The Ravishing One (26 page)

“I am very good at what I do, Fia,” he said, his gray-blue eyes unwavering. “And ’tisn’t only my efforts that finance what you see here. Jamie Craigg and a dozen others here have hazarded the sea-plying trade, too.”

“I see. Yes.” Heat pricked the back of her eyes. She looked away. She had no right to feel so angry with him, even less to feel frightened for him. A single instance of lovemaking invested her with no such privileges. He would see it as possessive, perhaps take a distaste of her.

She composed herself, looking up at the formidable building that had demanded so much of Thomas, her pleasure in it tempered by her knowledge. “How did you know what to do?” she asked, striving to keep her thoughts away from the dangers he’d faced and would face again.

“We rely much on the memories of those who lived in the castle before Carr,” he answered.

“And are those many?”

“Nay. Too few, and their memories too weak,” Jamie
said, deep furrows in his broad, ruddy brow. “I meant to talk to you on this very matter, Tommy.” He gnawed his lip. “We’ve run into a wee spot of difficulty.”

“Aye?” Thomas said, his attention finally arrested.

“There’s no one here can recall the private rooms of the central hall,” Jamie said. “We have the north and south wings to rights because there are those here who lived in suites in those parts of the castle. But while they took meals in the main hall, they rarely went beyond it to the chambers behind.”

“ ’Sblood,” Thomas cursed softly. “Surely we can make an educated guess?”

Jamie looked doubtful. “The foundations give scant clues as to the arrangement of those rooms.”

“Mayhap I might be of some assistance,” Fia said. She knew those rooms by heart, and not only the division of the rooms that Carr had imposed upon the castle, but the original layout as well.

Thomas turned to her, a warning expression on his face. She regarded him evenly. She would not betray her identity. She knew better than he the danger that being Carr’s child could bring.

Jamie was watching her curiously.

“I was a guest at Wanton’s Blush,” she said simply. “Indeed, I spent an entire season here one year.”

Jamie’s speculative expression increased and too late Fia realized that six years ago, when the castle had burned, she had been a child—at least in most people’s estimation. It would be unlikely for her to have been Carr’s guest. Quickly she salvaged the situation.

“I should say my
father
was invited to visit here,”
she said. “As my mother died when I was small, I accompanied him. Lord Carr allowed me the use of his library. A vast one it was, too. There were folios there, sheaves and sheaves of watercolor pictures of the castle, done by a young McClairen lass. Many of them were interior studies of the central portion of the castle. I assumed from the number and detail of the pictures that the central portion of the castle is where my unknown artist lived.”

“Is this true, lass?” Jamie breathed, staring at her as though she was manna sent from on high.

“Yes,” she said.

“And you remember these pictures?”

“Very well. I copied them,” she said, and at Jamie’s incredulous look smiled. “There was not much else to do for a girl of my age.”

“Ah!” Jamie breathed, and his big, blunt face split into a wide grin. He clapped Thomas on the shoulder. “So
this
is why you brought the girl here! I never thought you’d be one to mix pleasure and work, though I warrant after one look at this girl, I’d not have blamed you if you had.”

“Shut up, Jamie,” Thomas said once more, disapproval and anxiety mixing in his expression. Jamie took no umbrage at Thomas’s tone. His problem had been solved, and expeditiously, too.

“Can you begin to draw some sketches for us tomorrow, Lady MacFarlane?”

“Of course. I’ll work on them at the manor, too.”

“Manor?”
Jamie declared indignantly. “Now, there’s a pretty waste of time. I’ll tell you what, I’ll have a
room here at the castle all cozied up for ye before noon. No need to be exhausting yerself riding back and forth. And if ye’re here ye can quicker tell us if we misstep, eh?” He turned to Thomas. “ ’Tis best if the lass stays here, Thomas.”

To be at Maiden’s Blush with Thomas? To speak with him, to have only to look outside her door or a window and know there was the possibility she might see him? Like a siren song, the idea bewitched her. She could not turn her back on the possibility of owning a few more days of the fantasy.

She stepped up to Thomas, lifting her face to his dark, scowling one. “Aye, Thomas,” she said. “ ’Tis best if I stay.”

A little flame flickered in the depths of his eyes. His hand moved a fraction of an inch toward her, and stilled.

