Page 45 of For a Scot's Heart Only

“Mr. West. I’ve been requested to deliver this to you.”

In the middle of the tray was a key with a red ribbon. The gaming room was crowded and noisy. The footman couldn’t know he’d interrupted his employer’s attempt to crush Thomas. The eager servant went on.

“You’ll find the lady in the Red Rose room, sir. Down the hall to the right.”

“I know the room.” Thomas stared at the key.

Is this one ofRanleigh’stricks?

Ranleigh rose from his chair, irritated. “Are you certain the key is for Mr. West?”

The footman blanched. “Yes, my lord.”

“What exactly did the lady say?” Ranleigh asked in a tone dripping with precision.

The servant’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Well, the lady stopped me in the hall and showed me her key. I informed her that I was new, about amonth in service, but that I understood what the key meant.”

The nervous footman checked Ranleigh and Thomas as one might survey an unlit road littered with steaming piles. The poor sod had no idea what he’d stepped into.

“Go on,” Ranleigh said. “And make certain you leave nothing out.”

“I—I asked her to describe the man she was looking for. She told me to find a tall gentleman in jackboots with a scar on his cheek. I said, ‘You mean Mr. West? He’s a big bastar—’” The footman froze, his skin turning claret from the neck up. “Begging your pardon, Mr. West. I meant no offense.”

He shook his head. “Finish your story, lad. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in a long time.”

Sweat sheening his forehead, the servant went on.

“The lady and I had a laugh, we did. She told me Mr. West was the man she wanted. I told her I knew where to find him since he was something of a regular.” A small shrug and, “I would’ve been here sooner, sir, but I was pulled into the kitchen to move casks and such.” The footman cleared his throat and spoke to Ranleigh. “After that, I came straightaway, my lord.”

The tale given, the footman waited, the shiny tray in hand.

Novikov peeked at the key. “What an intoxicating turn.”

“Feminine companionship can be arranged, if that’s what you crave.” Ranleigh opened his arms in a show of peace. “Consider it an offer from a friend.”

Thomas snorted. “We’re not friends.”

Arms falling to his sides, Ranleigh tipped his head.

“No. We are not. We are competitive, you and I. We like to win, which is why you need to reconsider my exceedingly excellent offer.”

Thomas wouldn’t, despite the exorbitant sum. Family pride was intangible and the legacy of West and Sons Shipping too dear. There was no explaining the powerful bond between father and son to a man who couldn’t understand it.

“The only offer I’ll entertain is the comfort of my own bed.” He eyed the footman. “Do you know who this lady is?”

The servant shook his head. “She didn’t give her name, sir, and she was wearing a mask.”

Novikov picked up his brandy, shivering as if he’d tasted sour fruit. “The mask augurs a warning. The woman is probably as hideous as a gargoyle, and all the brandy in London cannot fix that.”

Ranleigh waved off the footman. “Take it away. He’s not interested.”

“Wait.” Thomas swiped the key. “I’ll deliver the message myself.” To the footman, “Thank you.”

The nervous lad gave a jerky nod and sped off, but the night was more unsettled than before. Ranleigh sat down again, his mood worse.

“You are aware that I can crush you,” Ranleigh said matter-of-fact.

Thomas gripped the key until its teeth bit his flesh.