Page 21 of A Scot Is Not Enough
“No. Today.” He scooted closer and dropped his voice. “Your key, leave it with me.”
Burton was elbow on the table, his cheek resting on two fingers. They could be university lads, plotting their way out of a scrape, except this was no frivolous escapade.
Thus, Burton’s insightful, “This isn’t the duke’s business, is it?” rattled him.
Damp palms testified to how badly Alexander wanted this and how ill-equipped he was for subterfuge—even if all he planned was to read tax records.
“I know what I am asking of you.”
“I don’t think you do.”
Keeper of the Pell Office key was the highest trust. Access to records old and new a solemn responsibility.
“Assign one clerk to bring the records,” Alexander said quietly. “I’ll research them.”
The clatter of shops and stalls opening sounded belowstairs. Amiable chatter passed outside the chamber’s closed door, clerks starting their day. Witnesses would soon arrive, and the chamber he occupied, in fact, might be scheduled for Burton’s depositions.
Shifting in his seat, Alexander dropped his voice and made his final push. “The key, four hours... that’s all I ask.”
“You, rummaging around the Pell Office?”
“You know I’m trustworthy.”
“Trust is not the issue.”
Sacred rules were. The Pell Office had centuries of them. One could believe the entire kingdom hung on tradition and procedure and the inviolable privacy of its financial records.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is about a woman.” Burton uncoiled himself from his chair. “But we all know Serious Sloane doesn’t waste time chasing petticoats.”
Serious Sloane.The appellation belonged to his university days. He gladly owned it, then and now. Firm direction was a badge of honor. Women had been passing fancies, nothing he invested in. If a woman let him know they liked his face and manners, he was more than happy to accommodate. But chasing a woman? He never had the time.
Burton, who was presently rolling up the list, managed to have ample stores of time.
“I’ll do this under one condition: the key is returned to me by the noon hour and not one minute later.”
Alexander gusted his relief. “I owe you greatly.”
“A debt I shall collect, my friend. Our club has a cricket match at the end of the month, and no one plays deep leg like you.” Burton batted Alexander’s shoulder with the rolled-up foolscap. “I expect you to be there.”
“I haven’t played all summer.”
“A fact of which I am well aware.”
Burton’s smile brooked no argument. The man lived and breathed three things: women, the law, and cricket.
“One end of the season cricket match, it is,” Alexander said.
“Excellent. I shall pass my key and your list into Fernsby’s capable hands. He will be at your disposal for fetching and researching ledgers.”
“The new clerk?”
“He’s bloody good. Treat him well, he’s our new bowler.” Burton winked. “Don’t let the spectacles fool you. He’s a lion on the pitch.”
He sat back in the chair, relieved.
“Thank you, my friend.”
“My pleasure.” Burton ambled to the door. “Anything else you need?”
