She was on drugs for it. A bone marrow transplant would cure her. Cure her! Could you imagine? Some people dreamed of great wealth or fame. Or maybe power. Sid and I dreamed of a cure, a beautiful cure. Of a hero in the form a full sibling. Even a half-sibling might do. A bone marrow transplant from a matching full sibling could cure her. It was almost unimaginable.
Without it, she would bounce in and out of remission and have to take drugs for the rest of her life. And had a high probability of dying young. Yeah. That was why her being adopted was important.
Sometimes we let ourselves believe that a sibling existed. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that her mom had found someone else and gotten married and had her "one child." But with the white father? That was the dream killer. Probably not.
A half-sibling might match. But a full sib would give Sid her best shot.
I had rushed out and been tested the moment she was diagnosed, hoping against hope I would be a match even though we shared no biology. I wasn't. But I registered for the marrow registry anyway. If I could help another family…
So far, no one had matched me. Yeah, Miss Unique. And more importantly, no one had matched Sid. The medical bills were piling up and had eaten through our inheritance and the small bit of life insurance Dad had left us. I was trying to send Sid to community college. And juggle my job. And taking care of her. And worrying about her. That was really why I needed a hero. For Sid.
Sid was sitting on the couch in the living room watching TV when I got home. Our two roomies, Liz and Jasmine, were out.
Sid's eyes lit up when I walked in the door carrying the daily bag of baked goods. She looked tired and pale. Pretty much like usual lately. Just last week we'd gotten the bad news that she was out of remission and back in the ravages of the disease. She was taking a strong course of drugs. Her five-year survival rate odds plummeted with each passing month and year that we didn't find a cure through a bone marrow match. After twenty, her odds dropped by twelve percent.
I tried not to think about the five-year survival rates. Eighty-two percent. Which dropped to seventy percent after her twentieth birthday. More than anything, that eighteen to thirty percent death rate scared the crap out of me.
"You had a duke in the bakery today! Did you see him?" She was smiling, with that signature tease in her eyes. Sid loved life more than anyone. "Riggins Feldhem from Flashionista.com, the American duke! Did he stop by for a mint brownie? Did you manage to put an aphrodisiac in it for him?"
"Chocolate is an aphrodisiac all by itself," I said. "There's enough chocolate in those brownies to make anyone horny. But that's beside the point. I don't want to sleep with him."
Sid arched an eyebrow and made a comically mocking expression of disbelief.
I laughed. "I didn't say I'm averse to the thought. But what I need is a love potion. Totally different animal. I need him to fall madly in love with me and marry me so I can get my hands on all his cash.
"So we can travel to China and find your long-lost brother or sister." I paused and studied my stylish sister. "Actually, you're more his type. If we could get you into the bakery—"
She laughed again. "Shut up! Yeah, I'm sure he really wants a sick girl. Plus, he's a little old, isn't he?"
"Beggars can't be choosers," I said, sounding like I remembered Mom.
"The story's all over the news. He was just selected second hottest bachelor in Seattle. Those magazine editors should be embarrassed now. They look stupid for picking Lazer Grayson. How can the first American duke, one who looks like Riggins, not be the hottest guy?" She held out her hand for the bag I carried. "If he could develop a British accent, he'd be even hotter."
She peeked inside the bakery bag. "What did you bring us today? Is there cake?"
"Hardly! But there are some nice bran muffins."
She rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose. "Bran again! We never get the popular favorites." She pulled one out of the bag and peeled away the paper muffin cup. "So, the duke! Tell me all about it. Did you see him?"
I nodded and plopped onto the couch next to her. "He was in the bakery with a British guy." I told her everything, embellishing the details of my fall to make her laugh. "Now I'll have to do a load of wash."
"But are you okay?" Sid said with that worried look on her face. She was always worrying about me.
