The Devil’s Due Page 6

  “This is outrageous,” Vesey murmured his face reddening as he read the figures.

  “‘Tis as we agreed. Expenses as they occur and the balance of our fee upon delivery.”

  “And when can we expect that?” Vesey asked sarcastically.

  Roberts shrugged. “‘Tis hard to say. She has covered her tracks amazingly well. There is even a possibility that she could still be in England.”

  Vesey blanched at the thought. He was so close to the peerage. Prinny had borrowed a fortune and the hints of old debts being forgotten for future favors had firmly taken root. All the nods of patronage had been received. It was merely a matter of time, unless that female powder keg exploded before he could find her and cut her fuse. “And have you made any progress?”

  “We are making inquiries, sir, but so far they have been fruitless.”

  “I do not want the fact that Lady Steele is missing to be known, I told you,” Vesey said tightly. “I have put it out that she is ill and has retired temporarily to the country.”

  “My agency is known for its discretion, sir,” Roberts said. “That is why many people prefer us to the more famous Bow Street Runners.”

  “And a pretty penny I have paid for your skills at subtlety, but I have nothing to show for it.” Vesey laced his hands nervously. “Dammit, she could be anywhere, speaks half a dozen languages like a native.”

  “She has not touched any of her assets yet,” Roberts informed him, trying to keep the admiration from his voice. “Our informants at the banks tell us that she has not attempted to draw on her funds, nor sell the Steele jewels that she took with her.”

  “Do not forget the diamond brooch that I described,” John said. “You are on the lookout for that as well?”

  “Her mother’s diamond brooch? Of course, sir. Though I must ask why you believe that she might sell that piece before the others.”

  “Less well known,” Vesey muttered, thinking of the Steele heirlooms concealed in the back of the vault. She could not sell what she did not have, but he had to make the circumstances of Katherine’s disappearance more plausible to the investigator. “Other than the jewels, she couldn’t have had more than a few pounds when she left. If she hasn’t sold a piece, how in the devil is she managing?”

  Roberts coughed delicately. “If you could tell me something more about her reasons for leaving, sir?” he inquired. “Sometimes understanding the motivation can help us determine location.”

  Vesey rose and leaned forward, his palms upon the desk. “‘Tis as I told you. She has been queer in the attic since my brother-by-marriage died. Dotes on that child of hers so much that I began to fear for her sanity. One night she up and left. My poor wife is heartbroken. She was always invalidish, but this has sent her into a decline. I must find Kate and my niece, for her sake.”

  Roberts nodded, not believing a word of it. Each time that Vesey had told the story there was not a word of variation, like a well-rehearsed script to a play that he himself had written. Vesey always delivered his lines looking him straight in the eye. As a rule Roberts never trusted a man who never blinked and never showed any sign of evasiveness, especially in light of a potential scandal. He had little doubt that Lady Steele had run away for some very good reason. Unfortunately, that was not his concern. “We will find her for you, sir, never fear,” Roberts said, his expression bland as porridge.

  “See that you do,” Vesey said, “else you shall not see another penny of that piratical fee you charge.”

  “As agreed,” Roberts said, bowing stiffly before leaving the library. A pity he thought, as the gate latched behind him with a quiet click. When ‘tis your job to play the role of beater and flush the game when your heart is with the prey.

  . . .

  From the servants’ hall window, Duncan could hear the muffled crow of the rooster greeting the dawn. Gold and pink glowed faintly through the mist over the peak of Beinn Airidh Charr. On the ground beside Duncan’s makeshift seat, Fred's blankets lay abandoned. He had gone to the village in the hopes of foraging some food, anything rather than face the "tiger woman" who had nearly bashed his head in.

  Duncan’s own blankets lay untouched. He had spent the night with his thoughts, unable to rest. From time to time, he had seen shadows moving in the castle’s single lit window and knew that Kate too, was still awake. She had not come down to speak to him and he had dared not go up to her room. He had done too much harm already.