“She can stay,” he said.

Chapter 21

T
he traffic leading to London’s dockyards was impassable. James Barton stuck his head out the carriage window and shouted up at the driver. “I’m getting out here and walking.”

“Foine fer yer ta say, now as ye have me tangled in this broil and no fare fer me trouble. ‘Tain’t goin’ to be easy work turnin’ round,” the driver said sourly, and spat.

James tossed him several coins and clambered down out of the carriage. It was only a few miles to where the
Sea Witch
was moored. He’d promised Thomas he would take the Cape route, and that he would, two days hence. In fact, today he was making a preliminary inspection of his ship preparatory to sailing.

Besides, ’Twould help pass the time, especially since
he’d decided it wouldn’t do for him to call on pretty Sarah Leighton three afternoons in a row. He’d been spending too much time in Miss Leighton’s company since Fia had disappeared and Thomas had gone chasing off in a half-crippled vessel, to God knows where.

The day he’d taken Miss Leighton and Pip from St. James Park he’d been impressed by her gentility and concern for her brother. The next day he’d returned the shawl she’d left in his carriage, and she’d invited him in to thank him properly for his aid. From there one thing had led to another until he’d found himself in danger of monopolizing her time.

“Barton!”

James wheeled around, looking for the source of that imperious voice.

“Here, sir!” On the street where traffic had come to a standstill, a silver-topped walking stick emerged from the window of a black-lacquered carriage and struck the door. Within the interior James could just make out two figures, one cadaverously thin, the other wearing a puffed and piled wig atop a handsome countenance. Lord Carr.

“Don’t stand there gawking, sir,” the voice commanded. “Come here.”

It had been exactly what he and Fia had wanted, for Carr to seek James out and demand to be made a part of his insurance swindle. James would agree only if Carr signed over Bramble House, which he, in turn, would deed to Fia. But now that the moment was here James felt a tingle of fear.

Of Carr. James Barton had always confronted danger
head on but he’d never before had the sensation of willingly putting himself in the presence of true evil. He did so now as he reluctantly unlatched the door.

“Get in. Get in, I say, Barton.”

For Fia
, James thought, and entered the carriage.

Inside, Carr sat across the narrow confines from Lord Tunbridge, long rumored to be Carr’s familiar and his agent of ruination. Carr motioned for James to take the seat beside Tunbridge, and James did so. Tunbridge did not glance his way but sat as still as an automaton awaiting Carr’s hand to wind it up.

Carr regarded James from behind hooded lids. His long, elegant fingers relaxed over the knob of the walking cane. “Been a long time, eh, Barton?”

“Indeed, sir,” James replied.

Carr’s mobile mouth curved. “Imagine you’ve been expectin’ me, what with Fia’s tiresome machinations and all.”

James could not keep the surprise from registering on his face. Carr saw it and chuckled. “I fear Fia grew simpleminded while living on that Scottish farm. Of course I know what she’s up to. She’s my get, ain’t she?”

James swallowed; the evil he knew resided in this man had revealed itself. It was in his voice, the viscous, near sexual exultance of his triumph.

Carr’s smile abruptly dissolved. His gaze lifted past James’s face to stare out the window. “That’s right, Janet!” he said. “I knew as soon as Fia told me about Barton’s affection for the country what she was after, just like I know what you want!”

Startled, James looked around. A crush of working-class people moved slowly along the sidewalk, past their vehicle. Within the churning crowd he thought he glimpsed a lady’s fine skirts and a fashionable hat.

“What’re you lookin’ at, sir?” Carr demanded. “I’m speaking to you!”

Confounded anew, James turned back. Beside him Tunbridge remained fixed and unseeing, but his aquiline nostrils spread in a subtle expression of derision.

An evil glint had entered Carr’s brilliant sapphire eyes. Was this some sort of game Carr played with him? James wondered in disgust.

He was a simple, forthright man, but in the few short moments James had spent in Carr’s company, he realized the magnitude of Carr’s madness and the lengths to which he would go to win. He should have realized it before.
They
should have realized it.

How could Fia and he ever hope to win against the likes of Carr? Had Carr not killed Fia’s mother and the two other wives that followed?
And most probably others, as well
.

