by Arnette Lamb
Lines of worry creased his forehead. “ ’Twas Dunbar’s workshop, and the fire was set at night. Only progress was hurt.”
“Progress,” she repeated, and felt a spark of intuition. The assassin had rummaged through the papers in his study. The workroom had been destroyed. Progress. She’d learn the reasons behind it, but now he needed reassurance. “Worry not, my lord.”
With a wave of his hand, he indicated the whole of the property. “How can I not?”
Gazing at the huge wooden structure and imagining how rapidly the contents would ignite, Agnes felt a shiver of apprehension. “You should put a cistern here and a supply of buckets beside it. Build another atop the stone building to catch rainwater and pipe it along the support columns. You must increase the night watch. Men should patrol the yard during the day. Begin a log of every delivery wagon, its origin, and the name of its driver.”
“Have you any other orders for me?”
“Yes. Can you think of any tie he might have to this mill?”
“A well-paid assassin? Nay.” Absolute denial harshened his tone. “This is a community of people. They stage a harvest fair on this land, have for decades. On wages day the family members congregate here. I will not believe one of them has betrayed me.”
“None of your employees could afford the assassin’s fee.”
“None of them would, I tell you!”
His vehemence was rapidly turning to anger. Agnes knew she must calm him down before the children joined them. She chose an easy path. She gave his arm a smart pat. “Careful, Edward Napier, one might mistake you for a Highlander, so patriarchal do you seem.”
Quickly, boldly, did he react. “At least I do not stoop to flinging your words in your face.” In carefully precise motions, using only his fingertips, he pulled paper and pencil from his waistcoat. One side of the paper contained a drawing with symbols, notes, and measurements. Turning it over, he began writing on the clean surface. As he wrote, he recited her suggestions, but his voice was high-pitched and cocky.
She recalled his saying that he couldn’t stay angry with her for long. Adding that memory to his actions now, she decided that he possessed a mild temperament. She wondered what he’d been like before the attempts on his life. Last night in the tower he’d donned a long tunic and pretended to be a medieval lord as he presided over the meal and the evening.
He’d cleverly convinced his children that the whistles they wore around their necks were special toys. He’d invented a game he called Castle Keep, wherein he’d dubbed the children vital sentries. He’d charged them to blow their whistles to sound an alarm should a stranger enter Napier House.
“Agnes?”
At the gentle insistence in his voice, she pulled herself to the present. Her gaze went immediately to the children. Seeing that they were safe, she studied their father.
Sunlight turned his gray eyes to sparkling silver. “What were you thinking?” he asked.
Only in exchange for knowledge of Virginia’s whereabouts would Agnes have revealed her tender thoughts of him. She took the golden brooch from his hand. “I was wondering how I will clean the blood off this.”
“That wasn’t what you were thinking. But I’m a patient man.” He took the brooch. “Allow me. I’ve a solvent in my laboratory that will do the trick.”
He didn’t need a solvent to perform trickery; he could captivate her at will, a situation that both surprised and frightened her. She said, “Thank you,” when she wanted to ask why he continued his seduction game. She’d made her position clear on the subject of romance, and even if she did fall in love with Edward Napier, she would not forsake her search for Virginia.
The wind changed directions, and the smell of the sea filled the air. She thought of her home in Tain, of the docks in Cromarty, of an older sister and her younger charge, of a tryst the former had arranged with a dashing young beau. Agnes saw herself give Virginia a penny for a pie and another for her silence. The image blurred.
With an effort, she put away the past. “I think you should send our apologies to the mayor tonight.”
“Oh, nay.” He opened the carriage door and called for the children. “This villain will not make a coward or a prisoner of me.”
The children would be safe in the tower with Auntie Loo. The assassin had braved a crowd in Edinburgh, but would he show himself in Glasgow? Agnes hoped so. “Pray he crawls from his hole, for I long to meet him face-to-face,” she said.
He snapped his fingers. “We will draw him out and away from my children.”
