by Sahara Kelly
She simply had to agree. “I’ll head back to the inn.”
Ian held her hand for a moment longer, then dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “I’ll be back afore ye know it.”
“You’d better be,” she called after him as he hurried away down a side aisle. “You’d better be.”
And she turned around to retrace her steps.
Chapter Eleven
There was no question in Ian’s mind that the overdressed, shifty-looking man with a small covered cart just off the main market square was the one he sought.
He ambled over, taking his time, looking at all the stalls on the way. To a casual observer, he was just another person wandering around the marketplace in search of something to buy.
When he reached his destination, he wasn’t surprised to see a few pretty pieces on bits of silk and velvet. They were held securely by a small nail here and there, and any thievery was dissuaded by the huge and silent man standing next to the cart with his hands clasped before him.
“Good morning, sir. Would you be looking for a bargain? Something pretty for the wife perhaps?”
Mr. Oily Salesman stepped forward as Ian paused to look over his wares.
“As a matter of fact, I am.” He smiled. “How’d you guess?”
“I’ve been in the business for years, sir. I can always tell a gentleman who knows good value when he sees it. They always come to my cart first.” He rubbed his hands together. “Royce is my name, and this is my spot for wonderful items guaranteed to please any of the ladies in your life.” He laughed, an insincere sound that grated on Ian’s ears.
“Well…I don’t know…”
“I’m sure a handsome gent such as yourself has a lot of ladies that need pleasin’, like a wife, sister, mama, dear friends…” he leered the last words.
“Couldn’t handle all them,” Ian managed a blush. “Just a wife. But we haven’t been wed long. I’d like to get her a pretty necklace perhaps…”
“Excellent notion, sir. Let me show you…”
Ian forestalled him. “Her favorite stone is a ruby. Do you have anything with a ruby in it?”
Royce beamed. “O’ course sir. If you’ll feast your eyes on this.”
He produced several pieces of attractive jewelry, but nothing that had anything to do with real rubies.
Ian shook his head. “No, those aren’t what I’m looking for.”
“Well, can you give me a better description, sir?” Royce asked.
Ian leaned toward the man and glanced around them. “I don’t want to be overheard.”
Royce nodded. “I understand, sir,” he whispered.
“I’ve come into my inheritance, you see. Nice sum. And I heard there was going to be a special ruby up for auction here. Now if it’s the one I was told about, it would be perfect for my lass. And since I’ve got the ready to bid on it, well…it’s all good timing, isn’t it?” He beamed with modest pride. Or tried to.
Royce also looked around them conspiratorially, then beckoned Ian out of sight of the street, behind the stall.
“Just because it’s you, sir, and I understand what it’s like to want to get that one perfect piece for that one special lady, I’ll direct you to pay a call at the large white house near the end of Market Lane. When the butler answers, just tell him that Royce sent you. I believe the owner there will be able to help you out.”
Ian let his eyes widen. “My goodness, Mr. Royce. You’re amazing to know so much about what’s available hereabouts. Can I perhaps reward you for your time?” Ian reached into his pocket and carefully pulled out some coins.
“Well, sir, not really necessary, but thanks are always welcome…” He held out his hand.
Ian dropped a couple of guineas into it, knowing full well that Royce would probably make a percentage of the sale from whoever was selling it. But he considered it a worthwhile investment and let the man fawn his thanks as he took his leave.
“Don’t forget sir, the white house near the end of Market Lane. Before noon.”
Ian waved. “I have it. Thank you.”
He wove his way back through the crowds, enjoying the soft burr of Scottish voices mixing with the sharper English words. It was a typical border blend of business, pleasure and curiosity, and something he’d have enjoyed just observing at some other time.
Right now his destination lay on the other side of the marketplace, and apparently there was a noon deadline, so he regretfully kept up a good pace and promised himself he’d dally here with Amelia in the future.
