Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ellie glanced at Harry, sure he was about to burst out laughing and chide Hugo for the joke, but instead he sent his uncle a filthy glare.

"I wasn't ready to tell her!"

"It's true?" she gasped. "Wait… Is this your house? Are you the ‘lost earl'?"

Harry ran his hands through his hair. "I am."

She backed away from him as disbelief melted into fury at his deception.

"You lied to me, you scoundrel! When we first met, I asked you what your name was and you said you didn't know it."

"No," he said quickly, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "What I said was, ‘I wish I could tell you,' which is technically the truth. You interpreted that to mean that I didn't know my own name, but it also meant that I couldn't tell you at that moment. I didn't know you. I couldn't trust you with the truth."

"Ohhh! You are so good at twisting words! You lied by omission, if nothing else. You still deceived me."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but now you do know, and I'm glad. I didn't like misleading you. I almost told you the truth a hundred times."

His expression was open, pleading, and despite Ellie telling herself not to fall for his practiced charms, she couldn't help but believe him.

She pointed at Hugo. "Explain to me how this came about, please."

Hugo leaned back against the arm of the chair he'd just vacated.

"With pleasure. Harry's father, James, was my older brother. He and Harry's mother, Mary, both died of influenza while Harry was away at boarding school. Harry was just fifteen. As his next of kin, I was named as his guardian, but only a few days after their funeral, I got into that ridiculous duel with Barclay. Knowing I had to flee the country, I decided to take Harry with me, and broaden his education."

"You educated him in the gentlemanly art of thieving," Ellie said succinctly. "How was that a good example to set?"

Hugo shrugged. "The world's full of scoundrels. Better to know how to spot them than be cheated and taken advantage of at every turn. I taught him to be independent and resilient, and I'm proud of the way he's turned out."

"In my defense," Harry said, "the vast majority of our money has been acquired by completely legal means—earned, or fairly won on the gaming tables without cheating."

"Didn't your parents leave you any money?" Ellie asked.

Hugo crossed his arms. "Ah, well, there's the rub. It wasn't until we'd been out of the country for a few years that I realized I might have made things a little difficult. I'd appointed men I trusted to run the estate in our absence, but as time went on, it was becoming harder and harder to prove Harry's identity.

"Barclay refused to die, curse him, and Harry's appearance changed. The man he became in Italy was almost unrecognizable from the fifteen-year-old schoolboy who'd left England, and the people who might have been able to vouch for him, like his old tutor, and his nursemaid, began to die off."

Hugo shrugged. "As soon as I heard that Barclay was at death's door, I decided to come back to England and have Harry reclaim his rightful place in society. It's about time he started living as the Earl of Cobham."

Harry sent her a pleading look. "But to do that, I need to prove who I am—which is precisely the kind of challenging case King and Company is famous for solving."

Ellie shook her head, her mind in a whirl. "So that's why you came to us. You wanted to see how competent we were! Oh, I knew you were a charlatan. All that rot about wanting a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Ugh!"

"No!" Harry said, then he smiled wryly. "Well, maybe that's a little bit true. I wanted to see your investigative skills in action, and you've impressed me no end. Please say you'll help me?"

Ellie didn't know what to think. "Are you going to pay us?"

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of cheating you."

"Ha!"

He sent her another pleading look, the kind that melted her heart and made it almost impossible to refuse him anything, curse him.

"Please say yes. I've been playing a role, using a fake name, for half my life. I want to stop pretending to be someone else and start being me, Harry Brooke."

Ellie crossed her arms around her middle. "How do I know you're not just some charlatan who's come here pretending to be the lost earl? How do I know you didn't kill the real earl, and plan to cheat your way into his title and his fortune?"

"I don't blame you for being skeptical. It's a ridiculous story, the kind one only hears about in fairy tales. Like ‘Puss in Boots.' But if you take the case, I know you'll unearth enough evidence to prove I'm telling the truth. If you don't, and still think I'm a liar, I'll leave London and you'll never need to see me ever again."

Ellie's heart did an odd little jump at his fervent ultimatum. He sounded so convincing, but natural caution made her wary.

Ten minutes ago, she'd been about to make love with Henri Bonheur. Now, she didn't know what to feel about Harry Brooke.

"I'll discuss your proposal with my partners," she said stiffly. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go back to Lincoln's Inn Fields."

Harry seemed to accept that she'd reached the limits of her endurance. With a nod, he went to arrange for the horses to be hitched to the carriage, and in no time at all she was seated on the padded bench looking down at his worried face.

"Please don't take too long to come to a decision," he said softly. "You know you're the best investigators in London. Better than Bow Street by a mile. Nobody else will do a job as good as you."

She compressed her lips at his flattery, even as her heart beat at his proximity.

Ugh. Had he only been flirting with her to make her more likely to help him? Had his lovemaking been a cynical ploy to gain her allegiance? She hated the fact that she was questioning him, but she refused to avoid the possibility, even if it was painful.

She'd dealt with too many cases where the truth was blindingly obvious to an outsider, but invisible to those closest to the problem. Emotions clouded good judgment, and she needed some distance from Harry to get her thoughts in order.

"Here, take these with you," he said abruptly.

He reached into his coat and handed her the Book of Hours, and the envelope of banknotes they'd confiscated from Sofia.

The morning's events already seemed a lifetime ago.

"I trust you to return that to Bullock." He smiled. "And as to the reward, it's only fair that you three have it. You saved my life, after all."

He kissed her hand, then rapped the side of the coach with his knuckles—the panel that bore the painted crest of his family— if his tale was true.

"Goodbye, Ellie. Don't make me wait too long."