The thought made James tense. Carr saw his reaction, relished it.

“The reason I stopped you, sir,” Carr said, “is this. I have a message for my darling Fia. Please convey to her that your little scheme has floundered rather badly, almost as badly as, say, the
Alba Star
will shortly.”

James stared. “I don’t take your meaning, sir.”

Carr laughed with delight. “I can see that you don’t! Let me apprise you, Barton, that you may recount it to Fia. I should like to tell her myself but I am
this moment embarking on a trip to the continent and thus must forgo that singular pleasure.

“To begin with”—he laced his hands atop the knob of his walking stick and leaned forward—“I like this little insurance hoax of yours and I commend you on its previous successes.” Carr nodded pleasantly.

Good, thought James, Carr had bought in to the rumors Fia and he had so carefully spread. Perhaps there was a chance after all.

“But Fia should have realized I would never seek to become part of your little couplet.”

James’s hopes wavered.

“Any man I associate with in such a venture is a man I own.” He settled back and sighed. “I don’t own you, sir. Yet. It is a situation that I shall look into remedying.”

Before James could reply, Carr waved his cane gently in the air. “I
do
, however, own your partner, Thomas … Donne, I believe he calls himself? And him I’ve made my partner.”

The air in the small, shadowed carriage suddenly seemed dense. A cold finger touched the base of James’s spine. His fear for Thomas increased even as his hopes for his and Fia’s plans collapsed. Carr in league with Thomas? It made no sense! Why would Thomas not have told him? How did Carr
own
Thomas?

There was no possible way to salvage any of Fia’s plan, but at least he could try to protect Thomas.

“What sort of blackmail have you on Thomas?” he demanded.

“You mean you don’t know?
Tch-tch
. And here I’d been led to believe you were such good friends,” Carr returned blandly.

“I don’t care what Thomas did, or rather what you say he did!” James said angrily.

“Don’t you?” Carr asked. “That’s good, because if Thomas didn’t see fit to tell you about his past, it certainly wouldn’t be my place to do so, don’t you think?”

“You miserable bastard,” James ground out.

Carr’s bright eyes went flat. “Careful,” he warned.

There was nothing James could do. Even if he were to offer himself or his ship in Thomas’s stead, it would do no good. Carr was not the sort of man to honor a pact.

“Do your damnedest, Carr,” James said, his outrage thickening his voice. “You have pathetic horrors like this creature”—he jerked his head in Tunbridge’s direction—“willing to do your bidding no matter how filthy the work is. Between the two of you, you
may
even be able to ruin my shipping business.”

This time ’twas James who leaned forward, his blunt face bright with blood.
“Try
. I’m leaving in two days for the Cape. Even a creature like you might find it a challenge to work your evil that far afield. And I tell you this, when I leave I shall be glad not to have to share the same air with you!”

Without another utterance, James jerked down on the door handle and kicked the plush-lined door open. He jumped from the carriage to the ground, shoving his way angrily through the crowd.

Inside the carriage Tunbridge watched him go. “Shall I challenge him to a duel?”

“Duel?” Carr blinked. “No,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “No duel. I’ll deal with him later. Right now I am more interested in what he said. It disturbs me.”

“And what was that?” Tunbridge asked dutifully, though no interest colored his voice. Nothing much colored Tunbridge’s voice anymore.

“Barton said he would be leaving for the Cape.”

“Yes?”

“I could have sworn that was the route Thomas Donne was to have sailed. Which leaves me to wonder”—his gaze wandered toward the window—“just where and what he is up to.

“And did you note Barton’s surprise when I told him to convey my message to Fia? I swear he has not the vaguest notion where she is, which seems rather odd for two people supposedly in league, does it not?”

“Not particularly,” Tunbridge said after a moment. “You and I have been ‘in league’ for years—or so most people would assume. Yet I rarely know what you are doing or where or with whom. Perhaps the apple has not fallen so far from the tree,” he suggested bitterly, “and she feels no need to confide in her toadies, either.”

The idea found merit with Carr, for he pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You may be right. And I did tell her to be circumspect. But I dislike these little discrepancies.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Still, I have
plans in France. A certain alliance to secure. I would dislike even more having to postpone that. So …”