Page 30 of Entrancing the Earl
She shot him a baleful glare. “You have no understanding of what—”
“On the contrary, madam, I have a complete understanding of what you require. I’m not unfamiliar with the needs of courtesans. I’m simply not interested. This is business. If you wish to run a business, then you must learn to be practical and not weep like a child. That only works on feeble-minded fools who think with their lower parts, and that is decidedly not me.”
Every once in a while, it paid to show how he felt. Bess pressed back in her chair as if he’d shouted at her. He hated being a bully, but sometimes, it was necessary.
Gerard stood. He could not help that his height was an additional intimidation. “I need to ride on. Pettigrew, I rely on you to see the funds are transferred to my account. You have the deed, and she’s your problem now.”
Despite his milquetoast looks, the banker had a heart of solid granite. Gerard had offered him a good price just to be rid of the property and have the funds for his orchards. He could rely on Pettigrew.
He needed to be in Edinburgh, determining what was happening with the louts attempting to locate Iona and her sister. Leaving the inn, heading for the stable, Gerard was striding down the market street when the mercantile owner ran out, waving a paper.
“My lord, a telegram just arrived. I was about to send my boy out with it.”
Gerard’s innards ground. Telegrams were seldom good news. Murmuring a few pleasantries, he handed the shopkeeper a coin and continued on. Not until he was alone did he tear open the envelope. From Rainford.
Twins Age 23 Runaways Any newcomers?
The marquess had evidently reached Edinburgh and was searching for the missing heiresses—rather than court his own, of course. Gerard wasn’t too worried about Rainford. The marquess didn’t need the reward and was simply escaping his family for a last fling at freedom.
It was the less-wealthy men following Rainford who worried him.
Gerard rode home in the dark, trying to work out how to handle his beekeeper’s ardent suitor. He had promised she’d be safe at Wystan, and she would be. She was of age. Her father couldn’t force her to leave. But fortune-hunting mongrels might be desperate enough to stage an abduction in return for a reward or for theheiressherself.
And Gerard couldn’t protect both Iona at Wystan, and her sister, wherever she might be. Putting them in one place might be doubly dangerous, as they’d already assumed. Apart, they could blend in. As twins, they’d stand out.
Perhaps he could explain the dilemma to Rainford. The marquess had the wealth to send the women to China, if need be. But Gerard would need Iona’s permission to spill her secrets. She didn’t trust easily, for good reason, it seemed.
He rode in, sweaty and stinking of horse. Throwing the reins to the stableboy, he hurried to his tower to bathe. He might have time to catch some of the women still in the withdrawing room. He didn’t dare hope he’d find Iona. And he couldn’t arouse suspicion by sending for her. Damn.
Lowell greeted him without fuss, filling his bath and fetching clean clothes. The old batman made an excellent valet, Gerard admitted. He just didn’t need the extra baggage or expense of a personal servant. He never stayed at Wystan for long. He didn’t need a valet at Iveston Hall, where the family estate swarmed with servants. His flat in London was small. He’d be forced to find a larger one—more expense—or settle in the family townhouse. He shuddered at the idea since the ancient edifice spilled over with his relations and any of their friends who needed a temporary home.
Could he send Iona to his family? What explanation would he give? His mother could sense a lie from a mile away.
Since dinner was over, the kitchen sent up a hot meal to his room. After bathing and dressing, Gerard took the tray to his desk, where he flipped through various papers the women had left for him. Mary Mike was more efficient at communicating than Avery, he noted. She’d already acquired estimates on replacing the older trees, along with the cost of the new hives and the hedge to protect them.
He uncovered a sketch of a hillside with a dead tree and a list of herbs to be found there. Puzzled, he almost set it aside in his haste to hunt for Iona. But as he finished off his wine, he studied the sketch, trying to figure out why it had been left on his desk. The writing was not Mary Mike’s.
The sketcher was no artist, but something about the drawing compelled him to study it. He could determine what appeared to be square stones among the penciled weeds. In the distance, he thought he could see the top of Wystan’s tower.Villagewas penciled in to the west of the tower andOrchardsto the east. So it was a map of sorts, to a patch of weeds and stones.
He picked it up and received a shock that shot up his arm as if he’d been electrified. He occasionally picked up on vibrations from old artifacts that called to him, but this... This was abnormal.
He hastily strode downstairs in search of anyone who might still be around in the main house. He met Mrs. Merriweather on her way to her room, and she greeted him cheerfully.
“There you are, my lord! We’ve missed you. I’ve not found anything in the library yet about ancient ruins, but I see you found Nan’s sketch. She said the bees showed her that spot. She didn’t find any artifacts, but she thought the stones and garden looked very old.”
Iona had done this? Gerard had to work at displaying his usual nonchalance. “I should thank her,” he said politely. “I’ll ride out and look for this in the morning. Is she still about?”
“Oh, no, she left this morning.” Mrs. Merriweather’s smile faded a trifle. “We tried to persuade her to stay, but she received a letter and said her family needed her. I do worry about her, but there was no persuading her to wait.”
She’d left! She’d run away even after he’d promised her safety. He would kill her if he ever found her. She couldn’t leave him... She had.
It tested all his diplomatic skills to refrain from punching a wall and roaring his rage. “Did she say which direction? I have to leave soon. I might catch up with her and see that she travels safely.”
Mrs. Merriweather frowned. “The only letter she received was from Edinburgh, my lord, but she didn’t say where she was going. Does it matter? I can write—”
If she had a letter fromfamily—he could guess who wrote from Edinburgh. Biting down on his fear and fury, he waved off that suggestion. “I hope she had sufficient funds to take the train and not a coach.”
“We paid her in advance for the honey sales. It seemed the right thing to do. She was worried about her bees, but we assured her we’d take the best care of them. I suppose it’s better that she travel before the weather worsens. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord? My kitten and my rocking chair are waiting.”
