Page 137 of For a Scot's Heart Only

Mary tucked the folio under her arm and forged ahead with what would be a prickly conversation.

“Here are my terms. You will not harm any of the women in my league. Not one hair on their heads or mine. The same goes for any husbands, lovers, and children. Whoever we hold dear, you must treat them the same.”

“Or?” This pertinent question came from Ranleigh.

Mary faced him. “Grub Street will publish certain true but undesirable stories about your mother.” To the countess, “As for you, the crown and the governors of the East India Company will receive evidence of unflattering truths about you and your son.”

Lady Denton’s eyes were malevolent slits. “I could order my men to shoot you and walk away unscathed.”

“Think again, Lady Denton. You’re outnumbered, and you have the low ground,” Thomas said. “An untenable position.”

It was gratifying, seeing her henchmen twitch like children forced to sit too long. Mr. Wortley scowled at their perimeter. A beefy redhead who might’ve been the man who destroyed Mary’s workroom was doing the same.

Iron gleamed like spots to the eyes from menstanding up on the roof of the surrounding warehouses. A mix of sailors and dock workers with nothing to lose. Each man had been carefully chosen for his toughness and unquestioning loyalty to Thomas. All of them had their weapons aimed at the countess, her men, and Ranleigh.

“Obviously, we have the high ground,” Thomas said. “I recruit men from the prisons to come work for me. It turns out, my lady, when you take the time to believe in someone, to let them know they matter, this breeds profound loyalty. It works much better than money.”

A muscle on Wortley’s jaw ticked. The henchman shook his head. “We don’t stand a chance, my lady.”

She glared at him, but any argument died when he lowered his weapon. The ruffians with him did the same.

The countess turned her ire on Mary. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Because I give you my word.”

By the murderous gleam in her ladyship’s eyes, this promise was difficult to digest.

The noblewoman’s terse gaze bounced from roof to roof before landing on Mary. “You won’t always have armed men to save you.”

“But I’ll always have those papers, my lady. You know their contents will destroy you.”

Lady Denton pinched the ruby ring on her finger. She swallowed visibly and lifted her worried face to Wortley. An unpleasant breeze blew across Gun Wharf. Wortley arched a brow—his answer, apparently. One might believe trust passed between the countess and her vicious attack dog. After the barest nod, she turned to Mary.

“Very well. I understand your terms.” Lady Denton looked as if she’d swallowed brine.

Wortley touched her elbow and, eyeing the four ruffians, he jerked his head at their carriage. The defeated countess and her men were leaving.

Ranleigh said not one word until her carriage exited Gun Wharf. “I must admit this was superbly played.” He spoke to Thomas and Mary. “You don’t want money, do you?”

“Freedom is sweeter than gold, my lord,” Mary said. “Your cousin is controlled by greed, while you hunger for power.”

“Not entirely. Love has its way.” The dark lord squinted as the wind picked up.

“You are, at heart, a decent man, my lord.” Mary was quite the negotiator, adjusting the empty folio under her arm. She understood the art of delivering insight with a well-timed compliment.

Ranleigh’s smile was guarded. “So you read the contents of my cousin’s safe?”

“Thomas and I read every word of it.”

The dark lord came closer, his arms low and wide. “I told you once, I’d do anything to protect my mother, and I have.”

Thomas stepped forward to shield Mary. “Easy, Ranleigh. It wouldn’t bother me one bit to take you down a notch.”

Mary touched Thomas’s sleeve. “He won’t harm me.”

Ranleigh’s smile curved ironically. Years he’d cultivated power. Thomas knew this, and in a matter of days, a corset maker of no consequence had done what no one else could do. She’d brought Ranleigh, metaphorically, to his knees.

“What kind of guarantee do I have? I’m not sure I can trust the word of a thief,” Ranleigh said. “And Miss Fletcher, you are a thief.”