Page 96 of The Scot Who Loved Me
Her fingers were icy on the glass. “The countess knows.”
“Knows what?” Will asked.
“When I greeted her, she said, ‘I know what you’re about,’ which was followed with a threat to destroy me.” A swallow of sparkling liquid courage helped. The first glass of champagne was already seeping into her limbs, uncoiling tight nerves. At least she imagined it to be so.
“Is that all?”
She looked into his face, each feature more prominent from his neat queue and smooth-shaved jaw. “She told me to enjoy the evening because tomorrow she would crush me.”
Will’s hand covered hers digging into expensive silk. His dockside callouses gently scraped her skin. His hand was a safe harbor in this new storm. They linked fingers, and he led their joined hands into his lap and cupped his other hand over hers for good measure. She would have to tell him about the countess’s offer. Privately. Because that’s what true love did.
“Crush you tomorrow, you say?” Cecelia’s eyes narrowed. “Those are words of fear and jealousy said after you entered her house on Will’s arm. I wouldn’t be afraid of the woman, if I were you.”
“I’m inclined to take her seriously. Call it an aversion to prison,” she said and emptied the second glass.
Cecelia unwound Anne’s fingers from that glass and she was struck by the notion of Will holding one hand and Cecelia holding the other. What a trio they made.
“I think that’s enough champagne for you, dear.” Cecelia tipped her closed fan at the doorway. “Look over there. Would you say that’s the face of a woman who knows about our plan?”
More guests clustered in the ground-floor salon. The Countess of Denton, framed by gilt-trimmed doors flung wide, was in command of all she surveyed. She was laughing, a handsome artist at her side. A herd of pastel silks and velvets traveled upstairs. The countess and the young artist followed.
Footmen circulated, but not a single tray of red wine was in sight. Behind the latest gaggle of footmen, a fresh throng of guests appeared. Young, handsome upstarts. Well dressed, though at second glance, the coats were three seasons old and the shoes of one man scuffed. Anne studied these newcomers carefully, new dread landing in her stomach.
“Cecelia, what are Mr. James Hadley and friends doing here?”
“What do you think?” Defiance flashed in Cecelia’s eyes.
“You invited them?”
Her peace of mind took another tumble. First, the countess’s threat, which could or could not mean the woman knew their intentions. Now a gang of well-dressed thieves, Spruce Prigs as it were, had invaded Denton House, and Cecelia’s mutinous frown told her who invited them.
Cecelia eyed Will. “Would you give us a moment?”
Will kissed Anne’s temple and murmured against her skin, “Call me when you need me.”
Tonight wasn’t his battle to lead. It was hers,and he was a foot soldier. How comforting that Will didn’t try to take over, another sign of his respect for her. He rambled the room, his thickly muscled shoulders filling black velvet. A sturdy back, a sturdy man. Calmer now, she turned her attention to Cecelia.
“What are you about?”
“I am about our mission. The one we vowed to accomplish since we left Clanranald MacDonald lands. What are you about, getting scared and such?” Scorn twisted Cecelia’s features. “Where’s the woman I nursed after she was knifed in St. Giles?”
She touched her rib. A scar was the badge she carried from that night. Only Cecelia knew what had happened. She’d tracked down a source who might know who else in London hoarded Jacobite gold. After that night, she began to wear double stays. Not a perfect solution, but a helpful one. Her double stays had spared her another vicious cut when men attacked her in her warehouse. The very same attack before she freed Will from Marshalsea. Cecelia was her keeper of secrets... most of them. She was the one who’d take charge of the league in her absence.
She was certainly done with the City. When a woman wore double corsets for added protection, it was time to leave.
Cecelia’s eyes softened. “Is your fear about Will?”
“What do you mean?”
“I see the way you look at him. You are in love and that, my dear, has compromised you.” Cecelia patted her hand. “Before you were a fearless woman, the most fearless one I have had the privilege to know. You had nothing to lose before. Now you do.”
A small inhale and, “You’re right.”
Fear would not get the best of her. But that wasn’t all. Cecelia’s grasp tightened on Anne’s hand. Cecelia of frivolous shopping and the endless pursuit of pleasure and men had become very serious.
“There is something else.”
Anne scrutinized hazel eyes. “You’re not leaving for Bath tonight, are you?”
