“And you came here because?” Flynn’s patience had worn bloody damn thin.
Angelina perched in her seat, tension radiating from her. Clearly her last encounter with the baron hadn’t been pleasant.
“My lord,” she folded her hands in her lap, seemingly more composed. “If you have come to inform me of your mother’s death, I’m already aware. Mama wrote and told me. Charles, that is, Pierre called upon her in Salem and revealed that unfortunate news.”
Sympathy shadowed her eyes. “Please accept my sincere condolences.”
Surprise flitted across the baron’s features before they hardened into sharp creases once more. “Thank you. Her loss has been most difficult, made more heartbreaking as the cause of her death was unnatural. A maid found my mother drowned in her bath.”
Angelina gasped, her eyes wide with shock. Aghast, she shook her head.
“Damn.” Flynn dared voice his suspicion. “Renault?”
The baron replied with a curt nod. “I’ve no proof, only the word of a hysterical servant. But, water puddled the floor outside the bathing tub and a towel covered Mere’s face.”
His dark gaze sank to his boots for a protracted moment as he struggled with his anger and grief. Firming his mouth, he smoothed his mustache, and raised his eyes.
“But that isn’t the only reason I seek to warn you. France declared slave-trading illegal last March. That hasn’t stopped Pierre. He and others like him have simply become more covert in their endeavors. However, if the on dit is accurate, he’s become involved in another despicable, yet extremely profitable trade.”
He paused, seeming done in. “Bretheridge, might I trouble you for a dram of whisky after all?”
“Of course.” Flynn rose, then strode swiftly to the liquor cabinet. He poured Devaux a generous two fingers’ worth and one for himself as well. Replacing the stopper, he tipped a scant amount of brandy into a glass for Angelina. He’d swear she was about to swoon.
How much more would the Good Lord ask that poor woman to endure?
Balancing the three glasses, Flynn returned to the armchairs. Delivering the drinks, he urged Angelina to try hers. “It’ll fortify you.”
She took a timid sip and wrinkled her pert nose. “It’s awful.”
Lord Devaux chuckled. “Many of my countrymen, as well as yours, would heartily disagree.”
“Well, they’re welcome to it.” Grimacing, she eyed the amber liquid dubiously. With a slight shudder, she passed the glass to Flynn.
Tipping his head, he swallowed his whisky in one gulp, welcoming the fiery spirit burning a path to his stomach. “The other matter?”
He set both glasses on the desk.
The baron tossed back a portion of his drink. “Rumor has it Pierre has resorted to abducting women of European descent, particularly innocents and those of quality. They bring a higher price.”
“Price?” Angelina frowned, her confusion evident.
“Yes, my lady. He sells them to buyers in the Middle East and Asia. It’s a very lucrative business.”
Angelina’s troubled gaze traveled between Flynn and the baron. “What has this to do with me?”
Devaux leaned forward, urgency in his voice. “If Pierre cannot marry you, he’s insane enough to abduct you. Or your lovely sisters. They just arrived in England.”
Chapter 18
Angelina swore her heart stopped as fear surged to her throat, threatening to choke her. She clenched the chair arms so hard, her fingers grew numb.
“Pardon?” Surely she heard wrong. Charles couldn’t be that evil, could he?
“Bloody hell.” Flynn lurched to attention, standing erect and tense. “Beg your pardon.”
Angelina waved him silent. “What do you mean my sisters are in England? How do you know? When did they arrive? Where are they? Is my mother with them?”
Her mind vied for an explanation, discarding the logical possibilities with alacrity.
“We must go to them straightaway.” Trembling, she jumped from her chair. She spun toward the door, only to whirl back to face Flynn. “Something awful has happened. I know it.”
“Calm yourself, my lady.” Lord Devaux spoke gently. “Your mother is with your sisters, though I’m reluctant to reveal, she was unwell when I left.”
“Unwell? How so?” Fear caused Angelina’s knees to weaken, and she sank into the cushions of the overstuffed chair once more. She rubbed her bare arms brusquely against the sudden chill permeating her.
“She has a foul cough that seems to have settled in her lungs.” He smiled at Angelina encouragingly. “She assured me, however, that she was much improved having left the stale bowels of the ship.”
Angelina pressed a hand to her brow, though it did nothing to quiet the jumbled thoughts crashing about in her head like waves on a rocky shore. “I don’t understand. Why did they leave Salem without telling me?”
“They came at my urging. There wasn’t time to notify you.” The baron crossed his legs, settling further into his chair.
For the first time, Angelina noticed the lines of fatigue and tension edging his mouth and eyes. Devaux was a handsome man when not irritated. Had they met under different circumstances, they might have been friends. Not once, but twice, he’d made a valiant effort to protect her, a total stranger.