  The events of the previous evening were vivid in his mind. Every obnoxious word he had said, the anguish in her eyes, the stark terror on the child’s face seemed to echo in his mind like scenes from an oft-seen opera. The night that he and his mother had fled this castle came to the fore of his recall. But worst by far was the memory of forcing himself upon Kate. The recollection of that kiss still haunted his every sense, filled him with a desire that was almost strong enough to make him lose every last shred of honor.

  A movement in the doorway caught his attention. It was Kate, an old army haversack in her hand. Her hair was scraped back from her face and covered by a shawl of the type worn by old women. Their eyes met with the shock of two people who have seen each other’s worst shame. Kate flushed, her cheeks two ruddy spots against the black fabric.

  “How is the child?” Duncan asked, rising and walking toward her. There were dark circles under her eyes, a redness that bespoke a night of tears.

  “As well as can be expected,” Kate said shortly. “Daisy is getting her dressed and we will be off your land as soon as possible.”

  She was leaving. Until now, Duncan had not truly believed that she would. It had been obvious the night before that the two women were destitute and desperate. “I had thought that we would talk,” Duncan said. “I was waiting.”

  “I had intended to come,” Kate said, “but my daughter would not let me leave her. She woke up several times and she would have been terrified if I had not been at her side. I fear that I cannot keep our bargain, milord. For I cannot abandon her to face the night without me so that I might be sport in your bed.”

  It took every ounce of courage that Duncan had to look her in the face. “I am sorry-” he began.

  “So am I,” Kate said bleakly. “For it was the best of the poor choices that I have.”

  “Even a pact with the devil?” Duncan asked. “Agreeing to sleep with a man who has the face of the monster?”

  Kate regarded him silently for a moment, wondering what to say. The harsh light of morning revealed the hollow planes of his face, the gaunt frame that was all angle and bone without the softening effect of flesh. Yet, there was still that indefinable quality about him, that captivating air of danger that promised both delight and doom. Vulnerability and sheer masculine power could prove the most deadly of combinations to an unwary woman.

  What had happened to MacLean? She wondered. What had made him so terribly bitter, this friend of Marcus’s? For the sake of that friendship and the temporary shelter she had received, she spoke. “It is not the face that makes the monster, milord. It is the soul. Sleeping with a man capable of coercing a woman unwilling to his bed would trouble me far more than any honorable scars that you might bear,” she said, turning to get the rest of their bags.

  “Kate . . .”

  She felt his hand upon her shoulder and shrugged it off, her hand going to the concealed pocket of her gown. She whirled to face him, the knife gleaming wickedly in the sun’s first rays. “You do not have leave to touch me, milord,” she said with hushed vehemence, shrugging her shawl aside to free her hands. Weariness and fear had exhausted the last of her patience. Now as she stood before him she felt a foolish elation, almost willing him to try his luck. After so many months of sham meekness, defiance was a heady tonic. “Nor have I given you permission to address me by my given name. Now do not force me to add to the damage that the French have done you, for I warn you that I can use this to excellent effect. It is your luck that you reached me last night before I could put my hand on this,
else the coffin maker would be fitting you for a box.”

  “And you would be standing trial for murdering an earl,” Duncan pointed out.

  “Or being carried through the streets of the village as a heroine,” Kate retorted. “Your family is not well loved so they tell me.”

  “Put your knife by, Kate. You need not fear me laying so much as a finger on you,” Duncan said with a sigh. “Besides, you have no need of a weapon with that sharp tongue of yours flaying me to pieces. I have never met a woman who has made an apology so devilish difficult.”

  “And do you tender your regrets to many women?” Kate could not resist the mocking reply. Nonetheless, she put her blade back in its sheath. The word ‘apology’ had taken the wind of bravado from her sails. This man did not deserve her anger. It was not his fault that she felt so helpless, so hopelessly adrift. Where would they go now?

  “I have never had to make apologies where any woman is concerned,” Duncan said, his lip arching slightly in a rakish grin that underlined his double entendre.

