“Governor Lord Corbett and Lady Corbett sent word that they will be here promptly at seven."
William frowned. “Did I invite them?” He couldn't seem to remember. “I don’t recall.”
“I assumed you did, sir.” Gladdings sounded confused.
William shook his head. His memory failed him. “I’m sure I did. Why wouldn't I? Will Augustus be joining us?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. Only Lord and Lady Corbett.”
William waved Gladdings out. “Tell the Governor to indulge me in a drink before dinner. Please direct Lady Corbett to the drawing room. Jane Emily can keep her company before we dine.”
“Very good, sir.” Gladdings quietly shut the door behind him.
He planned to tell George tomorrow but would now tell him tonight. William had already written out his confession, admitting to all he had done, leaving out George Corbett’s part in the theft. He planned to trade his confession and life, if necessary, for the guaranteed safety of Jane Emily and William’s family in England. The confession lay on his desk now, the lines of words proclaiming his sins standing out starkly against the creamy paper.
Another knock sounded at the door.
Gladdings’ head popped in again. “I’m sorry sir, but you have a visitor. I've explained that you are not available, but he insists and threatens to come in uninvited. Mr. Nick Shepherd.”
William took a deep breath. The Devil meant to have his due tonight it seemed. So be it. His pulse beat his temple, with fear, though he also felt an odd sense of relief. No more playing games.
“Show him in.” William drained the brandy and poured himself another glass. He was in dire need of courage just now.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall and made their way to William’s study. Gladdings opened the door wide, ushering Mr. Shepherd through the wide doors.
William didn't look up. His hands trembled against the brandy snifter.
“Good evening, Manning.” The dark voice floated towards him.
“Shepherd.” William looked up, determined to see this through. He tried to keep his features serene and polite. “I mean, my lord.” William nodded. “Would you care for a drink?”
Nick Shepherd, or rather the man who presented himself as Nick Shepherd, strolled into the study to stand before William's desk. Dressed all in black, except for the snowy white of his shirt, the man certainly looked like the devil he was purported to be. The heir to Dunbar smiled cheerfully at William. “Shepherd will do.”
William looked into the odd mismatched eyes, determined to keep his voice even, though he felt like screaming. “Brandy or rum?”
“Whisky, actually. If you have it.” The deep baritone was polite. “You've suspected who I was since that dinner party at Corbett’s, haven't you? You knew I would eventually come to you.”
William nodded. “Yes.” He could hear the frightened beat of his own heart pulsing in his ears.
“I thought as much. Corbett didn't believe you, did he?” Shepherd’s lips twisted into a wry smile.
“No.” He’d tossed and turned at night, wondering how his meeting with the Devil of Dunbar would present itself, but he never imagined having drinks with the man. William found a bottle of whisky hidden behind the decanter of brandy on the sideboard. Dusting off the top he said, “I don’t drink whisky.” He held up a bottle. “Will this do?”
“Indeed, it will.”
William poured out a glass of the dark amber liquid and held it out to Shepherd’s waiting hand, telling himself not to stare at the man’s eyes. Impossible, of course. The contrast of one brown eye and one brilliant blue was so pronounced one could not look away. “I see you’ve finally done away with the eye-patch,” William said stupidly, stating the obvious.
“I saw no point in continuing with the charade. An eye-patch is horribly uncomfortable, especially in this God awful heat. I suppose that is why pirates grow to be so ill tempered. However do you grow accustomed to the weather?” He took a sip of whisky and nodded in approval. “Quite good.”
“Time,” William answered. “One’s blood grows thin over the years and you become used to the heat. I suppose I should freeze in London. Are you taking me there?” He shuddered slightly at seeing the dull wink of pewter on the man’s thumb. The ring. Even as a child he’d heard about the ring and the stories about the Devils of Dunbar.
Shepherd made his way over to a chair facing William’s desk, seeming to assess the piece of furniture. Apparently satisfied, he sat, the chair creaking in protest as the big man settled himself.
Shepherd rolled his eyes in resignation and muttered something under his breath.
“You don't look like your father, if I may say.” The words tumbled from William's mouth.
“You may.”
