“I felt nothing for Richard Abbott besides gratitude for his generous gift. Even so, I would not abandon him in a time of need.”
Sharp creases framed MacMasters’s eyes. “Ye’re not abandoning him. He’s likely dead by now. But ye already knew that when ye left London, didn’t ye?”
“I have no confirmation that he is alive. Nor that he is dead.” She set down the cup and reached for her valise. Her fingers tightened around the handle. “Now I’ll thank you to let me be on my way.”
MacMasters blocked her path. “I can’t do that.”
“You’ve no right to keep me here.”
“Lass, if ye’re determined to take advantage of Cranston’s hospitality, I will nae try to stop ye. But I need what’s in that case.”
She hiked her chin another inch. “So, you’re no better than a common thief. I suspected as much.”
The corners of his mouth tipped into a smile. If only he’d scowl, she’d be far less distracted by the desire to drink in those jade eyes. Damn the man.
“A thief?” He appeared to muse over the word. “Perhaps. But not of the common ilk.”
“I will contact the authorities. I know your names and I know the location of this residence. I doubt you wish attention to be drawn to your nefarious activities.”
“Nefarious activities?” Harrison cocked a brow. “She’s clever. I like that. Quite an improvement over the women you usually bring here, I’d say. I doubt most of those lovelies could even pronounce the words, much less employ them to insult you.”
She shot the physician a glare. “I’m pleased my vocabulary meets your standards. I’ll have you know I’ve never been thought of as a lovely.”
MacMasters slowly shook his head. “Ah, ye’re bonny enough. Damn shame ye’re a hell of a lot of trouble. I’ve had men try to kill me, and the cretins are at the doorstep lookin’ to finish the job. I’ve had to chase ye down after ye managed to stuff yer skirts through a window and drop to the ground without breakin’ yer pretty neck, and I still don’t know what the hell ye’re up to. I won’t have the strength left to perform any nefarious activities by the time we’re through with this night.”
She let out a little huff. “Well, I never!”
“’Tis no wonder. No man could endure chasing after ye and still have enough spirit left in his body to do more than collapse.”
She shot the physician a glance, hoping to glimpse outrage at his brother’s uncouth words. Harrison MacMasters seemed a gentleman, far more so than the man who’d swept her away from the tavern. But she saw no censure. No anger. Only a twitch of his lips that betrayed the beginnings of a smile.
Harrison’s attention settled on the door. The white-capped sentry stood in the portal, interest brightening her blue eyes. She came closer, seeming to inspect Johanna. “I’d already seen the bottom of ye. It’s good t’get a look at yer face.”
Johanna couldn’t keep the words in. “I beg yer pardon.”
A smile tugged at the spindly matron’s lips, softening her care-lined features. “I saw ye makin’ yer escape. I’ve seen many a woman come and go from this place, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen any make quite as interestin’ an exit.”
“Oh. My.” Johanna’s cheeks heated.
“Ye’re a bonny one, ye are.” She slanted Connor MacMasters a knowing glance. “I can see why she caught yer eye.”
“Actually, it’s not the lass who’s caught my eye, ye busy-body.” MacMasters sounded like he held back a laugh. “I’m more interested in that leather bag of hers.”
“Knowin’ ye as I do, I’m half inclined t’believe ye.” The housekeeper sent him a wink. “Now that the lass has returned, I thought ye might be needin’ me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Duncan, but your assistance is not needed,” the physician said.
“Since ye’re all up and about, would ye like me to put on a fresh pot of tea?” The matron stalled.
Harrison nodded. “As a matter of fact, that might be just the thing. I’ll come with you. I’ve developed a sudden taste for that shortbread you made this afternoon.”
“I’d be happy to bring it to ye.”
Harrison marched to the door. “I’ll get it. I need to stretch my legs.”
The heavy panel closed behind the physician’s back with a soft snick.
A renewed sense of alarm coursed through Johanna’s body. She was alone with Connor MacMasters. She felt no fear of the man. But, my, the man had the capacity to unnerve her. The delicious impulses his nearness spurred in her body were far more troubling than fear.