And now, he tried to safeguard her sisters.
How could it be that some men were intrinsically decent and others purely wicked? A vision of a plaque on Papa’s office wall came to mind.
The good person out of his good treasure brings forth good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure brings forth evil.
Perfectly apt, and strangely comforting in its simplicity. Too bad Papa hadn’t modeled his behavior after the verse.
“Given Pierre’s threats, I persuaded your mother that remaining in Salem was dangerous.” Lord Devaux closed his eyes for a long moment.
He truly appeared exhausted. Opening his eyes, he said, “She was reluctant to leave, I assure you. I offered her my protection and that of my men for the voyage, and I left two of my finest guarding your family when I journeyed here.”
Not trusting herself to speak, Angelina compressed her lips and stared at a huge sword mounted on the wall behind the desk. Charles posed a very real threat, or the baron wouldn’t have gone to such lengths, would he?
His intense regard shifted between Angelina and Flynn. “In France, more than one gentle-bred woman of Pierre’s acquaintance has gone missing.”
Angelina gasped, her gaze leaping to Flynn.
The baron rubbed his forehead. “I’ve heard rumors he’s in England, though I suspect he knows I’m on to him. For the time being, he seems to have vanished.”
Angelina’s voice shook as another chill scraped its jagged nails along her spine. “But why would you insist Mama and my sisters travel to England if you knew Pierre’s location?”
“My lady, at least in England, I could offer them some protection.” Devaux flicked his hand. “They had none in America. Pierre threatened your mother and your sisters when they refused to reveal where you’d gone. If he is indeed here, he’s newly arrived, as are we.”
One side of Lord Devaux’s mouth quirked. “I had your family travel in disguise, under false names.”
Flynn made his way behind the desk. Once seated, he opened one drawer and then another, until he found what he sought. Removing a sheet of crisp foolscap, he slid the drawer shut, and retrieved the pen he’d dropped earlier.
“You think he’d truly try to abduct them?” He met the baron’s intense gaze.
Devaux pondered for a moment, smoothing his mustache. “I think he’s capable of anything, and therefore isn’t to be trusted. He is, how would you say . . . fou? Mad. Unhinged.”
“How could I have been so dec
eived?”
Angelina hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until both men turned their sympathetic expressions on her. She stiffened her spine. This wasn’t the time for self-recriminations. “You know him better than we do, my lord. What do you advise?”
“What she says is true. I would appreciate insight you might have to help me protect my wife and her family.” Flynn returned to scratching away on the paper.
Angelina whisked him an astonished glance. He’d not bargained for this when he took her to wife. Gratitude bloomed in her heart. Some women might not appreciate having a man care for their well-being. She found his concern comforting and welcomed it. She needed his strength, for hers was sorely strained.
“I think you should be prepared for anything. I’d be happy to leave some of my men to act as guards. I’m sure McTavish could spare a few of his clan as well.” Lord Devaux tapped the fingers of his left hand on his bent knee. His signet ring gleamed bright against the black of his trousers.
Pausing, Flynn stared at the baron for a protracted moment. His mouth curved into a half-smile. “I appreciate your generous offer, and I gratefully accept.”
Returning his attention to the letter, he sprinkled sand on the ink. He folded his hands atop the desk waiting for the letter to dry.
“I suggest we leave for . . .” He hesitated. “Do you know where the Ellsworths are staying?”
“Oui. I rented rooms for them and their maid at a reputable boardinghouse operated by an acquaintance of mine. I used fictitious names again, of course.” Lord Devaux finished his whisky.
Heavens. Did Uncle Ambrose and Aunt Camille know? Naturally, Mama would have notified them. “Perhaps they’ve journeyed to Wingfield Court by now.”
“Non, as a matter of fact, I’m quite certain they remained in London.”
Lord Devaux stood, pulling his timepiece from his waistcoat. After a quick glimpse, he snapped the gold case closed. “Mrs. Ellsworth’s health wouldn’t permit her to travel as yet, and she adamantly refused to impose upon the duke and duchess.”
“Impose? She hasn’t seen her sister in twenty years. I hardly think Aunt Camille would think it an imposition.” How ludicrous. Why in the world would Mama insist on staying in London this time of year? Unless her health was poorer than she let on.
Angelina worried her lower lip. How much money did Mama have? Enough for expenditures and to secure the services of a physician?
They’d never enjoyed deep pockets but had lived in modest comfort and lacked for nothing of import. Perchance Mama didn’t have the coach fare to travel to Wingfield.
Surely Uncle would cover the cost, wouldn’t he?
Standing, Angelina smoothed her skirts, more from the need for something to do with her hands than anything else. Outwardly calm, a nagging unease within demanded she act at once. “I’d like to leave for London, as soon as we can have your carriage readied.”
