Page 116 of For a Scot's Heart Only

“But you don’t really know, do you?” Mary shook her head. “Enough of this. I need to start looking for Margaret.”

Ranleigh leaned forward. “And where would you start?”

“With the hack she took yesterday at twilight,”Mary said, rising. “Someone on White Cross Street is bound to remember the number plate on the back... at least part of it.”

“Wait.” Ranleigh stood up. “I’m willing to put my considerable resources into finding your sister.”

“You’re welcome to join us, my lord.” Mary picked up her pistol and dropped it into her petticoat pocket. “But I’m not wasting another minute here.”

Thomas got up, collected his pistol, and tucked it into the back of his breeches. He couldn’t regret this short-lived parley. But Ranleigh was rounding the table, emphatic.

“Miss Fletcher. Believe me, I want your sister safely returned to you. But you and West are only two people, while I have more than a dozen men at my disposal. Men trained to ask the right questions. Men who can sniff out trouble.” He extended an arm toward his henchwoman. “And if that’s not enough, Ilsa’s part bloodhound. She’s the best tracker I know.”

Mary brushed back hair from her eyes, her face troubled. Thomas stood beside her. This couldn’t be an easy decision, but she alone had to make it.

Ranleigh reached for Mary but stopped short, his hand curling to a fist midair.

“I know my cousin. I know her habits and the places she goes when she steps outside of the law. Get those papers for me and I will unleash Ilsa and a team of men to find your sister. Please,” he added softly. “Let me help you.”

Mary’s mouth wobbled from a sad, sad smile.

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? If you were a good man, you would help me. But your help comes with a price, which means it’s not really help at all.”

Ranleigh’s arm dropped to his side. He took themuch-deserved verbal blow, his shoulders straight and his eyes hooded. Outside the gaming room’s closed doors, footsteps pattered. The brothel was waking up. Business would soon be underway, or at least preparation for it.

Mary pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s imagine for a moment that I’m agreeing to steal those coveted papers. What does it mean exactly?”

“Tomorrow night Ancilla is attending a ball at my brother, the duke’s, home at Park Place,” Ranleigh said. “That’s your opportunity.”

“And in return, you’ll hope to find my sister by then?”

Ranleigh assured her, “We will do our utmost to make that happen.”

“But you can’t guarantee it.”

“No.”

Desperate unshed tears glittered in Mary’s eyes. “I don’t know.” She pressed her lips together. “The time might be better served if I searched for Margaret. I—I can only imagine how awful this has been for her.”

“Mary.” Thomas touched the small of her back.

He’d go to hell and back for this woman, but certain truths were undeniable. Ranleigh had the resources, the knowledge, and the experience Mary needed. It pained Thomas to put in a good word for the well-shod blackguard. For Mary and her sister’s sake, he would.

He was gruff, advising her. “Listen to him, Mary. He’s Margaret’s best hope.”

If Ranleigh was surprised by the support, he didn’t show it. The dark lord was focusing on Mary alone.

“When the people we love are threatened, it’s natural to leap into a fight. But, Miss Fletcher, you have no idea what this fight is about. The only thing you have is your fear and your anger, and that will blind you to common sense.”

“Am I supposed to do nothing?” Mary’s voice was watery and indignant. “Just... wait?”

“The best thing you can do right now is go about your day and make plans for tomorrow night. The element of surprise is on our side.”

“It’s helpful for you if I fetch those papers, but not for Margaret.”

Ranleigh touched her sleeve. “My cousin is blissfully unaware that the four of us know your sister is missing. Let Ancilla think she has the advantage.”

Mary wavered beside Thomas. Not searching for her sister was a sound idea. And terribly distressing. Bright tears began rolling down her cheeks. Each droplet pricked Thomas like a knife. Mary sniffled when he pushed back her hood and cupped her jaw. Tears slid, salty and slow, wetting his hand until eyes as mysterious as North Sea storms met his.