Lord Hunter (Secrets & Scandals Book 6)

by Tiffany Green

  Renfield watched her from the other chair, munching on his sandwich. “You are no doubt wondering how I know about the gold.”

  She swallowed her bite and shook her head. “Whitehall-the-know-it-all. Everyone knows the man can’t keep a secret.”

  A shot of anger tore across Renfield’s face, then he lifted his tea. “Yes, I suppose that is true.” He blew on the steamy liquid and took a careful sip. “But I’ve known about the gold all my life.”

  Emma choked on her sandwich. She coughed and took a sip of her tea to clear her throat. “What? How is that possible?”

  Renfield smiled. “You thought your father was the first to learn of its existence?”

  She squirmed in her chair. “How did you learn of it?” A curl slipped loose from a pin and she looped it behind her ear.

  “My father.” He set his tea on the table beside his chair. “He learned from his father before him.”

  Emma wondered how that was possible. She lifted the lemon cake to her lips and took a bite, chewing in thought. “I do not understand,” she said, setting aside her clean plate.

  Renfield stood and went to stir the fire with a poker. A spray of sparks shot up and he fed another log to the hungry flames. “The three men who left the Royal Merchant were spotted on my family’s land.” He set the poker aside and turned, the fire lighting half his face, casting the other half in sinister shadow. “The second Earl of Renfield, my great-great-grandfather, found the three roaming an area not far from here. He had no idea who they were and made them leave.” His eyes narrowed. “He didn’t learn about the ship until a month later, but it was too late. The three were long since gone.”

  Walking back to his seat, Renfield sat. “They hid the gold before my grandfather discovered them.” He shook his head. “We have been looking for it all this time. In secret, of course.”

  Emma glanced to the long table. “You didn’t know about the map?”

  “Not until your father told Whitehall last year.” He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “My family had no idea what had happened to the men.” Lowering his arm, he shrugged a shoulder. “I believed they sneaked back and retrieved the gold.” His eyes sharpened on her. “Then your father found the map and the note from the priest explaining what had happened to them. So, you see, the gold is still here.”

  Renfield rose. “Now, my dear, it is time for you to locate my treasure.” He gave a chilling smile. “The lives of you, your brother, and Lord Hartford depend on it.”

  Emma’s mouth went dry as she followed Renfield to his desk. The map was unrolled and weighted at the corners. Six expensive graphite pencils were lined next to a stack of paper. A ruler and two brass dividers sat above the map. She glanced to her calculations, written in neat lines. The landscape here had a flatter plane, unlike the more uneven ground at Land’s End. “Have you a map of Somerset?”

  He nodded and turned to the bookshelf. “I have the John Cary.”

  Squinting at the small map Renfield placed on the table, Emma straightened, looping the wayward curl behind her ear. “I need a quizzing glass.”

  Renfield opened a desk drawer and retrieved a green box. He brought her the glass and she magnified an area on the map. Emma reached for a piece of paper and one of the sharpened pencils. She rolled the smooth cool wood between her thumb and first finger a moment, then set the graphite tip to the paper and began working out a calculation.

  Emma reached for the ruler and one of the dividers. The crewmen had drawn the map as if they were at sea, yet instead of reefs and small islands, they accounted for hills and trees. Now, she had to make adjustments based on the new region. The accurate region.

  She worked for two hours, then set down the quizzing glass. “This map is too small,” she said, her eyes bleary from the strain. “I need something larger to work with.”

  Renfield, in the process of pouring his second whiskey, shook his head. “I have nothing else.” He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long pull. “Make do.”

  Emma rubbed her eyes. When she lowered her hand, she noticed how the sky had darkened. “I need more light,” she said, wondering how her brother and Lucian faired.

  When Renfield lit a lamp and brought it to the table, Emma lifted the quizzing glass. “Will you ask your butler if the doctor has seen my brother?”

  Renfield scooped up his glass. “A favor?” He chuckled and took a sip. “That will cost you, my dear.”