“I agree.” Flynn brushed the sand from the paper, then folded the letter. After affixing a wax seal, he lifted the note. “This is for Fleming, giving him my directives.”
Skirting the desk, he wrapped an arm about Angelina’s shoulders. “Can you be ready within the hour?”
“Yes, of course.” She released a drawn out breath. She was leaving her baby already. But he was gone, and there was naught she could do for his little soul. The same couldn’t be said for Mama and the twins. She attempted to remain optimistic.
Stepping to face the baron, Flynn’s fingers gently pressed her bare arm. “May I impose upon your men to accompany us? I must speak to Sethwick at once and ask how many clansmen he can spare. I’ll need enough to provide guards at my country house as well as men to travel to London with us.”
The baron’s features softened. “Consider it done.”
The three of them continued to the exit, Angelina making a mental list of what she needed to do.
Flynn opened the door and stepped aside, permitting Lord Devaux and her to go before him. Advancing into the hall, they paused. Exuberant voices rang throughout an adjacent corridor.
“I’m glad you’re home, Seonaid. I’ve missed you terribly.” Isobel and a sable-haired young woman turned the corner, arm-in-arm.
Ah, the other sister.
She possessed Lady Ferguson’s darker coloring. Her chestnut brown eyes, however, she’d clearly inherited from Sir Hugh. She appeared young too, not more than seventeen or perhaps eighteen. She possessed a curious aura of peace about her.
Isobel glanced behind them.
“Lord Ramsbury, I believe Flynn is in Ewan’s study. I cannot imagine he’ll be pleased to see you.” Addressing his lordship, Isobel’s words became clipped and her tone frosty.
A striking man followed the women, the hunter green of his coat a perfect match for his eyes. He had a smirk on his lips, and Angelina swore his attention had been trained on Isobel’s swaying bottom until she turned her head toward him.
As if sensing the perusal of those standing like sentinels outside the study, the Ferguson sisters and Lord Ramsbury faltered to a stop.
Seonaid’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. Her entire body suddenly rigid, she pointed a shaking finger at Baron Devaux. “What is he doing here?”
Isobel sent her sister an astonished glance. “Lord Devaux? You’re acquainted with the baron?”
“Oh, I know him, all right.” Seonaid squared her shoulders and jutted out her small chin. Shards of russet fire spewed from her irate eyes.
She folded her arms across her chest, fury radiating from her petite form. Her voice dripping sarcasm, she seared him with a scathing glare. “Shall I tell them how we became acquainted, my lord?”
The baron took a step forward. He stopped, clenching his hands at his sides. Face flushed, he regarded her with a warrior’s wariness. “Trust me, mademoiselle, I had no idea this was your home.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you,” she retorted before spinning on her slippered feet and marching away.
What in the world?
Angelina sent Flynn an inquisitive glance.
He lifted a shoulder an inch in answer.
Evidently, he had no idea what that spectacle was about either, and given the confused expression on Isobel’s pretty face, she was at a loss too.
“She’s the other unmarried sister, the one who was in France?” Angelina whispered from the side of her mouth.
“Oui, and it was a sorry day for la bon France when that virago arrived,” the baron muttered, obviously overhearing her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll speak to my men. They’ll be ready to depart when you are.”
Glancing around the hallway one last time, he strode away, as angry as the young woman who left a moment ago.
Angelina would give up coffee for a year to know how they’d become acquainted and why they were so incensed with each other.
Flynn’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Seonaid is usually mild-tempered and amiable. She has the gift of second sight. Mayhap something occurred.”
“There you are, Bretheridge.” Lord Ramsbury continued toward the study, giving Isobel a cocky salute and rakish grin as he passed.
She scowled blackly. Muttering something about boorish louts beneath her breath, Isobel took her leave as well.
Good heavens, why was everyone so peevish this morning?
“Yancy, what are you doing here?” A guarded expression settled on Flynn’s face and echoed in his voice, yet he stepped forward to shake Lord Ramsbury’s hand.
His lordship surveyed Angelina curiously. His mouth quirked at the corners revealing strong, white teeth. “You must be the new Lady Bretheridge. Allow me to introduce myself, since this clod seems incapable of doing so.” He swept her a mocking bow. “Bartholomew, Earl of Ramsbury.”
He bent over her hand
, placing a kiss on her knuckles and gave her a decidedly wicked wink. “Or, Yancy to my closet friends.”
“That’s enough, Ramsbury.” Flynn glowered pointedly at her hand yet encased in the earl’s.
The earl chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “I’ve known this bloke since he was barely out of a skeleton suit. Never took him for the jealous sort before.”
Triumph and Treasure (Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series Book 1) Page 23