Page 97 of For a Scot's Heart Only
His lordship put another chess piece in place. “I am many things in service to the crown. A soldier of fortune. A messenger.” He glanced at her. “A man who finds answers to the realm’s difficult questions.”
“The secret society—is that your creation?”
His nod was regal. “Well-done, Miss Fletcher. Now follow that vein of gold, and ask yourselfwhy.”
This was too much. She rubbed a dull throb at her temple. Fragments were sliding into place with the comfort of glass shards. Everything gleamed, painful and sharp. Her joyful day with Thomas was the tender note in her soul. The pleasure barge, kissing him, his impossible green-blue eyes. Her night with him ought to be enshrined. Her body would never forget. And their day together? Her heart would never forget that, either.
But Thomas’s livelihood had been threatened in this cold, dark room. Because of his connection to her.
She had to protect Thomas, yet Lord Ranleigh wanted her to follow a bread-crumb trail about himself. On the table was the well-used ledger.The dratted book.In it was just enough information to keep her on a hook.
Six thousand pounds paid to a man who would never be king.
Why didn’t the English keep the treasure?
“Six thousand pounds. Six thousand—” She gasped and dropped onto tufted leather. “Youwantedhim to have the money. It was your plan all along.”
Lord Ranleigh beamed like a proud tutor. “Better to keep Charles Stuart drunk on wine and foolishness,” he said. “Selby, however, thought he was serving Stuart.”
“And you let him believe it.”
“Because it served my purpose.”
And this was the heart of the matter—Lord Ranleigh cultivated useful people.
“Selby’s an English Jacobite,” he said. “The man blusters about the Union and the Stuart lineage from the comfort of his excellent London home, but he has no stomach for war.”
“Unlike those Scottish Jacobites in petticoats... Those are the ones you have to watch out for.”
His grin expanded. “You’re all of a piece.”
She let her spine hit the backrest. Like Selby, she, too, had no stomach for war, but puzzles fascinated her, and this midnight meeting with Lord Ranleigh was a complex one.
She blinked slowly, trying to assimilate this stunning news. “Charles Stuart had no idea the crown was behind it, did he?”
“None at all.”
She folded her arms under her bosom. More parts were falling into place. “You needed true Jacobites in your fold to make your secret group believable.” A slight nod to that. “Your intrigue ran deep.”
“A necessity, I’m afraid. The realm couldn’t afford another war.” His mouth curled disdainfully. “I gave the pretender enough money to keep him onthe continent, enough to drink himself silly so that no sovereign would take him seriously.”
“You must’ve been at this for quite some time.”
His lordship sank down in the opposite chair. “Chaos is the mistress who can’t take no for an answer.”
“Women... of course.”
“Chess is my preferred pastime.” He was detached saying so, picking up a pawn and putting it down. “Do you play?”
“Barely.”
“I could teach you,” he said, which sounded like flirting.
She leaned forward, her red-and-white-striped petticoats rustling. The only way to protect Thomas was to have as much knowledge as possible.
“I’d rather you explain exactly what you do.”
Being alone with him was intimate. The empty house. The sparkling moonlit chandelier and the stunning secrets shared under it. Lord Ranleigh was lustrous and refined, his silk coat glowing in candlelight, his cravat mercilessly starched. Despite the trappings of wealth and station, he leaned in, cozying to her.