  Emma did not like the sound of that. She placed the glass over a small area on the map. “What favor?”

  “A kiss.”

  Withholding a shudder, Emma continued to study the area. “I think not.”

  Renfield moved close. Too close. His hot, whiskey laced breath slid across her neck. “Then you will not know the condition of your brother.”

  She closed her eyes. At least Lucian was with Sean. Lucian would help her brother. Sliding away from Renfield, Emma moved to the other side of the table. As she reached for the glass, she glanced at the drawn map. Seeing it up-side-down made her breath catch.

  “What is it?” Renfield demanded. “Have you found something?”

  Emma scooped up the glass and peered at the Cary map. She reached for a sheet of paper and a pencil and scribbled coordinates.

  Renfield rounded the table. “What have you found?”

  Brushing back the stray lock of hair, Emma straightened. “When we believed the beginning coordinates to be at Land’s End, we knew exactly where Captain Limbrey had landed.” She rotated her stiff shoulders. “Here, we have no idea where the three crewmen came ashore. And without that, the map is useless.” She swept an arm over the drawn map. Giving little detail, it provided distance, several changes in direction, and the spot the gold was hidden.

  He leaned over the table and studied both maps, then shook his head. “Have you found the beginning coordinate?”

  Emma bit her lip. “I cannot be certain.”

  Renfield straightened, his eyes glittering as he crossed his arms. “You have lives depending of your certainty, my dear,” he said, and glanced back to the maps. “What else must you do to locate the gold?”

  She pointed to the lines drawn on the crewmen’s map. “I must calculate the distance the men took in steps. They did not provide a scale as most maps do, but I believe they used some sort of landmarks, trees or hills, to mark the turns.” Her finger tapped on a circle, marking when the direction changed. “Like this one.”

  He nodded to her previous calculations. “That must be the reason I could not use these coordinates. I began in the wrong place.”

  “And the topography is different here. More level.” She rotated the pencil between her fingers. “Their steps would have been longer over smooth ground,” she said, studying the lines on the map a moment.

  “How long will it take you to prepare new coordinates?” Renfield asked.

  Emma shrugged. “A few hours.”

  He sighed. “It is dark, anyway. Finish and we will set out at first light.”

  Her fingers stilled and she looked up. “We?”

  Renfield cocked a brow, smiling in slow degrees. “You will come, my dear. I must be certain your work here is accurate.”

  She glanced at the numbers she had started to write, Renfield’s unspoken warning ringing in her head. If she failed, Lucian and Sean would suffer. Biting her lip, she placed the pencil tip on the paper and tried to clear her thoughts of everything but solving the equations. Distractions brought about mistakes. Yet, something kept sneaking into her thoughts, pulling her away from her task.

  Lucian’s promise.

  How could he keep their children safe when he could not keep himself safe? Emma straightened and rotated her stiff shoulders. She must push such thoughts out of her head. Later. She would consider her future with Lucian later. She had no choice.

  Emma turned up the lamp then slid the paper close and scribbled out numbers. Knowing the exact height of the man who wrote the map would make her calculations more accura
te. His height would reveal the distance between his steps. However, not knowing this meant she had to guess. Most sailors were not tall men, having to climb rigging and crawl all over the ship. She tapped the pencil end against her lips, remembering she had considered using the common foot measurement of a bit over thirteen inches, then dismissed it. Sailors were superstitious, so they would never use the number thirteen. Would they have used the cubit, then? During the latter part of the fifteenth century, the Exchequer standard was introduced, so the crew would have used the previous means of measurement the Anglo-Saxons adopted from northern Germany. She made several calculations using the cubit between the small circles the crew used as landmarks, then set aside the pencil and rubbed her tired eyes. This would not have taken the men far. Nowhere near where they were found on Renfield land. Perhaps, they did not measure their steps. What, then?

  Leaning back in her chair, Emma looped a stray curl behind her ear, remembering what her father had told her last year in Hartford. The men were sailors and did not use landmarks. At sea, they had other means to measure distance. Her gaze tumbled to the drawn map. Sailors were much more consistent with counting distance. Was she looking at the map wrong? What were the circles?

