Page 95 of For a Scot's Heart Only

“No. She is calculating in everything she does. My crime, as it turned out, occurred months earlier when I had innocently mentioned to my nurse that I’d seen my cousin in my father’s study. Ancilla and her family had been visiting. The adults had gone shooting. When they returned, my father found his favorite crystal decanter broken. He’d rounded up the servants to investigate. My nurse, unbeknownst to me, shared what I had told her. Ancilla was given a lashing. Two months later...” He spiked the air with his stunted finger. “This happened.”

Miss Fletcher set the ledger on the table, the ebb and flow of her breath noticeable. Her fear was his focus and whatever he could do to mold it to his purpose.

“You brought me here because you wanted me to know how vile your cousin is?”

“In part, yes.”

She rose from the chair, terse and bothered. “If that was your aim, my lord, you could’ve come to my shop and told me. No need to send Miss Mitchell with a manufactured tale.”

“Miss Mitchell bought me an extra day to confirm certain facts.” He smiled grimly. “Considering what I do, it was a necessity.”

His guest rubbed her forehead.

She was, no doubt, tired, confused, and defeated. He’d disappointed her search for the gold and dumped a pile of ugliness at her feet.

“I want to go home,” she said.

“Tell her,” Ilsa snapped.

Miss Fletcher’s forehead-rubbing hand fell to her side. “Tell me what?”

The time for niceties was over.

“I want you to break into my cousin’s home,” he said. “The same as you and your league did last August.”

There was nothing quite like the power of a blunt request. When her eyes flared wide, he tipped his head. An acknowledgment.

“You forged the key to Ancilla’s Wilkes-Lock safe to steal her share of the Jacobite gold, and I know you forged it at the shipyard of our mutual friend, Mr. Thomas West.”

He let that knowledge sink in before delivering a soft but lethal thrust.

“Do you think West and Sons Shipping could survive the crown’s scrutiny? Probably not. The harbor master is a thorough public servant. Likes to put ships in dry dock for a year if he suspects malfeasance.”

Rain pounded harder outside. His dark-haired lioness stood, unflinching. Steeliness was a quality he admired. She’d need it for what was coming.

“Using Thomas as leverage...” She was scornful. “What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you.” He stood up, unrelenting, forceful, hooking a finger under her chin. “Come work for me. You won’t regret it.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Threats, my lord, are a strange form of persuasion,” Mary said.

Shadows and light wavered on Lord Ranleigh’s blade-straight nose. His queue was stygian perfection. Styled in a cream silk coat, everything about him was lavish. Assured and wealthy, Lord Julian Ranleigh was one of England’s chosen sons. A praetorium guard ascending. Looking into his onyx eyes was her only clue. A ferocious drive camped there, and he wore it well.

Lord save her—she was intrigued. Even the devil himself appealed to the eye.

He stroked her jaw. “You’re not frightened, are you?”

“No.” She angled her chin higher. “But I don’t appreciate you threatening my... friend.”

“Friend?”

His mocking tone left no doubt he thought otherwise.

“Do you want to go on about Mr. West? Or should we talk about you?” She smiled, tight-lipped and cool. “Something tells meyouare your favorite subject.”

Ilsa giggle-snorted, and Lord Ranleigh’s hand fell to his side. It was a small victory. Mary would take it.