Connor leaned against the desk, his stance deceptively casual. The granite set of his jaw contradicted his relaxed posture. Well, she wasn’t about to be cowed. Not even by the likes of him.
“Tell me what Cranston wants with ye. He’s not one to negotiate.”
“I have no intention of discussing my arrangements with the man. Not with you. Nor your brother. Not even with the ghost of Bonnie Prince Charlie.”
“The man is not a fool. If ye think to deceive him, ye’ll find ye’ve made a grave error.”
“I’ve no need for deception. I’m prepared to honor his terms.”
“Honor?” Connor slowly shook his head. “He doesnae know the meaning of the word.”
“At least, I know what he wants. I have no idea of your motives. What reason do I have to believe you possess more integrity than the men in that alley?”
“Ye’re still breathing. And untouched. That sets me several notches above the likes of those bastards.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Ye want to take yer chances with those louts. Then go. Find out for yerself what I’m telling ye is true.”
She pulled in a breath. “Tell me why I should throw my lot in with you.”
“I cannae do that. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust any of us. I’d make my way back to London, and from there, I’d sail to America and pray Cranston didn’t catch up with me.” He cocked his head to one side, seeming to study her. “That’s what I’d do, Miss Templeton.”
MacMasters eyed her with a gaze that made her feel stripped, more vulnerable than she’d ever felt in her life. She watched the flickers of emotion in his eyes. Was he telling the truth? Or was he a skilled charlatan who knew how to manipulate her fears? The reality was yet to be determined.
Damn the man. What did he know of the desperation that clawed at her belly? Of the regret that she’d done nothing to prevent her niece’s abduction? Of her need to find Laurel, no matter the cost?
Determined to bring the child home, she’d boarded a train in King’s Cross on a grim, drizzly morning when the chill cut to the bone. By this time, Laurel should’ve been at her side. Tears welled in Johanna’s eyes. She blinked them away and swallowed hard against the bitter taste of defeat. She couldn’t let the girl pay the price for her failure. She had to save her.
“Running from Cranston isn’t an option.” She bit out the words between nearly clenched teeth.
He seemed to digest her words. Lightly, he dropped his hands over her shoulders, as if anticipating she might still bolt. Arrogance flashed in those keenly intelligent eyes. The honesty of the emotion soothed her fears. Just a bit.
“Well, then, ye’d better start telling me what the hell ye’ve got yerself mixed up with. Ye dinnae want to admit it, but I’m the best chance ye’ve got.”
Chapter Ten
“My best chance?” Johanna met MacMasters’s gaze. She would not shrink from this man. Showing any sign that he’d intimidated her wouldn’t do at all.
“Yer best chance of staying alive. I’ll protect ye. Ye can trust that.”
She deliberately cocked a brow. “Trust? I’m not sure I still know the meaning of the word. I have no reason to trust you. Or your brother.”
“Nae, you don’t.” His big hands slid from her shoulders to her upper arms. Not in restraint, but in a touch that spoke of confidence and reassurance. “But as I see it, ye don’t have much choice. If ye decide to leave, there’s the d
oor. I won’t stop ye. As I told ye, I’ll have my chance at whatever ye’ve got in that case once Ross gets his hands on it.”
“It’s only a prize to you, an object you can sell to the highest bidder.” She struggled to keep the strength in her voice. Weakness was unacceptable. With this man, it might well be her downfall. “But I’ve much more at stake. Ever so much more.”
He regarded her for a long moment. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Say something, damn you.
Finally, he responded. With another touch, at first. He traced the curve of her chin, his expression contemplative, as if he weighed his words carefully.
“What was between you and the man? What drew you to him?”
Infernal Scot, still convinced she’d taken a fancy to Abbott. Did MacMasters believe only a romantic attachment could motivate her involvement in Cranston’s scheme?
Dagger-sharp pain lanced her heart, twisting the blade for good measure. In a sense, MacMasters was right. Her heart had indeed driven her to undertake this devil’s bargain. But Connor didn’t realize her heartache was tied not to a lover, but to a sweet-natured, mischief-prone girl whose eyes reminded Johanna so very much of the sister she’d lost.