His mind turned to her once more, although it had never really left her behind. She was part of him now, part of his life. He knew that in some strange way fate had put his perfect mate into his path. She wasn’t anyone’s notion of pure, nor was she ideal wife material.
Her past was filled with scandal, her present seemed a bit of a muddle and her future…? Well, her future was with him.
He foresaw a battle convincing her of that fact, however. She was quite happy to sleep with him and share monumentally magnificent sex with him. He had no idea if she’d taken that any further, or even let the idea of a permanent relationship enter her thoughts.
It might be a new and revolutionary concept. Whatever her response, he was not about to let her get away. That much was etched in good Scottish granite. And when a McPherson put his mind to something, it was always achieved.
One way or the other.
He paused at the end of a lane and looked along the neat row of houses. Yes, there was one large white one at the end. The signpost indicated that it was indeed Market Lane, so he turned in, strolled down the uneven path and entered through the gate.
The garden was neatly tended, but lacked some of the affection clearly lavished on other houses nearby. The windows were clean, the draperies inside arranged just so—all in all it resembled the house of a well-to-do villager. Perhaps someone who enjoyed a position of responsibility within the area. A physician, perhaps. Or a local dignitary. There was money here to be sure, Ian knew.
But he wouldn’t find out until he went inside, so he lifted the knocker and rapped on the front door.
It was opened almost immediately by a blank-faced butler. “Good morning. May I help you?”
Ian quickly assessed him as an ex-pugilist. The broken nose and huge shoulders were a dead giveaway. Nobody would argue with this man, which made him an excellent choice for a butler.
“Royce sent me.” Ian nodded back over his shoulder. “I spoke with him half an hour ago just off Marketplace Square.”
“Very good, sir. This way please.”
Ian followed the man across a tidy foyer, noting a statue or two, and several pieces of artwork adorning the walls.
They entered a large drawing room and as they did so, a man rose from behind a small desk near the window.
“How do you do. I’m Archibald Smith.” He extended his hand.
“Mr. Smith. Ian McPherson. Thank you for seeing me.” Ian shook hands and both men seated themselves. “Mr. Royce sent me,” he added for clarification.
“Ah yes, our good Mr. Royce. A solid citizen, but with a somewhat limited selection of items. I will guess that you had something a little more exclusive in mind?”
“That I did.” He related the story about his “wife” and his “inheritance”. He was quite fluid and could see Mr. Smith’s greedy wheels spinning happily behind his bland smile.
“Well I’m sure there’s something here that might interest you.” Smith rose and beckoned Ian to a large armoire. Digging out a key from his waistcoat pocket, Smith unlocked one of the glass doors and pulled out a drawer. Inside, on a bed of deep blue velvet, were three magnificent diamond necklaces.
“Oh, well then...” Ian’s awe was genuine.
“Lovely, aren’t they?” Smith smiled. “I was fortunate to be able to pick them up from estate sales. And, sadly, from those who needed ready money rather than diamonds.”
Ian nodded sympathetically. “I understand.”
> One piece featured a delicate chain from which a diamond pendant fell, surrounded by emeralds and sapphires. Another was a full three-strand diamond parure with drop earrings and a bracelet, and the third an ornate representation of a rose, cunningly worked with diamonds, emeralds and what looked like an amethyst or two.
“Something like this perhaps?” Smith waved his hand over the gems.
“Well, ye’ve a fine eye, Mr. Smith. No denying that. But I was hoping for something with a ruby or two. Ma wife is a big admirer of rubies.” He grinned in what he hoped was a smitten way. “I’m wantin’ to spoil her and perhaps start our own legacy of fine jewels to leave to our descendants…”
“Ah.” Smith nodded and closed the diamond drawer. “Say no more. If price is no object, I may have just the thing.”
Ian kept his grin in place.
This time, it took a little longer to open the compartment, since it was concealed, and Smith made sure his bulk was between Ian and the armoire. There was no way Ian could know what had to be done to release the mechanism, and that irritated him, but when Smith stepped back and revealed the shelf, Ian’s gasp was completely real.
