Page 75 of A Vow for the Viscount
Her vision blurred. She read the words again, barely able to breathe. They hadn’t just wanted to ruin the company. They’d orchestrated Quinton’s capture, not as the cost of war, but as its strategy. A calculated removal. He hadn’t been collateral. He had been the first move.
Mary-Ann stood slowly, clutching the folio to her chest. The leather was cold, the scent of oil and aged parchment rising as she tightened her grip. She hadn’t even heard the door open before he was between them.
And behind her, a voice said, low and smug, “I was hoping you’d come here.”
*
Mary-Ann turned, thelantern trembling in her grip.
Rodney stepped from the shadows near the door, his boots quiet on the rotting floorboards. His coat was immaculate, his smile anything but. “It’s unfortunate, really,” he said, glancing at the folio in her hands. “You always were cleverer than you let on.”
Her fingers curled tighter around the leather. “You knew I’d come.”
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to leave it alone. You were born with too much curiosity—and too much pride.” His eyes dropped to the documents. “You should hand those over now. They weren’t meant for you.”
“No,” she said, her voice cold. “They were meant to destroy everything I love.”
Rodney sighed, as if she’d disappointed him. “You don’t understand what you’ve wandered into. You think this is about your father’s company? About me?” He took a step closer. “This is bigger than all of us. It always has been.”
“Then why hide it?” she said, lifting the folio slightly. “Why erase Quinton? Why fake ledgers and forge alliances and send a man to die?”
That wiped the smugness from his face. For a moment. Then he moved. Fast.
He lunged across the space between them, grabbing for the folio. Mary-Ann twisted away, but he caught her wrist, yanking her backward hard enough to send her shoulder into the crates. The lantern fell, rolling away with a metallic clatter.
“Give it to me,” he hissed.
She shoved him with her free hand. “You’ll never lay a hand on another Seaton ledger again.”
He lunged toward her, fury flashing hot in his eyes. She stepped back, stumbling as her heel caught on a crate and sent her off balance. She hit the floor hard, her palm scraping againstthe wood. The folio skidded out of reach, landing several feet away.
Rodney bent for it. And was wrenched backward with such force he barely made a sound before crashing into the crates.
Quinton. He stood between them now, breathing hard, his fists clenched.
Rodney staggered upright, blood on his lip. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“It concerns me,” Quinton said darkly, “more than you’ll ever comprehend.”
Rodney lunged again, but Quinton met him head-on this time, his blows brutal, fast, and unrelenting. The fight was nothing polished or strategic, just fury and fists, and three years of silence turned into motion. Crates splintered, dust choked the air, and Mary-Ann scrambled for the folio, cradling it to her chest as the men crashed against the far wall.
Rodney struck low. Quinton caught his elbow, turned, and drove him back again. It ended in seconds with Rodney groaning, pinned beneath Quinton’s knee, his arm twisted behind him.
“You’re done,” Quinton said, breathing hard. “You won’t touch her. Not this company. Not a single thing bearing the Seaton name.”
The warehouse door opened sharply.
Barrington stood in the entrance, flanked by two men. His eyes swept the room in a moment and found Rodney on the floor, Quinton standing over him, Mary-Ann clutching the folio in the far shadows.
“We’ll take him,” Barrington said.
Quinton stepped back without a word. The other men moved in, hauling Rodney to his feet. He didn’t fight now, he just laughed, low and bitter, wiping blood from his mouth.
As they pulled him past, he looked at Quinton and muttered, “You should’ve stayed gone.”
Quinton didn’t move. “And you should’ve known better than to underestimate her, especially a woman who keeps records.”
Mary-Ann stepped next to Quinton and said, “Records that list every lie, every payment, and yes, even every name.”