“Not apurpose. He’s too clever for that,” she warned. “We must be careful, and stop shouting orders at me.”
Having a plan inspired confidence in him, for his mood brightened, and he winked at her. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to sound patriarchal.”
He’d also tossed her words in her face, and for that act of deviousness, he would pay. “Aye, you take every opportunity to lord yourself over me.”
“Since you’ve found me out, I may as well confess.”
Busying herself with the fit of her gloves, she feigned disinterest. “You may, but please be expeditious about it.”
He put his face very close to hers. “Do not wear that green dress tonight.”
Of all the gall. “Is that a warning?”
“Aye. That gown draws my eyes to your breasts and turns my thoughts to earthy impulses.”
He was too close, and the promise in his eyes set her heart to racing. “Then you must learn to contain yourself.”
“As must you. Unless—” With the toe of his boot, he drew a mark in the ground between them. “You’d care to don that dangerous frock and figuratively step over this line.”
Roguish didn’t begin to describe him. “You’re an admitted ravisher.”
“Only when taunted beyond restraint.” He took her arm. “Wear that green dress or its like, and we’ll have a long and memorable carriage ride to the Ark-wrights.”
He was promising to seduce her over the cut of her clothing. Pity that he didn’t want her for herself, not that anything would come of an affair with him. She wouldn’t be intimidated by him, but she wouldn’t act recklessly either.
Later that night, when she joined him in the foyer, Agnes wore her best gown, a gift from her father on her last birthday.
“I stand corrected,” he drawled. “The green gown is a rag.” Dressed in his own evening finery, he walked in a circle around her. “What friend of man made this gown for you?”
Bristling with excitement, Agnes let her spirit fly. “My sister Lottie designed it.”
“Off with her head. You look dazzling.”
She struggled against a blush and won. “Thank you, my lord.”
Edward whistled. “Men will have to sign treaties in advance to get near you in that gown.”
Dressed as he was in steel gray velvet, a white shirt, and hose, he’d attract attention of his own tonight. “Does that mean I have your promise of good behavior?”
Never had Edward seen a finer blending of light and dark fabrics. A full bolt of white velvet made the skirt and sleeves, but the long black cape and floppy hood were cut of shimmering black satin. Five thin strips of the ebony cloth, sewn an inch apart, marched up the center front of the skirt. Beginning at the waist, the black piping fanned out over the bodice. The design was repeated on the back of the black cape, with white piping soaring up the back and fanning out at the hood.
“Define good behavior.”
“An absence of seduction.”
She’d foregone the sling, and he couldn’t bring himself to suggest it. The gown was too beautiful. “Rest assured, no one will ravish you while I’m nearby.”
Upon arrival at the mayor’s home, Edward had second thoughts. The swains were out in force.
10
VISCOUNT LINDSAY DRONED ON ABOUT his great-grandmother’s love of roses. Agnes had listened to four generations of the saga and thought it sweet that the young noble who’d sent her roses carri
ed on the family gardening tradition. But the longer he spoke, the more tiresome he became. Her opinion did not matter, for he did not ask questions or invite comments.
She searched for an escape.
Her gaze moved to the earl of Cathcart, who stood with a group of men near the potted palms across the ballroom. The evening with Mayor Arkwright was not the quiet dinner Agnes had expected. At least fifty people milled about the brightly lighted room.
Observing Edward Napier, she decided that in public he possessed an overabundance of reserve. An image she couldn’t quite square with the aggressive rogue who made her feel and act the wanton. More puzzling was why someone had ordered his death. Taller than the other men around him, he shared rather than dominated the conversation. Scanning the others in the room, she saw no one sending him vengeful stares. Passing among the guests, she’d heard no disparaging words, not even a slight spoken in jest.
Their eyes met. In a glance he bathed her in admiration. His subtle and effective seduction went straight to her heart. Cast off propriety, he seemed to say, and play a trysting game with me.
He looked pointedly at the side exit, and with a subtle expression, he invited her to join him there.