"My knees are bruised, and maybe my heart, but I'll live." I pulled the British lawyer's card out of my pocket and showed it to her. "This is odd, though. What do you think? What could he want with me? Why would he even know who I am? Did the dead duke leave me something? What could it be?"
"Millions, I hope!" She rubbed her hands together greedily and laughed.
I scrunched my mouth to one side. "Why would a dead duke leave me millions? Why would he leave me anything?"
Riggins
Becoming a duke was a complete media circus. The paparazzi beat me back to the office and were lying in wait at every entrance.
"Riggins! Riggins! Look this way! How does it feel to be a duke?"
Questions and mics were shoved in my face.
I smiled and waved. "Surprising."
"You didn't know you were in line for the dukedom?"
"Not a clue."
"But you must be a British citizen?"
"I am, yes." I kept walking. "I've had dual citizenship since birth."
"Will you be looking for a duchess now? The press release from the late duke's office said you're the last male Feldhem in the family line. And you're eager to create an heir."
I bit my tongue to keep from swearing and just kept smiling. Damn Thorne and the Dead Duke. Thorne hadn't been kidding when he said the Dead Duke left nothing to chance.
"Oh, sure," I said. "I'll be throwing a ball any day now and looking for a girl in a glass slipper." I posed for a few quick shots and let myself into the building.
I was an object of curiosity as I walked through the building. Silence as I approached, followed by murmurs of speculation in my wake.
I found Justin in his office.
He looked up and grinned. "I see you made it intact through the media storm out front. Glad it's you, not me for a change, my liege."
I scowled. "We haven't gotten this much attention since your surprise marriage last summer."
"Great, isn't it?" His eyes danced.
He was obviously enjoying himself. Glad someone was.
"Our stock's up three points on the news of your new dukeness."
I shook my head, hating to burst his bubble with the bad news ahead. But I need his genius working on solving my, our, problem with the Dead Duke. "Do you have a minute? I have something I need to discuss with you. I want Harry in on the discussion, too."
"If it's about moving Flash HQ to England or adding the ducal crest to our logo, then we don't need a meeting. The answer is no."
"I wish it were that simple."
Justin caught on to my serious mood. "I'll clear my schedule. Let me buzz Harry. Your office or mine?"
"Mine. I have better booze."
He grinned. "I hope we're not losing you, Riggs."
Five minutes later, Harry, Justin, and I were meeting behind closed doors in my office. Harry and I each had a stiff drink in hand. Justin had an energy drink. I recounted my meeting with Thorne in all of its ugly detail while they sat silently listening without interrupting. I had always appreciated Harry's calm presence and Justin's surprisingly mature and clear head.
"The Dead Duke, as you call him, somehow got control of fifteen percent of our stock?" Justin looked stunned and furious at the same time. His eyes were narrowed in anger. "How the hell did that happen?"
"Good question. I thought we had safeguards in place." I took a deep gulp of my drink, feeling the burn as it went down.
"What are you going to do?" Justin said. "About getting married?"
"What can I do? If I, we, can't find a way around the blackmail, I'm going to have to marry the girl. If I don't, the Dead Duke will dump the stock
and ruin us. I can't…I won't let that happen. We've all worked too hard. Justin, hell, you have a baby on the way in a few weeks."
He shrugged. "I've set some cash aside. Made some good investments outside Flash. I'd find a way to get by and rebuild."
He took a deep breath and nodded toward the door. "The people out there, though, our employees, I feel a strong obligation to them. But still, Riggs. I can't ask you to marry someone and make a kid with her to save me or anyone else. You have to do what's best for you."
Justin was surprisingly naïve. What was best for me was saving Flash.
"You don't have to ask me. If there's no way out, I'll do it. If I've pegged the Dead Duke right, he has something on the girl. Something that will ruin her, too. If I refuse, she'll go down with me. I won't do that to her, either. I don't want her ruined life on my conscience."
