Griff’s speculations were derailed as Jarrett said, “Through the years, we’ve occasionally had young men show up claiming to be Brian.”

“I didn’t realize that.”

“Of course none of them had anything but the most superficial resemblance to Brian. They weren’t even well-thought-out scams, just hungry young hustlers trying their luck. Pierce made short work of them, as you might imagine. But I’m afraid the result is that Pierce has become cynical toward his fellow man in his old age.”

“He’s not that old.”

“The Pierces of this world are born old. But don’t let him scare you away, my boy.”

“I’m not that easily scared.”

“I know,” Jarrett said. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

Chapter Six

Like Jarrett the day before, Pierce stood at the arched window, staring down at the star-shaped courtyard. He turned, unsmiling, as Griff preceded Jarrett into the study through the door in the bookcase.

Did Pierce ever dress in anything besides expensive suits by Italian designers? This afternoon’s ensemble was an impeccable olive gray. His shirt was snowy white, his skinny tie an elegant silk creation of tiny bronze and navy Milligan flowers. Where Griff came from men did not wear ties with flowers unless they wanted to get beaten up. Pierce apparently dressed with impunity. But then, Italian suits aside, Pierce looked like a guy who could handle himself. He’d probably had boxing lessons. Heck, he’d probably had fencing lessons.

“Hey there,” Griff said, because what else was he going to say? They couldn’t both stand there stone-faced and silent. Maybe Pierce hadn’t been born old, but he’d been born a hard-ass, no question.

“Jarrett seems to feel I owe you an apology for last night,” Pierce said. It wasn’t exactly stiff, but it wasn’t warm and fuzzy either.

“Not me,” Griff said. “Jarrett is the one you should be apologizing to for trying to go behind his back.”

Jarrett chuckled. “Well said, my boy.” He patted Griff’s shoulder.

Pierce looked less amused. “Let’s call it a test. If you’d agreed, that would have told us everything we needed to know.”

“Let’s call it what it was,” Griff said. “A bribe. With a few threats thrown in.” He shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m not easily discouraged.”

Pierce’s dark brows drew together in a forbidding line. “You’re very...plainspoken, aren’t you?” Griff suspected Pierce had originally intended to phrase that differently but remembered Jarrett’s presence in time.

“Yes. I am.” It was a legacy of his mother, who had been a blunt and forthright woman. Sometimes painfully so.

To his surprise, Pierce laughed. “Okay. I don’t mind plainspoken.”

“That’s a relief.”

Pierce’s eyes narrowed as though he wasn’t sure if Griff was still being plainspoken or merely sarcastic.

Griff smiled.

Lunch was served at a low table amidst a comfortable grouping of leather chairs and sofas. The meal consisted of French dip sandwiches, which Griff had never had before, but were apparently a favorite of Pierce’s, and had been prepared in his honor. The sandwiches were made of thinly sliced, slightly rare roast beef piled onto warm baguettes which were then dunked in small bowls of au jus. They were served with homemade French fries and ice cold beer.

“Is this organic beef?” Pierce asked.

“I don’t know, but we won’t tell Muriel,” Jarrett replied.

Pierce grinned, white teeth sinking into crusty bread. He had thrown his tie over his shoulder to protect it from the juice, a gesture that seemed almost disarming. Jarrett winked at Griff, and Griff realized that Jarrett Arlington was genuinely fond of Pierce. Pierce was not merely a legal advisor. He was a family friend, had probably known Jarrett all his life. So maybe that better explained both the guard dog mentality and Jarrett’s tolerance for it.

It also meant Griff needed to be extra careful of Pierce. It was unlikely he was going to be able to get on Pierce’s good side, assuming Pierce had such a thing, but it would be wise to avoid getting on Pierce’s bad side.

“These are really good,” Griff told Jarrett. He hastily wiped at his chin with a linen napkin. “I’ve been missing out.”

“Wonderful. Now you have a new favorite.” Jarrett beamed. It was hard not to like him. There was something warm and quizzical and grandfatherly about Jarrett. But Griff reminded himself that in his day Jarrett had also been a ruthless and cutthroat businessman.

Pierce said abruptly, “Jarrett believes you have some legal questions for me.” He sat on the sofa across from Griff, exuding an almost disconcerting virility. How could someone that groomed—Griff wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Pierce got pedicures or even body waxes—seem so...masculine? Not just masculine. Powerful. It wasn’t the expensive clothes or air of entitlement. It wasn’t even necessarily communicated by the way Pierce held himself or his body language, because at the moment he was hunched over the table trying not to drip au jus on his immaculate crotch. Despite the heavy aftershave and the buffed nails and the handmade shoes, Pierce seemed more intensely male than any guy Griff knew.

It was distracting.

Which was annoying.

Did Pierce know the effect he had on others? Did women routinely throw themselves in his path? He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married. Actually he didn’t wear any rings, and he seemed to Griff like the type who would wear his big showy Harvard law school ring. Maybe he hadn’t gone to Harvard. Maybe he was divorced. Yes, Griff could easily imagine Pierce with a string of beautiful, discarded exes. No one ever being quite good enough for Pierce.

“No?” Pierce asked, and Griff realized he’d been sitting there scowling across the table.

He snapped out of his preoccupation. “Did you go to Harvard?”

Pierce’s brows drew together—his usual expression around Griff. “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

Griff hadn’t meant to ask that, it had just popped out. “I just—”

“Believe me, any legal questions you’ve got, I can answer,” Pierce said.

Jarrett smoothly intervened. “Pierce is the son of my oldest and closest friend. Tommy Mather was also my legal advisor and Pierce took over the practice when Tommy retired. We have every confidence in Pierce. You can speak freely, ask him whatever you like.” Jarrett smiled at Pierce and then Griff.

“I know that as your eldest son, Matthew was your heir,” Griff said to Jarrett. “And I know Brian was Matthew’s heir. Since Matthew did not survive to inherit, does that mean your estate goes to Marcus as the next son?”

“What do you think this is, Downton Abbey?” Pierce asked.

This time the glance Jarrett directed at Pierce was not as warm. “It’s a reasonable question.” To Griff he said, “When I made Matthew my heir I was following the precedent set by my father and his father before him, and yes, that precedent was based on English laws of inheritance. Winden House was built in an era when this country’s wealthy aped the English aristocracy. It was very common for the sons and daughters of the wealthy to head for England and try to marry into the nobility. In fact, two of the great ladies of this house were of English ancestry.”

Jarrett paused to sip his beer. Griff had got that wrong—his assumption that people like the Arlingtons would never deign to drink anything but cocktails in crystal glasses. Jarrett drank his Jever with evident gusto.

Griff felt Pierce staring at him, but he resisted meeting that challenge. He was too aware of Pierce. It made him feel on defense. It was disturbing to be so acutely conscious of someone he didn’t even like. Maybe it was Pierce’s suit. Griff had never seen a man outside of GQ magazine wear a suit that tight. It wasn’t tacky, but that kind of tailoring accentuated Pierce’s broad shoulders, trim torso, muscular legs, narrow hips. It just seemed more sexy than a lawyer should dress.