“You might say we had a mutual interest,” she replied, purposefully vague.
“In his acquisitions?”
“No.”
MacMasters caught her arms. He pulled her closer. Exquisitely gentle, his fingertips swept over her cheek. “A man like him…I can see why he’d want you. You’re a beauty. More than that, your wit would challenge him.”
“I assure you, Mr. Abbott harbored no such interest.”
“You expect me to believe that?” MacMasters traced the pad of his thumb over her lips. “The man knew a treasure when he saw it.”
She let a little huff escape. Certainly he didn’t think tender touches and dubious tributes to her femininity would win her trust. “Flattery, Mr. MacMasters? I’d no idea you were so skilled at seduction.”
“Seduction?” His mouth lifted at the corners as he repeated the word. “Ye think that’s what this is?”
“It does seem an apt beginning. You’ve complimented both my countenance and my intellectual prowess. Perhaps next, you will endeavor to praise my spirit and my strong passions. In my novels, plying a woman with tributes to her beauty and character are effective to a point—until the heroine realizes spouting platitudes is the verbal equivalent of shoveling manure.”
Those green eyes of his crinkled at the corners. “When I seduce a woman, I dinnae start with words, lass.”
She cocked her chin. Damned if she’d let this brawny Scot intimidate her. “I suppose in your case, you’d bypass sweet platitudes and proceed to tossing a lass over your shoulder and carrying her off to your lair.”
Very slowly, he shook his head. His gaze lingered on her mouth. His eyes darkened, suddenly dangerous. “That comes later.”
She swallowed. Hard. Heat inflamed her cheeks. “Later?”
“First, I’d do this.” He dipped his head. His lips nearly brushed hers. So close, his breath seemed a caress. But no contact. No touch of his flesh to hers.
A sense of utterly absurd disappointment flooded her veins. What nonsense was this? She should have felt relief, not this millstone in the pit of her stomach. Had the stress of her predicament finally pushed her past the brink of reason?
She put a hand’s breadth between their bodies. “Precisely what is that intended to accomplish, Mr. MacMasters?”
His mouth spread into a grin. “Not a damnable thing. But this is.”
He kissed her. A mere sweep of his lips against hers. Light as a soft spring breeze. Gentle. Yet infused with hunger. His tongue parted the seam of her lips. Exploring slowly. Tenderly. Setting her senses afire. One arm snaked around her back, pressing her to the rough-hewn length of his body.
His heat drew her in. Ah, she could get lost in that heady fever. The world disappeared around them. She closed her eyes. Savoring his touch. Drinking in the delicious warmth. Relishing every beat of his heart against hers.
And then, he released her. The cocky gleam in his eyes sobered her like a bucket of chilled ale dumped over her head. “Now, lass, that is what I’d do.”
“Is that so?” She prayed her voice wasn’t trembling with the aftershocks of his caress. “Quite effective, I must say.”
“High praise.” He roped her to his body with one powerful arm. “Verrae high praise, indeed. But that doesn’t change a bluidy thing. I need the truth.”
She pulled in a long breath, as if that might calm her stampeding pulse. “I have not lied to you.”
“If ye think to ransom Benedict, it is too late for that.” His tone had gone low and raw, as if it pained him to deliver a difficult truth.
“As I have told you, I knew him as Richard Abbott. He was an art dealer with clients throughout Europe.”
“He was a thief. His greed made him take too many risks. There’s reason to believe one of his deals made him a target.”
MacMasters’s gruff words swirled around her like a vortex threatening to pull her under. How could it be that her sister’s loving husband had fooled them all?
“This man named Benedict whom you speak of…he sounds like a different man, as if Richard had a twin with a dark, hidden nature. Surely he could not have been living two different lives.” Bitterness welled in her throat. “But you have correctly deduced one key truth. The contents of this satchel are indeed a ransom, but I haven’t come after Mr. Abbott.”
“Then why…why put yerself in danger?”
