wing-backed chair, he studied the earl's trophies from hunts gone by. A red fox, eternal snarl frozen on its face, pursued a brightly-plumed pheasant across the top of a bookcase. Over the desk hung the tail feathers of a blue-green peacock, fanned out in iridescent splendor. The earl had kept a small flock at one time, but their shrill cries at all hours eventually persuaded the countess to part with them. At the time, Kitty had been inconsolable.
    Again and again, he studied the same fox, pheasant, and peacock. Likely, the earl did not assign much importance to his visit.
    After fifteen minutes of drumming his fingers, the door opened, and John rose as the earl-a man of medium height and boundless energy, in sharp contrast to John's father-whisked through the room to his desk and sat.
    John waited, gloves tapping the side of his leg, to be acknowledged.
    When the earl looked up, John noted tiny lines forked from the corners of his hazel eyes. "Seymour, always a pleasure to see you. What brings you today? Your father not taken worse, has he?"
    "He is much the same, my lord. It is only a matter of time before he succumbs."
    Lord Raeburn's brow furrowed. He flicked a hand at John's chair. "Pray, be seated."
    John caught himself twisting the smooth leather of his riding gloves between his fingers and set them at his feet.
    "Lord Raeburn, I need your help. I ask for your indulgence as I outline certain events that have given me pause…"
    Kitty's father nodded his head, his features set. Was he in a receptive mood? John took a deep breath. He dare not stop now.
    "You know I am inordinately fond of Kitty, and in all things desire that she prosper and that our lands prosper…My father sent for his brother to attend him in his final days. He also sought the family solicitor to make certain adjustments to his will."
    He raised his eyes to Lord Raeburn, who met them with interest, his eyes glinting in the firelight as he leaned toward John. John squelched the desire to squirm under that penetrating stare.
    "It has always been the considered opinion of my father and mother that my uncle is…there is no easy way for me to say this. He is a rakehell, a blight. What possessed my father to place him in charge of my inheritance, I will never know. The fever of death has surely warped Father's mind."
    Earl Raeburn's brows rose so far they almost disappeared in his hair. "Are you saying when your father dies, you will not gain control of the estates until you reach your majority? I know that is customary, but I'd thought…your uncle will take control?"
    "That is correct, sir. I have shown him around Somerset Park...at his command, and I can assure you, he intends to run the estate into the ground. He will sell and utilize everything we have amassed for his own dissipated pleasure."
    "I see." His eyes narrowed and lips pursed. "Pray continue."
    "He makes threats against the members of the staff. He makes inappropriate references to me." John threw up his hands, leaning forward. "He asked after Kitty in a most alarming manner…"
    "Exactly how do you mean?"
    "Sir…He threatens to harm the servants if I do not attend his wishes in all