of few people in the world whom he could trust.
“Actually, instead of running away, I am running to the problem.”
“At your hunting lodge?” Anthony eyed him suspiciously. Shifting on his bench, he frowned and then shook his head. “Of course, it is no coincidence that our path to your property in the mountains goes right through Edinburgh.”
“Unless the roads have changed and I have not been advised of such an occurrence.”
Anthony was not addle-pated and he immediately understood…and laughed out loud as he did.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, eh?”
“Although I battle in the light of day, my opponent chooses to hide in anonymity. A situation I thought to change.”
“Now that’s the Trey I remember! Never one to avoid a good fight.” Anthony reached over and smacked him on the shoulder. “And I am honored that you asked me to accompany you, as your ‘second,’ so to speak.”
David smiled at him, but his words made him cringe. He had hoped to keep this a discreet visit to Edinburgh to discover more about the elusive Mr. A. J. Goodfellow. His man-of-business had been unsuccessful in his efforts to find out the man’s background or family or even his whereabouts.
Now, David would use his own connections—his school friend owned and published the Scottish Monthly Gazette and would surely be able to help him uncover this writer. Well, Nathaniel might be able, but David was certain that it would take more convincing on his part for his friend to reveal the information.
“I would consider this a quiet reconnaissance mission of sorts, if you please. My man has already made most of the inquiries, I thought only to follow up on several more promising leads.”
Anthony sat up straight and put a finger over his lips. “I can be as quiet as the grave, Trey. You can count on my discretion in this matter.”
Deciding not to discuss the arrangements or his plans further now, he nodded his acceptance and turned his face toward the windows. He had much to do in the two days before he left town.
He’d written his response to the inflammatory article and it would be delivered to the publisher on Thursday. With the publishing schedule as it was, his essay would arrive to readers while he was in Edinburgh. The best time to observe Nathaniel and his allies and their reaction to it. The best time to flush out the elusive Mr. Goodfellow.
The coach arrived at his club on St. James, and as they climbed out, David was making lists of tasks to be completed before he could leave London.
Engrossed in her review of the newest textbook she’d chosen to use to teach reading at the school, the knock surprised her. Before Anna could call out, the door of Nathaniel’s office opened and a stranger entered. She did not see his face as he turned momentarily to close the door, but his fine clothing spoke of money and his bearing of power. He was as surprised as she must have been at finding an unexpected person in place of the one they sought. She pulled some papers over the book and then rose and walked around Nathaniel’s desk to meet him.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, holding out her hand to him. “May I help you with something?” He eyed her extended hand and frowned. Ah, a high-stickler. Most likely from London.
“Good morning. I am seeking Mr. Hobbs-Smith,” he said with a cursory bow, but without taking her hand. His accent confirmed his origins.
“Mr. Hobbs-Smith has not arrived yet. I am Miss Fairchild. Can I be of service?”
Anna observed him as he thought on her words. Tall, taller even than Nathaniel, this stranger carried an air of anger and danger as he shook his head. When his gaze met hers, the piercing blue stare rendered her breathless. She’d never felt such a concentration of attention before and her words jumbled in her mouth, unable to right themselves. Finally, Lesher opened the door and whispered of Nathaniel’s impending arrival, breaking the spell being woven that robbed her of her wits.
“Can I offer you some refreshments? Mr….?” Anna waited for some name to attach to this man. She needed to know his identity.
“This is a business matter, Miss Fairchild. No refreshments are needed.” He tugged off his gloves, crushed them impatiently in his grasp and examined every inch of the office. Lifting the hat from his head, he tossed the gloves inside it and laid it on the desk.
Did he think her an imbecile to not know the expectations at a business discussion? She was simply trying to be polite and he was treating her as though she were a…woman.
Anna detested the imperious attitude of those of his class, which she supposed must be noble. The only working women he encountered were most likely his servants or store clerks or those who earned their money on their backs.
She gasped as her thoughts went in an inappropriate and unexpected direction. What had ever conjured up such things?
“Are you in distress, Miss Fairchild?” he asked. His gaze did not soften, but there was something resembling concern in it now.
“I am well, sir. I only just remembered a previous commitment.” She hoped the blush was not so apparent to him as she went back to the desk, rearranged some of the papers there and picked up her book. “Mr. Hobbs-Smith is soon to arrive. If you will excuse me…”
Anna’s escape was in sight, her hand on the knob of the door, when it opened and revealed Nathaniel standing there. She pulled it back and allowed Nathaniel to enter.
“Nathan…Mr. Hobbs-Smith, you have a visitor,” she announced to warn him of the presence behind her.
“So I was told,” he replied, tilting his head toward those in the outer office who stared and waited, not even bothering to hide their curiosity.
Nathaniel walked past her and she shut the door. Now her own interest forced her to stay and discover the intent of the mysterious stranger. When she turned back, she found Nathaniel, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, simply staring at the man as though he’d seen the very specter of death.
“Mr. Hobbs-Smith,” the visitor exclaimed as he reached for Nathaniel’s hand. “And I was not certain you would remember me from our previous acquaintance.”
Nathaniel did not refuse, exactly, but offered no enthusiasm or resistance to his greeting. Watching the man closely now, Anna was certain she glimpsed some devilish enjoyment in his gaze at Nathaniel’s obvious discomfort.
“Ah,” Nathaniel finally mumbled as he shook the man’s hand and then tried to release it. “My…my…” he stuttered.
“Mr. David Archer, at your service,” the man replied, still grasping Nathaniel’s hand.
A gentleman only? Not a nobleman? Glancing at him, she noticed the expensive material and fine cut of his coat and boots, the well-groomed appearance and haughty bearing. Surprised at her misjudgment, Anna waited to learn more.
“My memory failed me, sir. Forgive me,” Nathaniel said. Realizing that she was still in the room, he turned and began to introduce her. “And this is…”
“Miss Anna Fairchild,” Mr. Archer said. “We have met already. Since Miss Fairchild has another commitment, I would suggest we allow