  Kate made an exasperated sound of disgust. “So you are a braggart too.”

  “My behavior last night was unpardonable.” Duncan said, the words coming out in a rush. “I was insufferably crude and offensive.”

  Kate’s mouth opened in an “o” of astonishment. Such candor was the last thing that she had expected.

  “I ask your forgiveness,” Duncan said, ruffling a nervous hand through his hair as he looked at her expectantly. Her answering smile made him catch his breath. If beauty could be distilled into an essence, it was contained within that enchanted look. “Please stay, Kate,” he whispered.

  Her smile dissolved in disappointment. “I told you, Milord, our bargain is void,” she said curtly. “I cannot fulfill it.”

  “We can amend it,” Duncan said, gesturing at the wreckage around him. “If I am to make any headway here, I need help and there will likely be no female in the village willing to stay under the same roof as a wicked MacLean.”

  “And with good reason!” Kate said with a snort.

  “Keep my house, such as it is,” Duncan proposed. “Feed us and you may stay.”

  “And that is all?” Kate asked incredulously.

  “My oath as a MacLean,” Duncan said, raising his hand solemnly. “I will not lay a hand on you . . . unless, of course, you should happen to ask me.”

  “I do not expect to make any such untoward requests, Milord,” Kate replied primly.

  “One can always wish,” Duncan said his voice gruff.

  His wistful tone made it clear that he harbored no such hopes. Kate felt a swell of pity. Lord MacLean honestly seemed to believe that his aspect was hideous. But that was no concern of hers. Indeed, if he felt himself unattractive, it was so much the better for her. Heaven help her if he realized how fast her heart was beating, how that smile of self-mockery seemed to squeeze the very breath from her. Even by the measure of Marcus’s expurgated tales, MacLean had been the very model of the irresistible male who knows his own attraction.

  She reminded herself that this man did not deserve her sympathy. He would have blackmailed her into his bed. Could any bond that he proposed be trusted? She would have to tread warily. “You agree not to molest me or mine?” Kate chose her words with care. “You give your word that all of us may stay here under your protection in safety?”

  “Aye, all.” Duncan almost chuckled as he thought of anyone attempting to trifle with her battle-ax of a maid. “I swear.”

  Kate put her hands on her hips, cocking her head to one side as she considered. “Very well,” she said, at last, offering her hand in the age old gesture of sealing bargains.

  He clasped her fingers feeling as large as a bear as his huge paws curled around her palm. The nails on her elegantly long fingers were cracked. The palms showed the effects of hard work, chapped and raw with labor. How had she come to this pass? He wondered.

  Duncan had no doubt she was a lady; every inch of her proclaimed it, soft as a kitten with claws of steel. Not for a moment did he believe that her name was “Smith.” Whatever her real identity, Kate was deeply frightened of someone or something. He was convinced that it was the terror of that unknown threat that had enabled her to face a hostile stranger with utter fearlessness, caused her to bargain her person away for the benefit of an unknown man’s dubious protection. As he considered the female conundrum, who was trying to conceal her anxiety as she awaited his response, he knew that he would be best served by patiently seeking his answers. Solving this riddle would certainly help to pass the time until Dewey recouped his bequest and fattened the MacLean purse once again.

  There was a kaleidoscope of feelings in those enigmatic eyes as he took her hand in his. Beyond the confusion was something that appealed to a part of him that he had thought long dead. Somehow he knew that this was one oath that he would fulfill unbroken, although it was a deuce of a time to become an honorable man. In all likelihood, she would never offer him so much as a finger again. It was a chance that would never be repeated and Duncan had never been known to waste an opportunity. With a wicked grin, he raised her hand to his lips, savoring the delicate feel of her, the flutter of her fingers like a captive bird’s wing. Gently, he caressed her palm with a kiss, following the lines and scars that told him a story of hardship. With tenderness, he touched the delicate tracery of veins until he reached the pounding pulse beat at her wrist. Slowly, he sealed the bargain that he had already begun to regret with a stolen kiss.