There it was.
Amelia’s ruby.
The chain had been repaired, and the square pendant blazed with the fires of hell, violent reds flaring as the sun’s rays caught the stone and shot back like arrows of blood around the room. The seed pearls and diamonds added to the sparkle—it was just as Amelia had described.
Utterly spectacular.
“Och, Mr. Smith. I’ll be havin’ that.”
Smith smiled. “A not uncommon sentiment.” He pushed the tray back up and in and once again hid his final actions. “That piece, Mr. McPherson, is available, but I’m sure you’ll understand why I prefer to put it on auction. It’s really too valuable for me to put a price on, so I have opened it up to bids. The auction closes at noon today.”
Ian sighed. “Very well. Am I to know the current bid?”
“No.” Smith smiled as he shook his head.
“Ye’re a canny businessman, Mr. Smith.” Ian shrugged. “But I would have that piece for my lass. So I’ll guess you’d like a bid from me, then?”
Smith walked back to his desk and pushed a small pad of paper over toward Ian. “If you’re interested in the piece, then yes please.” He paused. “And some surety of course. That you do have the available sum.”
Ian nodded again. “I understand.”
He sat, reached for the quill on the desk and wrote a figure on the paper. Then he looked around and saw Smith’s sealing wax. “May I?”
“Of course.” Smith looked a little puzzled, but warmed the wax anyway.
Ian poured a small amount on the bottom of his bid, then took a small ring from his inner waistcoat pocket and stamped the hot wax. “There. That should do it.” He tore the paper from the pad and handed it to Smith.
The other man eyed the seal and then shot Ian a quick look of surprise. “It does indeed.”
“I’ll be hearing from you then?”
“You will, sir. I take it a message to Kilmalochan will suffice?”
“Today?”
“I’d like to say yes, sir, but as you know these things take time to finalize. I will certainly alert the winner of the auction today. But the delivery must be arranged with care and the funds verified, and so on. The documentation of provenance is very important, of course.”
“Of course.” Ian stood. “I’ll be at the inn for the rest of the day and after that on the way to Kilmalochan on the morrow.”
“Thank you.” Smith bowed politely. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Giles will see you out.”
“Good day to ye.” Ian bowed back and followed the butler back to the door. “Still fighting then?”
The butler grinned, showing his remaining six teeth. “Not any more, sir. Nobody wanted ter take me on.”
“Can’t blame ‘em.” Ian stepped outside. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Yes sir.” The butler shut the door on any further conversation.
But Ian was content. He’d bid on the ruby and knew he’d outbid anyone else, because he’d seen that flash of greed on Smith’s face. He’d also seen three necklaces that he recognized. They’d all been stolen over the last year from wealthy London families and had completely disappeared.
There might be some questions about those paintings and statues as well. It would seem that he had stumbled onto the center of a stolen merchandise organization.
Bow Street would be ecstatic as would the DeVeres. But he still had no idea of who was behind the actual theft of Amelia’s ruby.
And that bothered him as he walked back to the inn.
*~~*~~*
Amelia found waiting in her room at the inn to be a particularly irritating and useless pastime. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could sit patiently and read at the best of times.
Knowing Ian was out there and involved in tracking down a thief on her behalf…well it galled her. She should be out there with him.
Frustrated and already loathing the enclosed space, she slipped back into her spencer, tidied her hair and left the room, ostensibly in search of a cup of tea. The crowds in the inn had thinned considerably, since the market was now well underway.
For a few moments Amelia considered joining them, but with her newfound sense of what she could and could not do, she discarded the notion. Albeit with a big sigh. She could not place Ian at risk in any way, and there was still the matter of Rigsby and the loss of Natherbury Fell to be settled.
Her brother should be getting the news shortly. After that was taken care of, she could revisit her own position. But until then, it was the new circumspect Amelia who peered around the door of the snug to see a woman clearing up some cups and saucers.
