Tied With a Bow

lacking any of the shared boyhood experiences that might have helped him fit in, Lucien had been stamped as Amherst’s acknowledged bastard. Neither man nor angel, neither noble nor of humble birth.
    Outcast in a completely different way.
    “Napoleon’s ambition threatens all Europe,” Amherst said. “If it’s action you crave, I will purchase you a commission.”
    “I have no wish to kill for England.” Lucien stared out the library windows; the dying sun stained the winter brown hills the color of blood. “I have seen too much of men in war to believe one side is any better than another.”
    “Ah.” The earl studied him with those too-perceptive gray eyes. “It will have to be the church, then. There are not many angels among the clergy, but if you are prepared to study and be patient—”
    Lucien shook his head. He was disillusioned, even angry. But not yet so cynical he would lead others into unbelief for the price of a vicar’s living.
    “You must do something. I will not stand by while you waste your life along with my capital. I have here”—the earl tapped a sheaf of papers on his otherwise ordered desk—“a report of your expenses in London. Boots, wine, candles, horses . . .”
    “I am not a schoolboy, sir, who has exceeded his allowance. Living in Town necessitates some expenditures,” Lucien said.
    “Doubtless that explains the residence on Maiden Lane occupied by a Fanny . . .” Amherst lifted a single sheet in one elegant hand and pretended to peruse it. “Grinton.”
    Lucien stiffened. How the devil did he know about Fanny?
    “Miss Grinton is not your concern.”
    “Everything that affects the well-being of the Nephilim concerns me. It is my duty to watch out for you. For all of you. I would not object to your supporting a mistress. But apparently there are several other, ah, women residing in the house with her.”
    Lucien stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve been spying on me.”
    “You are not the only man seen entering the premises. Callers have been observed coming and going at all hours.”
    Lucien gritted his teeth. “Are you accusing me of frequenting a brothel? Or of running one?”
    “Whichever it is, it stops now.”
    Fury tightened his throat. “You have no idea . . . You have no right —”
    Amherst raised a hand, palm out. “Spare me your explanations. I have tolerated a certain wildness from you, Lucien, but I’ll not fund meaningless extravagance.”
    A hot band settled around Lucien’s head and squeezed like a vise. “I haven’t asked for your assistance. I can support myself with the income from Leyburn.”
    Barely. The realization settled coldly in his stomach. He would have to economize somewhere. Fanny would balk. She complained she could hardly manage now. But there was no choice for either of them.
    Amherst regarded him with frustration. “And that is all your interest in Leyburn? The income you derive from the estate. You’ve never even visited the property.”
    “You wish me to visit Leyburn?” Lucien asked slowly.
    He was not averse to the idea.
    Fair Hill was home. Or as close to a home as his earthly existence allowed. Unlike Gerard, the oldest of the Fallen, or Tripp, who had been raised by the earl since early childhood, Lucien had never accompanied Amherst on a tour of his other estates.
    But Leyburn had provided him with a living since leaving Oxford. Amherst had made similar arrangements to support his other Fallen fosterlings. There was even an unspoken understanding that the earl would divvy his various unentailed properties, Leyburn included, among them when he died.
    Lucien trusted—indeed, he hoped—the earl wouldn’t pop off anytime soon. The Nephilim could live almost twice the normal span of human years, and Amherst was a vigorous man.
    Still, it could do no harm to take a look at the place.
    “I expect you to do more than visit,” Amherst said. “You need to take some responsibility for the property. For your life.” He leaned back in his chair, regarding Lucien with cool gray eyes, obviously determined to force his compliance. “I will give you three months. If you can learn to manage the estate in that time, you’ll continue to receive its income.”
    Lucien’s muscles were rigid. “And if I refuse?”
    The earl’s face tightened in resolution. “I will cut you off without a penny. You’ll do as you are told.”
    It was a punch in the stomach. A slap in the face. Lucien’s ears rang with it.
    In his