Claiming His Defiant Miss. Bronwyn Scott
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have heard Edinburgh is quite festive this time of year and there will be plenty of entertainment. We’ll expect you December first. Several of your father’s business associates will be in town as well with their families.
Families. May crumpled the paper. She knew what that meant. Sons. Sons who had been groomed to run wealthy, productive businesses, who were ready to take their place in society as wealthy men. Some of them would probably have titles, all of them would have connections to some sort of nobility—perhaps their grandfathers if they were in business and allowed to make money, but still acceptable for the daughter of a second son like herself, still well placed enough in society to rise above the stigma of trade if need be.
She’d been so sure she’d run far enough that her parents couldn’t get to her here, that she’d be safe from their matchmaking efforts. All along she’d been worrying over the summons home. But they’d proven her wrong. If they couldn’t bring her home, they’d simply come to her and they had. Suddenly Scotland didn’t seem so big any more. Edinburgh was just a ferry’s ride away from their village on the firth and she didn’t think her mother’s letter was as harmless as it sounded. Her mother likely had a suitor picked out, or two or three.
She would not panic. She still had some time and she had Liam Casek under her roof, the one man in all of England her father truly despised. She could only imagine the look on her parents’ faces when she showed up on their doorstep with him. There was no question of him allowing her to travel without him, he’d made that plain today. Of course, that was assuming she went to Edinburgh at all.
She had almost a month. Anything could happen. There could be a storm. The Forth could be too choppy to cross, the alternate road route impaired from winter weather. Perhaps Cabot Roan would actually kidnap her! Her parents could learn of Preston’s injury and cancel their journey. Maybe they already had. This letter would have been posted before they’d have had news of Preston. Then again, if Preston was working secretly, they wouldn’t know at all. Still, it was possible one disaster could play against another to her benefit.
The news would devastate Beatrice. May wouldn’t say anything until she had to. If she actually left, it would most likely mean she wasn’t coming back. She didn’t see how she’d escape Edinburgh. The baby would be born by then and her original argument for coming here would be gone. Her parents would insist she’d done what she’d come to do and make her go home with them, back to ‘real’ life.
May folded the letter into squares. Just this afternoon, she’d been looking ahead to spring, making plans for the greenhouse, imagining raising a baby here. In a matter of hours, that fantasy had been shot to hell. She fought back tears. The past was closing in on her from all sides. She couldn’t go to Edinburgh. It would be the end of her life as she knew it. There was only one solution. She just wouldn’t go. One disaster was enough.
* * *
One disaster was one too many as far as Cabot Roan was concerned. He drummed his fingers on the polished surface of his desk and stared down the two men standing before him, caps twisting in their hands nervously. ‘How is it that you cannot find Preston Worth? He is severely wounded, likely suffering from loss of blood and unable to travel. He’s a rabbit gone to ground, and you two...’ he made an up-and-down gesture with his hand ‘...you two are certainly more than rabbits. You are foxes! You are hounds to the hunt. Surely you should be able to find one wounded man.’ No one who knew him would be fooled by the incredulity in his voice. It was done with the intent of overt sarcasm.
The taller of the two ventured to speak. ‘With all due respect, we questioned the local doctors in every town within a five-mile radius, sir. We offered gold for information. We asked innkeepers, we asked patrons at coaching inns if anyone had passed through.’
Cabot Roan nodded. Preston Worth was a slippery customer. He had managed to disappear and it didn’t matter whether he’d done it with or without help. It only mattered that Preston was gone and he’d ripped sheets out of his ledger. In the hands of the wrong people—Worth’s people—the information on those sheets would lead to unearthing his entire operation.
Under other circumstances he and Worth would have been friends. Worth’s break-in had been simple but bold. The man had wanted the information so he’d come and taken it. Few men would dare to invade his well-guarded domain. But Worth had braved the fences and the dogs and the guards. His window with its long crack and the broken lock still bore the mark of Worth’s presence. Cabot admired the man’s skill and his bravery. But that skill was going to put his head in a noose if Worth wasn’t caught before the information reached its destination.
Roan reached into his desk drawer and threw two pages on the desk. ‘Do you see these? They were “recovered” from the mail bag before it left on the mail coach.’ He’d paid a handsome fee to the postmaster for the right to look through the mail. Only a man as bold as Worth would trust damning evidence to the London mail coach. Hiding in plain sight as it were. That had been three days ago.
‘You have the proof back, then. It doesn’t matter if we find Worth,’ the shorter man said cheerily.
Roan slammed a hand down on the desk and half-rose. ‘No, you fool, it matters more than ever. Can’t you see, these are copies? The originals are still out there.’ With luck they were on Worth himself and his need to convalesce would slow down their arrival in London, but Roan didn’t feel that lucky. Worth would want the papers to travel with all haste even if he couldn’t. He would not hesitate to separate himself from the ledger sheets as his attempt at the London mails indicated.
‘Pack your bags, gentlemen. You are going to London.’
‘But the papers are here.’ The short one still didn’t quite comprehend.
Roan smiled tightly. ‘You’re not going for the papers. You’re going for his sister. If we can’t go to Worth, we’ll just have to bring him to us. I have it on good authority the family lives nearly year-round in the city and should be in residence.’
The short one knit his brow. ‘Forgive me, sir, but how will Worth know we kidnapped his sister if we don’t know where to send the ransom note?’
Heaven save him from fools, but apparently this man was the best at his job that could be found. Roan scowled. ‘The family will know how to reach him. Send the ransom note to them. They’ll set our little game in motion.’ He blew out a breath and silenced any further questions. ‘How hard can it be, gentlemen, to kidnap one spoiled debutante when she goes out shopping?’
She had gone shopping. And she hadn’t told him. Of course she hadn’t. She was mad at him; mad at him for showing up, mad at him because she couldn’t be mad at Preston for getting hurt, for putting her in this situation, mad at having her freedom curtailed, at being told what to do after running wild for months with no one to answer to but herself. He understood this was no more than a knee-jerk reaction to having her freedom limited by him, of all people. But understanding her reasons didn’t make the situation better. Anger was no excuse for irresponsible behaviour. This kind of action put everything in danger!
Liam pounded his fist in frustration against the side of the barn. The stubborn little fool! Didn’t she understand this wasn’t a game? What if Roan was out there right now? That man was a real foe who would do her real harm. Roan would not be intimidated by May’s sharp tongue or her pistol. Liam scanned the horizon. May was out there, somewhere, on foot, exposed to whoever might happen along. He had to think along those dangerous lines even if May wouldn’t. She’d made it clear last night she was willing to believe the remote location would protect her. He could not afford that luxury. He had to see danger everywhere.
He strode into the stable to saddle his black. He had to go after her, there was no choice. He’d promised Preston. Even if he hadn’t, his own conscience demanded it. He’d been here a scant twenty-four hours and he already knew May Worth was going to be the death of him. That hadn’t changed, although much else had. May had grown