taller of the two ventured to speak. ‘With all due respect, we questioned the local doctors in every town within a five-mile radius, sir. We offered gold for information. We asked innkeepers, we asked patrons at coaching inns if anyone had passed through.’
Cabot Roan nodded. Preston Worth was a slippery customer. He had managed to disappear and it didn’t matter whether he’d done it with or without help. It only mattered that Preston was gone and he’d ripped sheets out of his ledger. In the hands of the wrong people—Worth’s people—the information on those sheets would lead to unearthing his entire operation.
Under other circumstances he and Worth would have been friends. Worth’s break-in had been simple but bold. The man had wanted the information so he’d come and taken it. Few men would dare to invade his well-guarded domain. But Worth had braved the fences and the dogs and the guards. His window with its long crack and the broken lock still bore the mark of Worth’s presence. Cabot admired the man’s skill and his bravery. But that skill was going to put his head in a noose if Worth wasn’t caught before the information reached its destination.
Roan reached into his desk drawer and threw two pages on the desk. ‘Do you see these? They were “recovered” from the mail bag before it left on the mail coach.’ He’d paid a handsome fee to the postmaster for the right to look through the mail. Only a man as bold as Worth would trust damning evidence to the London mail coach. Hiding in plain sight as it were. That had been three days ago.
‘You have the proof back, then. It doesn’t matter if we find Worth,’ the shorter man said cheerily.
Roan slammed a hand down on the desk and half-rose. ‘No, you fool, it matters more than ever. Can’t you see, these are copies? The originals are still out there.’ With luck they were on Worth himself and his need to convalesce would slow down their arrival in London, but Roan didn’t feel that lucky. Worth would want the papers to travel with all haste even if he couldn’t. He would not hesitate to separate himself from the ledger sheets as his attempt at the London mails indicated.
‘Pack your bags, gentlemen. You are going to London.’
‘But the papers are here.’ The short one still didn’t quite comprehend.
Roan smiled tightly. ‘You’re not going for the papers. You’re going for his sister. If we can’t go to Worth, we’ll just have to bring him to us. I have it on good authority the family lives nearly year-round in the city and should be in residence.’
The short one knit his brow. ‘Forgive me, sir, but how will Worth know we kidnapped his sister if we don’t know where to send the ransom note?’
Heaven save him from fools, but apparently this man was the best at his job that could be found. Roan scowled. ‘The family will know how to reach him. Send the ransom note to them. They’ll set our little game in motion.’ He blew out a breath and silenced any further questions. ‘How hard can it be, gentlemen, to kidnap one spoiled debutante when she goes out shopping?’
She had gone shopping. And she hadn’t told him. Of course she hadn’t. She was mad at him; mad at him for showing up, mad at him because she couldn’t be mad at Preston for getting hurt, for putting her in this situation, mad at having her freedom curtailed, at being told what to do after running wild for months with no one to answer to but herself. He understood this was no more than a knee-jerk reaction to having her freedom limited by him, of all people. But understanding her reasons didn’t make the situation better. Anger was no excuse for irresponsible behaviour. This kind of action put everything in danger!
Liam pounded his fist in frustration against the side of the barn. The stubborn little fool! Didn’t she understand this wasn’t a game? What if Roan was out there right now? That man was a real foe who would do her real harm. Roan would not be intimidated by May’s sharp tongue or her pistol. Liam scanned the horizon. May was out there, somewhere, on foot, exposed to whoever might happen along. He had to think along those dangerous lines even if May wouldn’t. She’d made it clear last night she was willing to believe the remote location would protect her. He could not afford that luxury. He had to see danger everywhere.
He strode into the stable to saddle his black. He had to go after her, there was no choice. He’d promised Preston. Even if he hadn’t, his own conscience demanded it. He’d been here a scant twenty-four hours and he already knew May Worth was going to be the death of him. That hadn’t changed, although much else had. May had grown up from a seventeen-year-old on the verge of wild beauty into her full potential. She’d been stunning in the front parlour yesterday, dark hair down about her shoulders, eyes blazing as she aimed a gun at his chest.
Liam swung up on Charon and set off down the road. Presumably, he’d find her in town. It would be best for her if he did. He couldn’t scold her publicly there. That would have to wait until they were alone and, if she was lucky, his anger would have cooled into something more rational. But heaven help her if he overtook her on the road with his temper still seething.
Liam pushed Charon into a fast canter, hoping his estimates were accurate and there was no way Cabot Roan could be in Scotland yet. By his calculations, he had approximately a two-week margin give or take a few days before the threat became real; five of those days were already spent in travel. He was banking on London. Roan would look for May there first, which would slow him down, but which would also ultimately reveal her location. Someone in London would know where she was. Despite what May believed, Roan was coming, it was just a matter of when. If his calculations were wrong, however, Roan and his men could be here any day.
He wasn’t willing to chance it by letting May roam free and unprotected. It infuriated him she was willing to take that chance. She had blatantly chosen to ignore him just for spite. He knew very well why she’d done it; to prove to him she didn’t need him, had never needed him, that he hadn’t hurt her, that indeed, he had been nothing more than a speck of dust on her noble sleeve, easily brushed off and forgotten. But that wasn’t quite the truth. He had hurt her, just as she had hurt him. They were both realising the past wasn’t buried as deeply as either of them hoped.
To get through the next few weeks or months they would have to confront that past and find a way to truly put it behind them if they had any chance of having an objective association. The task would not be an easy one. Their minds might wish it, but their bodies had other ideas. He’d seen the stunned response in her eyes yesterday when she’d recognised him, the leap of her pulse at her neck even as she demanded he take his hand off her. Not, perhaps, because he repulsed her, but because he didn’t.
Goodness knew his body had reacted, too. His body hadn’t forgotten what it was to touch her, to feel her. Standing behind her in the yard, watching the doctor leave had been enlightening in that regard. He wasn’t immune. He hadn’t thought he was. He had known how difficult this assignment would be. His anger this morning at finding her gone proved it.
Anger. Lust. Want. These emotions couldn’t last. A bodyguard, a man who did dirty things for the Crown, couldn’t afford feelings. Emotions would ruin him. Once he started to care, deeply and personally, it would all be over. He thought about the rules he’d attempted to put in place, definitely fragile and already under attack. He chastised himself for making basic, careless mistakes. He’d charged out of the stables, thinking only to get to May as soon as possible. He’d not taken time to consider the road where the land was hidden from view behind tall bushes or around corners or up an incline.
If anyone had been lying in ambush, he would have been an easy target. The man on the passing wagon could have