  His dark head was bent and she could see nothing of his expression. He was trifling with her, she knew it. An odd torpor overcame her, a lethargy that spread from the spot where his lips first brushed her skin. Her knees grew curiously liquid, melting in the heat that was flooding her body, all because of a mere touch on the hand.

  Am I going daft? Kate wondered, despising herself for her weakness, yet she could not pull herself away.

  When he lifted his head at last, his gaze, a blend of defiance and abiding sadness, held her in thrall. Deep in that gray intensity was a plea for understanding that bound her in a strange sense of kinship, even as his mocking gesture roused her contempt. He raised his other hand as if to touch her cheek, but when he spoke, the spell was broken.

  “I swear,” he repeated softly.

  “There will be no more of that,” she said, snatching her fingers from his grasp as if bitten.

  “I know,” he said, with genuine sorrow as she took a step back, her face flushing. “I know.”

  Chapter 4

  “We are near ready to go!"

  Kate whirled, wondering just how much Daisy had seen. From the vehement tone of her abigail’s voice and the annoyance in her eyes, likely too much. Luckily, it seemed that Lord MacLean's untoward gesture had been hidden from her daughter's view. Kate forced herself to relax, trying to wipe away the traces of her own apprehensions. There was no need to add to the child's burden of fears, especially if they were going to stay after all. Still, the events of the previous night had taken their toll. Gone was the confident, laughing little girl of yesterday afternoon. Daisy was struggling to carry a bundle with one hand while tugging Anne along with the other. The child was clutching at the door sill, her face tear-stained as she wriggled to break free.

  With a sigh, Daisy dropped her load and took hold of Anne’s arm, trying to detach her grip. “Had to shut the dog in the pantry, I did,” she explained, panting as she unclenched the small fingers one by one. “She don’t want to leave the beast behind, much as I tell her he don’t belong to us.” She knelt down to sweep the squirming girl into her arms, speaking softly. “We cannot be taking Cur with us, Annie-child, even were he ours to keep. ‘Tis a long hard journey we have ahead."

  Although she addressed herself to the wee one, Duncan felt the servant’s smoldering anger. But the older woman's wrath did not disturb him half so much as the expression in the child's eyes when she caught sight of him. Just as it had the night before, the stark fear in those pools of g
reen cut him to the marrow. It was clear that her mother, as an adult, was able to mask her revulsion. But the girl's horrified countenance was as revealing as a mirror. He was a monster now, a man whose aspect was enough to cause children to quake in terror.

  With a choked sound, Duncan turned away. "You need not worry for the lass, Kate," he said, trying to keep the pain from his voice. "She need not see me at all. There's more than enough to do about this place so that I can be out of your way in the daylight hours. Tell her that the ogre will not be troubling her. I came here to be alone. I shall just follow on my original course."

  Kate hesitated. Once more her feelings had changed with the capriciousness of a weathercock in the wind. He was actually offering to absent himself for Anne's sake, to consign himself to the darkness in order to avoid frightening the child. To Kate, that meant far more than any oath that the man might make. The defeated slump of MacLean's shoulders told as eloquent a tale as the slight tremor in his tones, confusing her, rousing guilt. He had come to this wreck of a place for solitude, to hole up like a wounded animal. How could she allow him to hide himself away in his own home? But it would be so much easier for you, a small voice whispered.

  "I could not ask that of you, milord," Kate said, torn between her conscience and her fears. "I do not believe that it will be necessary." Briefly, she considered telling him a bit of the truth, that it was not him specifically that Anne feared, so much as any male who bore the hint of a threat. But Kate hesitated to disclose that crumb of information. MacLean was already too curious by half. She doubted he was someone who would be satisfied with a mere snatch of the whole. There would be the inevitable questions, answers that might not be credited, even if she could afford to give them.

  “What's all this blatherin' about?” Daisy asked, shaking her head in puzzlement. “‘Tis the best of the daylight that we’re wastin’ and miles to go before nightfall.