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important papers." He extracted a key. "This will open it."
     
    Julian stared at the key as if it were a loathsome insect. "Fine. Leave it on the table."
     
    "You're not obligated to fulfill your father's request," Camden reminded him, placing the key on the small end table beside him.
     
    "'Request'?" Julian tossed off his brandy. "That wasn't a request, Henry, it was blackmail."
     
    "Then why are you complying? Certainly not to unearth the stone—you've always expressed utter disdain for the diamond and all who seek it."
     
    "I'm complying for Hugh. I'm complying because everything my father enumerated in that clause is true—about my priorities, about the ramifications of my being the last living Bencroft, about the debt I owe my ancestors." A bitter laugh. "My father might have been a coldhearted bastard but he wasn't stupid. He knew precisely where to find my Achilles' heel. And find it he did." Julian frowned, glancing restlessly about. "Clearly I'll need access to this mausoleum in order to amass his papers. Therefore, we'll have to defer our discussion about selling it—for a few months—until I've fulfilled the terms of my father's so-called legacy."
     
    "You're confident you'll find the stone."
     
    "I don't fail."
     
    "Dozens of others have."
     
    "I'm not others."
     
    The elderly solicitor's lips twitched. "I would agree. In fact, when I compare my understanding of you with the stories passed down to me about your great-grandfather, I'd venture to say the two of you are a great deal alike. According to my family's reports, Geoffrey Bencroft was quite a colorful character."
     
    "So I've heard."
     
    "He never could resist a challenge. Can you?"
     
    Julian arched a sardonic brow. "Evidently not."
     
    "That's precisely what I wanted to hear—more than enough to ensure a decision I made long years ago." So saying, Camden extracted another sealed document from his portfolio, together with a small ornate chest—plainly the cause for the portfolio's weighted bulk—and a corresponding key.
     
    "What is that?" Julian asked, his curiosity instantly roused.
     
    "A strongbox. One whose contents have until now remained a mystery, even to me."
     
    "I don't understand."
     
    "You will." Camden tore open the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper. "This document, witnessed by my father, was carefully locked in our office safe, together with the strongbox, sixty years ago. In order to properly carry out the terms specified herein, I was verbally apprised of what they were, although the document itself has remained unopened until this very day. Once I've read it to you, you'll understand why that is."
     
    "I'm thoroughly intrigued," Julian murmured, his expression intent. "What does this mysterious document say?"
     
    "It reads as follows. 'If you're hearing these words, then George Camden—or whichever of his descendants is currently handling the Bencroft legal matters—has deemed you worthy. I granted the Camdens the right to make this determination because I trust them, and because I realize I will no longer be alive to personally select the right man to inherit my most valuable asset: my heritage. My only son, Chilton, is thoroughly unacceptable. He has no heart, no insight, and no exceptional talents other than ruthlessness. If this document is being read aloud, then my prayers have been answered and the Bencrofts can at long last boast a duke whose adventurous spirit and unwavering commitment—albeit to rules of his own making—match my own. But spirit and commitment are not enough. You must also possess instinct and cunning, both of which are as inborn as spirit. Therefore, I put to you this test. Before you lies a chest whose contents are known only to me. They are the link to your past—worthless to most, not so to one such as yourself. Camden will give you the key. 'Tis your task to open the box. Do so and the gates to your ancestry will open. Fail and they'll remain closed, lying in wait