Agnes couldn’t stand still. The legacy of the Lindsay roses had regressed to the Reformation Age, when a kinswoman had stolen holy water to nourish the last Lindsay rose. When the viscount stopped to draw a breath, Agnes took her leave and moved toward Edward.
He tipped his head to the side to hear the conversation of the constable, but his eyes and his interest followed her every step.
He’s trouble, her better judgment warned.
Have a go, her heart replied.
Halfway to her destination, she felt his warmth and his anticipation. His eyes gleamed a welcome, and when she reached him, he grasped her arm and drew her in.
“Gentlemen,” he began in his scholarly voice. “Let us not bore Lady Agnes with our ruminations over the loss of the American colonies. If we do, she’ll elude us again.”
Agnes had stood among these same gentlemen shortly after arriving at Mayor Arkwright’s residence. She’d been captivated by Edward Napier, by his fair assessment of history, by his enthusiastic outlook for the future. The very real possibility that his future could be in peril had driven her to mingle among his acquaintances. That was when Viscount Lindsay had caught her unawares, and with his penchant for hearing himself talk, he had given her the opportunity to observe the others in the room. If any of the people here wanted the earl of Cathcart dead, Agnes saw no sign of it.
All of the men in the group except the mayor excused themselves. Agnes said, “What societal revelations did I miss?”
The mayor stumbled for words. Their conversation had either been vulgar or had concerned her. Agnes looked up at Edward. “Tell me what was said.”
“You will not like it.”
“I insist.”
“Uh, may I fetch you a glass of punch, my lady?” The mayor moved to leave.
“Water, please, Mayor Arkwright.”
Murmuring, “My pleasure,” he ambled toward the door.
“Out with it, my lord,” Agnes said.
He sighed. “I’ll probably regret this.”
“But you’ll tell me anyway.”
“The constable believes that the duke of Ross keeps you too long in the nest.”
If he sought to shock her, he’d find disappointment A bastard child knew scorn at an early age. But Agnes was a daughter of the Highland rogue. The blame for her illegitimacy was his, and a lifetime of love was his restitution. “Because I have not wed?”
Edward didn’t bat an eyelash at her bluntness. But he moved close and whispered, “Yes. But before you tell me why, know that the telling itself is a gift to me.”
Her head went light. In Edinburgh he’d witnessed the battle she waged with her father, but he had not pried into the reasons behind it. Early on in their association, Edward had tried to dominate her. But that was in the past. In matters pertaining to his safety and that of his children, he treated her as a respected equal.
Her most heartfelt reason rushed to be said. “When I find a man as honorable and as loving as my father, I will leap into his arms.”
Pleasure glowed in his gray eyes. “His grace of Ross sets a lofty standard for the rest of us mortals to follow. But this very mortal man thinks ’tis a task worth the undertaking.”
Flattered to her toes, Agnes fought the urge to simper.
Fifty people mingled around them. If Agnes disgraced herself in public, she’d regret it tomorrow. But Edward was nothing if not compelling. As she normally did when faced with a difficult decision, Agnes thought of her family. If she made a scandal in Glasgow, the MacKenzies would suffer disappointment. She thought of Lottie, the great traditionalist. For one who asked so little for herself, Lottie deserved Agnes’s consideration.
“What are you thinking?” Edward asked.
“I was recalling something Lottie often says.”
“Remember, I found the countess of Tain a charming woman. What does she often say?”
“That love awaits in the marriage bed, but good character must bring you to it.”
“I find it contemplative that you coupled me and the marriage bed in the same thought.”
She had, but she wouldn’t own up to it. “I cannot imagine why, unless I’ve gone daft or have been thinking about Lottie overmuch.”
The mayor returned, and Agnes sipped the tepid water.
Edward watched her. “Lottie told me your dowries were considerable.”
Ruefully, Agnes said, “A veritable bounty waiting to be bestowed.”
Toasting her, Edward said under his breath, “To say nothing of your more bountiful charms.”