I took a deep breath. "I don't want to be the duke. Particularly, I don't want the estate. If I can neutralize the threat, I won't have to marry. I can donate the estate to the British public so everyone can enjoy it. And marry when, and if, I want to. And produce an heir only if I want children."
"But for now, I need to prepare for the worst. And make it look like I'm complying with the duke's wishes." I turned to Harry. "I'll need an ironclad prenup. There's no reason I should share my billions when this all falls apart."
"I'm not a divorce lawyer," Harry said with a sidelong glance at Justin. "I can refer you—"
"No. This stays here, between the three of us."
"Riggins, there's nothing scandalous in a billionaire protecting his fortune. All attorneys operate under the attorney/client privilege. I know some excellent attorneys who specialize in marital law. They're very discreet."
Justin nodded his agreement. "You need the best, Duke." He grinned.
"You're enjoying this duke crap way too much." I gave him an arch look, grinned, and nodded. "All right, Harry. As long as you act as my agent and oversee it. I'll need your legal advice."
Harry nodded.
I finished my drink and set my glass down. "I'm just buying time so I can figure a way out of this. There has to be a way out of this mess. I need you two to help me find it."
I turned to Jus. "The Dead Duke can't be as clever as he thought he was. He has to have made a mistake somewhere."
Justin nodded.
"I was caught off guard by this duke crap. I have less than twenty-four hours before I have to propose. First thing—check the financials to see if he can deliver on his threat or if he's just blowing smoke. Unfortunately, from what Thorne showed me, I think it's a long shot that he's bluffing. I think the threat is genuine."
"I'm in. We'll work it together," Justin said.
"I'll take a look at the legal documents and get some help on British law from my connections in London," Harry said.
I nodded. "Good. Between the three of us, we should be able to defeat the duke." I paused. "Who knew a dead guy could wield so much power?"
"Something to strive for." Justin finished his energy drink and grinned. "Power from beyond the grave," he said in a deep announcer voice.
I took another long breath. "In the meantime, I have to propose to this girl tomorrow at Thorne's rented temporary office. Either of you two have any suggestions?"
"'Will you marry me?' is to the point and pretty standard." Harry finished his drink and set the glass down on the bar.
"Justin? How did you propose?" I was curious. Justin had never said.
"The hell if I know." He shot a glance at Harry again. "I don't remember. I was drunk."
"Such a romantic." I shook my head at them. "You two are no help."
"Now that you're British and a duke, you could go more formal and flowery," Justin said. "Try something classically British, like, 'I love you tragically. Would you do me the honor of accepting my hand?'"
"That sounds like something you'd hear in a PBS British drama," Harry said. "Masterpiece Classic. Or a BBC production."
"Exactly! That's what I was going for." Justin looked pleased with himself.
I looked heavenward. But no help was forthcoming.
Haley
Sid worried over me as I got ready for my appointment with the British lawyer. "Should you go alone? Maybe I should go with you?"
"I don't think he's dangerous," I said. "We're meeting in a private conference room at one of those places downtown where you can rent office space for a few hours at a time. It's very public and safe."
Sid frowned. "Yes, but maybe you should have a lawyer with you?"
I shook my head. "Why would I need a lawyer? Just because he's one? I don't think so. Besides, we can't afford one. So, moot point."
"I would still feel better if you took someone with you. I could call Sam. He's big and tough and can beat the crap out of this British dude if he tries to hurt you."
Sam was her friend and sometimes boyfriend.
I shook my head more vigorously. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'm a complete skeptic. I'm not easily conned. And I'll bring my panther claw self-defense keychain. Will that make you happy?"
"No." She smiled sweetly.
I rolled my eyes and hugged her goodbye.
I caught the bus downtown. I'd dressed casually for this meeting in jeans, a cute blouse, tennies, and a sweater cape that Sid had bought off Flashionista for me, insisting I should pay some attention to being stylish. She loved shopping on Flashionista. Which partially explained her fascination with Riggins. It was her dream to work there someday after she got her degree.