She recognized her as the face at the door of their room. What had Ian called her…Hetty. That was it. Hetty.
“Good morning, Hetty.”
The woman jumped. “Och, ye gave me such a jolt, Ma’am.”
“I’m so sorry. I was just wondering if I could possibly get some tea anywhere?”
“O’ course ye can, dear.” Hetty smiled and pointed to a seat at a table near the window. “Sit yersel’ right down and I’ll be back in a tick.”
Murmuring her thanks, Amelia sat, happy to be able to look through the window at the bustling goings-on in the square just below. It was fascinating to see the variety of wares on sale—everything from chickens to hand-knitted shawls.
She laughed as a piglet led a man on a merry chase.
“He’ll catch it.” Hetty leaned over Amelia’s shoulder and took a peek as she put a tray of tea things down on the table. “That’s young Michael McGuire. His Da’ has a fine piggery and that little one’ll be a good addition.”
“Goodness. How can you tell?” Amelia blinked, then held up her hand. “No, wait. Don’t tell me. Some things are best left to the imagination.”
“Aye,” grinned Hetty. “Might put yer off yer bacon.” She poured tea and then pulled up a chair and sat down. “Now, tell me all about yer weddin’ to young Ian.”
“Er…” Amelia floundered for a moment, but then her training rose to the fore and she recovered. “You know, there are moments in our lives that we like to keep private.” She lowered her gaze. “That’s one of mine.”
“Quiet then, was it?”
“You have no idea.”
“He’s a good lad, our Ian. We want the best fer him, o’ course.”
“Have you known him long?” Amelia sipped her tea.
“Since he was a bairn.” Hetty smiled affectionately. “Such a handful he was then. Grew into a fine man though. We all missed him when he took off fer London. But bound to have his adventures, he was.”
“I’m sure he’s had more than a few of them,” added Amelia.
“Nothin’ like gettin’ himself a wife, though, lass. That one’s a first fer him.”
“Ah.” She kept her comments on that to a suitable minim
um.
Hetty tilted her head to one side. “No ring yet, then?”
“Um, no. Not yet. We wanted to wait until…until we had time to decide properly on the style.” It was a desperate ploy, and Amelia had no idea if it would work. She just wished this nice lady who made excellent tea would go away. Or that Ian would return and save her from this dangerous precipice of a conversation.
“So you’re Ian’s wife. ‘T’is hard t’ believe it.” Hetty shook her head.
“Yes, I’m Ian’s wife.” Amelia was getting more frustrated by the minute.
Hetty grinned. “An’ I’ll wager Ian told the lad at the front desk when you arrived?”
“Indeed, yes.”
“Anyone else?”
Amelia frowned. “As a matter of fact, yes. A lady from London and her daughters. I knew them. My legs were sore from the ride and Ian was…er…helping me to the room.”
“Carryin’ yer in his arms, was he?”
Amelia sighed. “Is there a point to this?”
“Aye, dearie.” Hetty patted her on the shoulder. “Even if the two of ye ne’er had yersel’s a church weddin’, yer well and truly wed.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Amelia’s heart thudded.
“Well, lass. Here ‘t’is. Yer in Scotland now. Scottish laws an’ everything. And our handfastin’ law says if yer declare ye’re wed three times in front of witnesses…well then it’s the truth.”
“What?” Amelia felt the blood drain from her head. “You must be jesting.”
“Nay, lass. ‘T’is true. Yer are indeed wed to our Ian. Congratulations Mrs. McPherson.”
“Oh my God.”
Chapter Twelve
Amelia stared blindly around the room, noticing Ian’s things casually strewn on the bureau and her reticule next to it.
She vaguely remembered thanking Hetty for tea and excusing herself. She knew she’d come back upstairs, but that was a blank.
So here she was, a married woman through no fault of her own. What the hell was she to do? She didn’t want a husband—certainly not one of her own—and the thought of being tied to one man for the rest of her life sent shivers across her flesh.