Excitement rippled through her.
Into the tumult, she heard the mayor say, “Or lands in Burgundy from her mother.”
Edward’s mouth twitched with humor. “Do you favor the duchess of Enderley?”
“Aye. In appearance I resemble her people, Clan Campbell. But in temperament, I am more like my father and the MacKenzies of Ross.”
“A devil of a rogue, too, is that MacKenzie,” barked the mayor. “Gossip out of London credits your father with calling the earl of Wiltshire to answer for making fast with the Lady Mary.”
Poor Papa, Agnes thought First the trouble in Edinburgh with Sarah, and now worse circumstances for Mary. Her father’s messenger had left this morning for London. The trip took sixty hours each way. Unless another carrier was already on his way to Glasgow, news was almost a week away.
Edward said, “Young Wiltshire’s reputed to be a master with a blade.”
In spite of the fact that Lord Robert Spencer, Mary’s love interest, was a lamentable subject, Agnes chuckled. “Wager a purse against an angry Lachlan MacKenzie, and you’ll see paltry returns on your coin—especially if he is defending one of his daughters.”
Keen interest glimmered in Edward’s eyes. “What do you think his grace will do?”
The motive behind the question was curious to Agnes. “I think that he will listen to both sides. He will understand Wiltshire’s motives. But he will take his daughter’s part. Unless Mary gave her word. If she made a promise to the earl, Papa will see that she honors it.”
“Other guests have arrived. If you will excuse me.” The mayor headed for the door.
Edward wasn’t done with the subject. Moving even closer, he said, “Mary is with child. If the greatest of intimacies cannot be deemed a promise, what can?”
To her dismay, Agnes had to confess, “I do not know. I didn’t see much of Mary in Edinburgh.” But if Mary were in trouble, she’d come to Agnes for help.
“Then your knowledge of certain intimacies and their repercussions is limited?”
“Are you asking if I am a virgin?”
Caught off guard, he stumbled for words and settled for, “Of course not. I was merely soliciting your opinion on the matter of promises made in passion.”
/> “Our father warned us of those. Did yours?”
Edward was staring beyond her, and he’d stopped listening.
Agnes scanned the room, searching for what or who had distracted him. She saw nothing untoward, no bowman lurking in the shadows. She felt no trouble in the air. “Is something amiss?” she asked.
“Only that I’m surprised.” He nodded to the mayor’s wife, who hurried after her husband. “I didn’t expect to see Sir Throckmorton here.”
Relieved, Agnes tried to place the name. “Who is he?”
“Sir William Throckmorton. I’m certain I mentioned him. He is part of a consortium that owns a spinning concern in India.”
Agnes remembered. “You buy those spools of thread from him.”
“Aye, my family has done business with his company for a very long time. The partners in the firm have changed over the years, but our dealings with them have not.”
Bewigged in the grand style, the object of their conversation had even dusted his thick brown eyebrows with powder. Sir Throckmorton was fashionably decked out in a clashing ensemble of orange, lime, and yellow satin. His black cane seemed a sober accessory to an otherwise parti-colored attire. Six fashionably dressed females trailed behind like goslings after the gander.
“How long have you known him?”
“Many years.”
Among the reasons that inspired villainy, profit seemed the most logical. Unusual occurrences could not be overlooked. If this visit by Throckmorton was an uncommon event, it warranted investigation. Trimble could easily arrange a search of the Throckmorton rooms. Or Agnes might conduct it herself.
“Agnes . . .” Edward’s gaze sharpened. “Do you think he is behind . . . ?”
She could not mistake the distress in his voice. “I do not know.” To ease his troubled mind, she added, “Probably not. But we could discuss it later if you like.”
“I’d prefer to use our ‘laters’ for more pleasurable activities.”
An uncontrollable blush was her reply.
Leaning heavily on his walking stick, Throckmorton approached them. “Nice to see you, my lord. May I present my wife and my daughters.”