  Her breath caught. Did the men count the steps between trees or boulders? Or were the circles a means of keeping track of distance like the knots used on rope while at sea? She reached for the dividers to see if her new theory was accurate.

  Setting aside the brass tool, she reached for her pencil, excitement pounding in her chest. They used the roman mile. She was certain. And the circles were not trees or any form of landmarks. They marked changes in direction, as a sailor navigated the sea.

  Emma hunched over the paper and scribbled calculations. She worked out the distance between each circle, double checking her figures for accuracy, then leaned back in her chair. Setting aside the pencil, she flexed her fingers. Now the difficult part. Locating where the men landed. She had to be exact.

  She reached for the quizzing glass and studied the Cary map, noting the shape of the coast, then compared it to the larger, drawn map. The three sailors landed on an area that looked like a jagged tooth. Glancing again at the smaller map, she moved the glass over the coast. Nothing near Renfield land resembled the spot. Lowering the glass, she found a match. Two miles to the south.

  Emma closed her eyes a moment. The men had been spotted on Renfield land to the north. They had already buried the gold. Was it possible they did not bury the gold on Renfield land? The sailors had left the ship with stolen treasure. They knew men would search for them. Her eyes came open and she glanced at the drawn map.

  “What have you found?”

  Renfield’s voice made her jump. Emma turned and found him standing behind her, watching with keen eyes. She cleared her throat and pointed to the drawn map. “I have found the exact distances between these circles.”

  “Have you located the gold?”

  “I think so.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You had better be certain by morning.”

  Emma swiveled around, her gaze going to the window. Already a slate gray had replaced the blackness. She rubbed her temples then glanced to the maps spread out on the table. Biting her lip, she had less than an hour to make a decision. Was the gold hidden on the first circle or the last?

  Blowing out a breath, Emma knew she had a fifty percent chance of saving them all or… She closed her eyes, trying to decide which to choose.

  A hand on her shoulder startled Emma. She straightened in her chair, realizing she had fallen asleep. Her gaze went to the window. Morning had arrived. Rising from her chair, she looked at the map one last time before removing the weights at the corners and rolling it up.

  Folding the paper with the calculations, she placed it in her pocket and turned to Renfield.

  “You know where to go?” he asked.

  She straightened her shoulders. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He went to the door. “The horses are ready.”

  Emma followed Renfield from the house and stepped in the misty air. She glanced toward the path that led to the summer house, hoping Lucian and her brother were well, then hurried to the stables. The door opened and a groom led the horses out.

  Something inside caught her attention. Emma slowed her steps, then jolted to a halt when she saw the two men Jeremy hired, ropes around their necks, hanging lifeless from the rafters.

  She turned away, hot bile rising up her throat.

  “Come, Miss Wickham. We must fetch my gold.”

  Drawing in deep breaths, Emma straightened. With her hand on her queasy stomach, she stepped to her horse. Averting her eyes from the stables, she allowed the groom to assist her up.

  “Where to?” Renfield asked.

  Closing her eyes a moment, Emma knew it was time to make her decision. She clutched the reins, then turned her horse. “This way.”

  Chapter 16

  Lucian slid his finger through the crack in the curtain and watched the men a moment. The mist had dissipated enough to allow him to see the dark shapes move about. He heaved a sigh then turned from the window. That bastard Renfield had better not hurt Emma. The man lied about sending for a doctor and their food consisted of bread and water. Lucian ran a hand down his face, unable to think of little else but what he would do to Renfield once he got his hands on the man.

  A sound had him moving to the sofa. Sweat glistened on Sean’s face, and he opened his eyes. “Emma,” he said, trying to lift his head.

  Lucian settled a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Stay where you are, Wickham. Your sister will return to us.”

  Sean relaxed against the sofa with a wince. “What has happened?”

