Page 113 of The Scot Who Loved Me

Now the warder was being reasonable and smart and smart men were rewarded.

“You are in luck, Mr. Bixby. What if I told you I could have one delivered by dawn?”

Bixby’s grin was amiable. “Then you’d have a deal.”

“About the issue of payment.” She removed an earring and held it up for his inspection. “You know the value of rubies, don’t you?”

“Anne!” Will’s voice rumbled from the floor. “Don’t do it. Those were your grandmother’s.”

She gave him a speaking look, one filled with longing and tenderness. The earrings were pretty stones, cherished stones, but they were no substitute for Will. She’d learned a hard lesson of late: no amount of gold, rubies, or treasure of any kind could replace love. But, it wasn’t the treasure which gave her pause; it was her blind sense of duty. It had nearly destroyed her.

Love was bigger than duty. That was a truth to hold on to, like the stubborn highlander she’d come to save again.

Mr. Bixby scrubbed a hand across his mouth. “Rubies you say?”

“Yes.” A lie, but she was desperate and willing to do anything to free Will.

Mr. Bixby reached for the jewelry, but her fingers curled around it. “Not yet, Mr. Bixby. Release him first. Then the earring is yours.”

“Ah now, ma’am, I cannot release him until I have a body to replace him.”

“And I cannot delay.” She pulled the second earring from her ear. “Both are yours if you set him free this very moment. You have my word, a... replacement body will be here at dawn.”

Bixby kicked the brick stairs, thinking about the offer. Voices from Marshalsea rose, a new prisoner delivered by the Night Watch. Anne slowly closed her fingers again.

“Perhaps you’re right, Mr. Bixby. Mr. MacDonald and I should take our plight to the magistrate and throw ourselves on his mercy. And it wouldn’t cost me a thing.”

Bixby gaped hungrily at her fisted hand. “No. I’ll do it.”

The exchange done, the warder passed over the life-changing key to Anne—her third in less than a fortnight.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The next day

There was only one thing Ancilla liked less than arrogant, obtuse men and that was a woman who thought herself supremely clever. The destruction of Neville House at Bermondsey Wall was unfortunate, but necessary. Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Neville wasn’t there. The destruction of the Neville Warehouse was more vexing. The clues to finding her gold pointed to Neville Warehouse.

Anne and Will had been hiding there.

But the treasure was not inside.

Why else would they go there but to guard the gold?

Due to the unfortunate fire, she had to stay away from Gun Wharf another day. Some of the Night Watch here were cozy with the Night Watch on the other side of the river. Mr. Fielding unfortunately had the ear of the crown through the Duke of Newcastle. It wouldn’t do to stir the pot too much.

With Will MacDonald in chains at Marshalsea, awaiting the Southwark magistrate (who was known to take much longer than three days before hearing a prisoner’s charges), she didn’t fear Mrs. Neville’s disappearance. The slippery woman was somewhere in the City. It was merely a matter of finding her.

Find the woman and she’d find the Jacobite gold.

When her carriage pulled up to Neville Warehouse, a more capable band of men combed the building. Former army men, smarter than the last group. Mr. Wortley was their leader, efficient, hawkish eyes, a clear grasp of order. He was resourceful. She was in need of a new private footman with Mr. MacLeod’s sudden departure. But something in Mr. Wortley’s eyes turned her stomach. Something of a rabid dog lurked under a thin veneer of restraint with that man.

No, it wouldn’t do to bring that under her roof. She had her limits.

The carriage door was opened, and she exited, plainly dressed in muslin as it was the unseemly hour of nine o’clock in the morning.

“Mr. Wortley, what have you found?”

His eyes were dark under the brim of his tricorn. “We searched this warehouse high and low, milady. Tore it apart in places. If there was gold here, we would’ve found it.”