The offices I was meeting Mr. Thorne at were just a block off the bus line with a view of the sound. It was a brisk, windy day in downtown Seattle. Not at all unusual for the time of year. Cloudy, but no rain.
I arrived right on time and checked in with the receptionist at the front desk.
"Mr. Thorne is waiting for you." She showed me to a conference room at the back of building. It wasn't anything spectacular, but the view was nice.
The receptionist knocked on the door and let me in. "Miss Hamilton, sir."
Mr. Thorne was seated, waiting for me and drinking a cup of tea. He got to his feet and extended his hand. "Miss Hamilton. Right on time. Thank you for coming. I appreciate your time."
I shook his hand, heart pounding with anticipation and a fair amount of fear. Even though I had tried not to, I had set my expectations too high. I wanted money and hoped dollar signs weren't shining in my eyes. "Good to see you again. You were mysterious yesterday. You said you had something important to discuss with me?"
"I do. Please, be seated." He offered me a chair. "Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?"
"No, thank you. I'm fine." I was too nervous to drink anything and eager to get to the heart of the matter.
"Very good." His briefcase sat on the conference table in front of him. "Shall we get down to business, then?"
I nodded and smiled, trying not to cross my fingers.
He opened the briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "How much do you know about your family history, Miss Hamilton?"
I shrugged. "Not much. I know my grandparents' names, but I couldn't tell you who my great grandparents were. I'm not into genealogy. It never seemed important. My sister is adopted. She doesn't know anything about her biological family."
Which was a big part of our problem.
"Blood family isn't that important to me, not in that way. Family is who you make it. Who you grew up with and who you love.
"With Sid not knowing where she came from, it seemed rude and uncool to be too into mine. Like she wasn't really part of ours."
He let me speak, wearing a calm, masked expression that didn't give his opinions away. "I see. You are unaware, then, of your ancestry?"
"That's right."
"I represent the late Duke of Witham. He didn't share your opinion about family. Bloodlines were exceptionally important to him."
I nodded, trying to figure out where this was going.
&nb
sp; "As you may have heard on the news, the late duke had no children. No sons to inherit his title. That being the case, the title went to Mr. Riggins Feldhem, a distant cousin of the late duke."
I kept nodding like a bobblehead doll, wondering where this was going. And how I was going to benefit from the duke's death. There didn't seem to be any connection. If I had any British ancestry, it was way back in my family line. As far as I knew, I was a good old American mutt. Part this and part that.
"The late duke married three times, trying to have an heir. Sadly, all three wives predeceased him and left no living issue."
I raised an eyebrow. "He sounds like a Henry the VIII type."
Mr. Thorne smiled. "Not exactly, no. All of his wives died of natural causes."
I nodded, trying to look sympathetic. "He was very old, though, wasn't he? The news said a hundred and five? Any children would have been old, too."
Mr. Thorne nodded. "Yes, exactly so. No children. No grandchildren. No direct descendants."
"Too bad for the old man."
"Yes, very," Mr. Thorne said. "He had a particular affection for his first wife, Helen. She was an American heiress. Tragically, she died in childbirth, giving birth to His Grace's only son. Who passed away of a childhood fever a few years later."
"That's sad," I said, still wondering where all this was going.
"Yes, indeed it was." Mr. Thorne studied me. "Would it surprise you to learn that Helen was your great-aunt—several greats, actually?" He slid one of the papers in front of me, showing me a genealogy chart that linked me to her.
"Really?" I pulled the chart toward me for a better look. Now I was interested. Maybe the duke had left Sid and me a little money after all. Or a family heirloom that had been Helen's. Something I could sell for a good enough price to help Sid.
Mr. Thorne nodded. "Yes. Helen was not only the duke's favorite wife, she was the only one to produce a child." He paused as if looking for the right words. "I'm not quite sure how to present this to you, Miss Hamilton—"
"Please, call me Haley."