  Scooping up the water he had poured, Lucian helped Sean drink. “You had a high fever.”

  “I mean, Emma. Where is she?”

  “Most likely, driving Renfield to distraction.”

  A smile played at the corners of Sean’s lips. “You have come to know my sister.” Then he eyed Lucian, his brows drawing together. “How well have you come to know my sister?”

  Lucian wondered if he should say nothing to Sean, then dismissed the idea. The man had a right to know. He set aside the water. “Your sister and I are to be married.”

  Sean snorted, then laughed, but stopped, holding a hand against his ribs. “That is impossible. Emma will never marry.”

  The words sent a chill through Lucian. “A friend is securing the special license. Your sister and I will marry.”

  The humor faded from Sean’s blue-green gaze, replaced with a simmering anger. “What have you done to her, Hartford?”

  Lucian folded his arms. “I have not dishonored her, if that is what you are asking.”

  Some of the anger faded. “Then why the special license? What is the rush?”

  With a deep breath, Lucian knew the man would accept nothing less than the truth. “Because, Wickham, she could hold me off forever.” He shook his head. “And that is unacceptable.”

  “You do know my sister,” Sean said, then drew his brows. “Why are you dressed in rags?”

  Rubbing the whiskers growing on his chin, Lucian told Sean all that had happened since meeting Emma.

  “That explains why Samir is not here,” Sean said, then glanced around. “Have you a plan?” He lowered his voice. “To retrieve Emma and get out of here.”

  Lucian had thought of little else the entire night. Several scenarios unfolded, and he dismissed them all. How would he sneak away when thirty men surrounded the small house? If he did manage to get out undetected, how would he break into the manor and find Emma without being noticed? And, if he did get that far, how would they escape?

  Renfield had killed Jonah. The bastard could kill again.

  Blowing out a breath, Lucian shook his head. “I am still weighing my options.” He eyed Sean. “What would you do?”

  Sean started to shake his head, then stopped. “You are wealthy, correct?”

  Very. Lucian nodded and wai
ted for the man to continue his thought.

  “Then I would raise the wages of those men outside. See if they will change sides.”

  An excellent idea. Lucian smiled and hurried for the door, hope blooming in his chest. He pulled the handle and watched Whitehall spin around, tugging the pistol from his belt. “No need for the weapon,” Lucian said, holding up his hands. “I only wish to hire you and your men.”

  Whitehall’s eyes narrowed, while whispers broke out among the others.

  “As you must know, I am a wealthy earl.”

  “We already work for a wealthy earl,” Whitehall said, raising the pistol several inches.

  “Ah, yes, but Renfield is not as wealthy as I am.” While more men gathered to hear the conversation, Lucian hoped he could get through to them. He raised his voice. “I will double your wages.”

  Whitehall shook his head.

  “Triple.”

  “These men are loyal to me. They cannot be bought.” A slow smile spread across Whitehall’s face. “Besides, Renfield has promised me something you cannot give.”

  Lucian hesitated, certain he did not want to know. Then he squared his shoulders. “What might that be?”

  “One of the gold pieces.” Whitehall’s smile widened. “And the girl.”

  A red haze flashed before his eyes. Lucian launched himself at Whitehall and threw a punch before the man could react. But he only got in one punch before the men pulled him away.

  Whitehall rose from the ground, cradling his mouth. Blood seeped from his fingers, then he leaned over and spit out a tooth. The man had dropped the pistol. With a grunt, Whitehall scooped up the weapon and leveled it at Lucian’s chest. “That was a mistake,” he mumbled through swollen lips, his tongue peeking out the front tooth hole.

  Lucian closed his eyes. At any moment, he would hear the shot. Feel the sting of the ball. And drop to the ground.

  Instead, Whitehall laughed. Lucian popped open his eyes as the man shook his head and shoved the pistol back into his belt. “I almost pulled the trigger, and then I had a thought.” The man gave a bloody smirk, two red lines streaking down his chin. “How much better it would be for you to watch me take your lady.”