Page 98 of For a Scot's Heart Only

“Kings need three things to stay in power.” With his open hand, he swept a wall of pawns forward. “An army, a navy. That’s your brute force.” He put a finger on the castle already by the king. “The rook is money. Necessary for any king to survive. If that ruler has secret funds, even better.”

“Like stolen Jacobite gold. No one has to account for it.”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

She rested her chin on her hand, watching him scoot another game piece in the king’s vicinity.

“Now, the bishop is information. Also necessary.”

“Force, money, and information.” She picked up the chipped knight he had cradled in his hand a moment ago. “And the horse?”

Skin around Lord Ranleigh’s eyes softened. He closed his hand around hers, and her skin tingled at his touch.

“The dark knight does what is necessary to bring all the parts together.”

Intimacy couched them. He was luring her just so with his confession, his voice a little craggy when she tipped forward as though a kiss might happen.

“I could use someone like you,” he said. “A beautiful commoner with rare intelligence.”

“Unlike beautiful noblewomen. They’re as numerous as leaves on trees but not nearly as smart.”

His mouth quirked, and she let the knight fall into his hand. Outside the window a carriage parked, rudely blocking the moonlight when she needed every bit of light to see the libertine-cum-soldier of intrigue.

A fist pounded the chamber door.

“The carriage is ready, my lord,” was the booming voice on the other side. His lordship smiled unevenly.

“That would be Ilsa’s doing.” He unfolded himself from the chair. “Come. I’ll see you out.”

For a woman who wanted her bed, she was awfully sluggish getting out of her chair. Crossing the room, she looked beyond the window. The waiting carriage boasted brass candle lamps and matching white horses.

“That’s not your typical hack, my lord.”

“The carriage is mine.” He opened the door for her.

“Planning to torment more corset makers tonight?”

“Only one has caught my interest,” he said when she brushed by.

She touched her nape, glad for the dark. Her skin was pebbling there.

Lord Ranleigh led her to his front door, where a pink-liveried footman stood at attention with her gray cloak draped over his arm. His lordship settled the cloak on her shoulders, and the footman opened the door to a growing storm. She was about to dart into the elements, in search of a hack, when Lord Ranleigh put a hand to her elbow and scuttled into the rain with her. They huddled close, rushing to his carriage. Another servant, gripping his greatcoat against blustery wind, swung the carriage door wide.

Confused, she asked, “The carriage is for me?”

Lord Ranleigh spoke above pounding rain. “You need a ride home.”

“Please convey my appreciation to Miss Thelen.”

Which made his mouth quirk. “My carriage—using of it is one of the many benefits, should you join me.”

She climbed inside. The interior was masculine browns. More tufted leather with hints of expensive cheroot smoke. She was unfolding the waiting wool blanket when Lord Ranleigh leaned past the open door. Rain plastered his back and droplets clung to his lashes.

He reached for her, his cold, damaged hand covering hers.

“You are an astonishing woman. You’ve been hunting the gold, yet you’ve managed to elude anyone’s notice. Mine, in particular.” Dismay slanted his mouth. “You and your league also managed to find my cousin’s Wilkes-Lock key, something I could never do. That’s a feat, Miss Fletcher.”

His onyx eyes told her he’d just offered his truest compliment.