She eyed him beneath her lashes. So many questions. It was her turn now. “How do you know about Mr. Abbott? Why do you harbor such interest in him?”
His shoulders twitched in a shrug. “Ye might say I’m also a collector.”
“Is that so? You were acquainted with him?”
“We crossed paths.” MacMasters turned away. Moving to the window, he peeled back the curtain a sliver.
“You know the man’s character…the boldness in his dealings?”
“That’s not the word I’d use to describe his enterprises. He made a lot of enemies.”
“You considered him an adversary?”
“No.” MacMasters turned to her. “I doubt the bastard even knew I existed.”
Johanna studied him. If he was lying, his face didn’t reflect it. “How do you know of him?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It does. At least to me.”
MacMasters shrugged. “The swindler was known from Dublin to Paris.”
Swindler? The word rang in her ears. Alarm chilled her blood, and she dug her nails into her palm.
“Surely you are mistaken. Mr. Abbott was a businessman.”
A bark of laughter rumbled from MacMasters. “That’s bluidy rich. The bastard had ye fooled, didn’t he?”
His tone prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. His words unnerved her. Still, she’d not let on. “I assure you Mr. Abbott had no need to fool anyone.”
“Nae, lass, he had better reason than most. The man was a thief. A scavenger who went after what he wanted without a care for others.”
Her insides roiled, as if caught in the grip of a great storm. She’d known her brother-in-law to be reckless, a gambler whose charm masked an arrogance he couldn’t entirely hide. Her sister had been swept away by that charisma, and despite his flaws, Richard Abbott had seemed a loving husband and father. Indeed, his affection for his daughter had served as his most redeeming quality.
But after Cynthia’s death, he’d grown aloof. Laurel had spent months in Johanna’s care, fearing she’d lost her father as well as her mother. His decision to cart the girl off to Scotland with him had been entirely unexpected, but he’d offered Johanna no cause for alarm. She’d hoped his plan to take a holiday with his daughter had signaled a desire to grow closer to the child he’d often left behind.
How very mistaken she had been. Somehow, it all made sense now. The man’s lac
k of caution with finances, as though he’d discovered a fountain of wealth he could readily tap. His frequent trips to destinations he didn’t care to divulge. His secretive ways.
Oh, she’d been such a fool.
If she’d known the truth, she would have dissuaded him from taking Laurel. She’d have found some way to stop him. What had he been thinking, plunging his daughter into danger? Or had he believed they’d be safe in Scotland? Had that even been his ultimate destination?
If only she’d known the true nature of his journey to the Highlands.
If only she’d insisted on keeping the child with her.
If only Laurel was safe and this nightmare was over.
She rubbed her temples, as if that would ease the sudden throb just below the surface. “You are wrong about one thing, Mr. MacMasters. Mr. Abbott was not a heartless man. He cared deeply for his family, for his wife and his daughter.”
“Daughter?”
She allowed a small smile to touch her lips. “So, there’s something even you don’t know about Mr. Abbott. He was a father. Quite an adoring one at that.”
His eyes narrowed and his jaw went taut. “Good God, that’s it—that’s why you’re here, traipsing about with men who’d slit yer throat, and smile while they did the deed.”
“Indeed. You’ve figured me out, Mr. MacMasters. I’ve come to ransom my niece. Perhaps if Mr. Abbott hadn’t loved his child, he would’ve left her behind in London. He wouldn’t have dragged the girl into a lion’s den. Laurel would be tucked up in bed at this hour, safe and content, and I would not be trapped here with the likes of you.”
…
If Johanna had plowed her fist into his gut, Connor might have been less stunned. Richard Benedict had had a daughter. Bluidy hell. How had his sources missed that crucial bit of intelligence? Somehow, the canny thief had managed to keep the existence of his wife and child cloaked, out of sight. He’d lived two lives. In one existence, he was Richard Abbott, businessman, husband and father. And in the other, he was a cunning blackguard who lied, cheated, and stole to fund his taste for fine things, using a name as fraudulent as the art he claimed had come from the brushes of old masters.
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 8
