for its share of attention and Daniel had seldom seen another of its ilk; leanly muscled and compact, he was built for endurance, head turned towards him and darkly intelligent eyes watchful. If he had had the money he would have placed it down right then and there because he knew without a doubt that offspring from these two would soon be worth a small fortune on any market in the world.
‘Where did you get them?’
‘In Spain. Near Bilbao. I had heard of them and went over to look. Fell in love at first glance and brought them back three years ago.’
‘Don’t sell them cheap, then. If you hold out for your price, their worth will be increased,’ Daniel advised.
‘You wouldn’t be interested in purchasing them yourself?’
This was not said with any intention at rudeness. It was just a passing comment, a friendly gesture to a stranger. Of course Cameron would think the Montcliffe coffers full. Everybody still did.
He shook his head. If he could have raised the money, he would have bid for the pair in a trice, but that sort of life was finished and had been for a while now. He noticed a few other patrons drifting down to take a look at the greys. And then more came. However, Robert Cameron did not seem the slightest bit interested in singing the praises of his horseflesh any longer which was surprising, given the hard line he had taken just a moment before.
As the crowds thickened Daniel tipped his hat at the timber merchant and made his way out of the crush.
* * *
Three-quarters of an hour later, he was glad to sit down on the comfortable seat of his carriage. His right leg ached today more than it had in months and he knew that the bullet would have to be removed before too much longer. The Montcliffe physician had told him that time and time again, but the worry of being left a cripple was even worse than the pain that racked through him each time he stepped on it.
Throwing his hat on the seat, Daniel leant back into the leather and ran his fingers through his hair. It was too damn long and he would cut it tonight after a bath. His valet had once done the job, but Daniel had let him go, as he had had to do with other staff both at the town house and at Montcliffe.
He cursed Nigel again as he did almost every day now, his brother’s lack of care of the family inheritance beyond all comprehension. One should not think ill of the dead, he knew, but it was hard to find generous thought when any new debt now joined the pile of all the others.
A sudden movement caught his attention and he focused on a group in a narrow alleyway off Hyde Park Corner. Four or five men circled around another and it was with a shock that he realised the one in the middle was the timber merchant, Mr Robert Cameron.
Banging on the roof of the conveyance, he threw open the door and alighted quickly as it stopped. Twenty paces had him amidst the ruckus and he saw the old man’s nose streamed with blood.
‘Let him go.’ Raising his cane, he brought it down hard on the hand of the man closest to him as the scoundrel reached inside his coat for something. A howl of pain echoed and a knife dropped harmlessly to the cobbles, spinning on its own axis with the movement.
‘Anyone else want a try?’ He knew he had the upper hand as the thugs backed off, yelling obscenities at him, but nothing else. They were gone before he counted to ten and there was only silence in the street.
Cameron was leaning over as though in pain, his right arm held to his chest.
‘What hurts?’
‘My...pride.’ As he straightened Daniel saw the grimace on his face.
‘Did you know them?’
The older man nodded. ‘They have been demanding money from me.’
‘Why?’
‘My business is lucrative and they want a slice. One of their number also used to work for me in the warehouse until I fired him for stealing and I suspect he holds a grudge.’ He dabbed at his nose with his dislodged shirt tails. ‘If you had not come...’
‘I will take you home if you give me your direction.’
As Cameron was about to argue Daniel called his driver down from the high seat to give a hand and ten minutes later they were pulling up in front of a large town house in Grosvenor Square.
No little fortune here then, Daniel thought, as he helped Cameron out. He noticed blood had left a stain on the leather seat at about the same time as the other did.
‘If you wait, I will find coinage to cover the cost of the cleaning.’
‘It is of no significance.’
Cameron was now leaning on him heavily and he could feel the shaking of fright beginning to settle. As they came to the front door the sound of running feet was heard.
‘Are you hurt?’ Worry coated the voice of the woman who came into view, the same woman he had seen in the carriage, anger on her face creasing it badly. Cameron’s daughter by his own admission, though she looked nothing at all like him.
‘What on earth happened?’ She reached his side and all but pulled her father out of Daniel’s grasp, the sharp edge of a fingernail carving skin away from his wrist. If she noticed, she did not show it, merely helping her father backwards to a sofa that was perched to one side of the wide lobby.
‘Sit down. You look blue around the mouth.’ Her own mouth was a tight line of consternation, her dark eyes flashing up at Daniel in question. ‘Who did this?’
‘A group of blackguards waylaid him not far from Tattersall’s.’
‘You did not wait for the carriage, Papa. You said to send it at two, did you not?’ As if on cue the big clock in another corner struck the half hour of one-thirty.
‘I h-had done all I needed to at the auction house.’
‘You sold the horses?’ A new tone entered her voice, one of censure and irritation. Lord, the girl was a harpy and with no introduction Daniel was hard pressed to say anything.
Robert Cameron was shaking his head and looking worse by the moment. ‘The Earl of Montcliffe here helped me and brought me home. Lord Montcliffe, may I present my daughter, Amethyst Amelia Cameron, to you.’
Amethyst? His jewel? She did not suit such a name at all with her dark eyes and angry mouth. Her hair was a strange lustreless brown pulled back into a bun that was fashioned in the most unflattering of styles.
As if she could read his mind her expression tightened and she barely acknowledged the introduction. The clothes she wore were serviceable homespun without embellishment. The sort of dress one might wear to a dowdy funeral, the cloth of black showing up her skin as sallow and underlining the smudged circles beneath her eyes as dark bruises.
She was not a beauty, but she was not plain either. Beneath the downcast glance he caught a flash of anger, abrupt and sudden.
Tipping his head at her, he was surprised when she flushed a bright beet red, though she looked away, ringing for the butler to fetch a physician immediately.
Efficient and calm now, save for the remaining stain of red on her cheeks which made her look
