Tapping his fingers on the table, he shakes his head. “I’d get corroboration, brother. If she’s evil enough to enjoy a sight such as that, she can’t stay in the family.”
“I’m aware, and I’m holding her here until we finish these bastards off. After that… Well, Father Barclay might make sure I’m excommunicated, but I’m not staying tied to a trafficker.”
“If you haven’t slept with her yet, you can always get an annulment,” Dougal grins insolently. “Still, if you’ve not come up with any other information showing she’s into the family business, give her the benefit of the doubt while you get some corroboration. That’s a mighty serious accusation.”
“Aye,” I groan, “I’ll just add that to the six missions Cormac, our mighty Chieftain wants me to handle, along with the acquisition of the two island properties and-”
“Let me call in a favor with the Turgenev Bratva,” he suggests, “they’ve got an excellent spy network. Extra intelligence can’t hurt.”
“Just don’t ask for too much,” I caution, “we may still need their help with the Stepanov Bratva after I finish off the Ivanovs.”
Cracking his knuckles, Dougal rises. “I’ll get to work. It’s hard to believe a lass that fine could watch an auction without setting the bar on fire.” He instantly looks regretful. “Sorry, brother.”
“No need,” I say, cutting the discussion short.
Morana…
There’s a knock on the door while I’m drying off from my second shower. If I hadn’t flushed that toilet before Cameron had to pound on the door like a Neanderthal, I would be taking my third.
Still, the utter ignominy of lying there in the hall on top of the man was just… even for my consistent record of misfortune, that was so much extra.
“Madame Morana?” Miss Kevin inquires politely from behind the bathroom door. “Master Cameron would like you to join him for dinner in twenty minutes. Do you require any assistance in dressing?”
The image of being one of those useless ladies from the 1800s who would simply lie there as their servants dressed them rises up and I have to stifle a giggle. “No thank you, Miss Kevin. I’ll be fine.”
“Very well, I’ll just leave some dress selections on your bed.”
The dresses she’s left out are all formal and seem a bit much for dinner, but maybe it’s all black tie when the Laird of the Manor is home. Cameron MacTavish had been alarmingly thorough in his preparation for kidnapping me.
I had opened the door to what I thought was a closet that first morning to find a full dressing room, with rows upon rows of dresses and formal wear, athletic and leisure clothes, purses and shoes and boots. It appeared that he planned on keeping me for a while. There was also lingerie. Lots of lacy, silky bits in every color and the implication of it all had me bracing for a full-on assault from my imposed husband.
Until he disappeared hours after forcing me to marry him.
At least my prison was pretty. The room was decorated in a warm, feminine style with elegantly flowered linens and lots of comfortable pillows. The windows faced south, and I took advantage of all the weak sunlight the skies over Edinburgh could offer, reading on the big, built-in window bench and walking through the garden. Pretty or not, I missed University, and the few friends I’d made in Denmark. I hated not having a purpose, just drifting around this huge house with nothing useful to do.
After eyeing the dresses for a moment, I pick a black sleeveless one with a decent hemline that doesn’t seem to make any kind of a statement. My ever-present guard is missing from my bedroom door, and I’m wondering if having Cameron home loosens the reins a little.
From the first time Miss Kevin attempted to serve me dinner in the formal dining room, at the foot of a table that could hold twenty people, I’d flatly refused. It was ridiculous. She wouldn’t let me eat with the staff in the kitchen, calling it “unseemly,” so we settled on meals on a tray in the library or my bedroom. Walking into the room, I see it’s lavishly set with a huge bouquet of flowers and place settings at the head and foot of the table.
“Really,” I chuckle to myself. “We’re going to eat shouting at each other from fifteen feet away?”
Miss Kevin, who’s uncorking a bottle of wine, looks at me apologetically. “Master Cameron wished to continue formal dining service.”
“Meaning, he wants me on the other side of the room?” I ask incredulously. She hums in a noncommittal fashion and I make my way to the bottom of the table, angrily seating myself.
Cameron’s voice carries into the room to announce his arrival. “Have him send me the figures by tomorrow morning.”
He strides in, dressed in a fresh suit - which makes my spiteful side grin - barking orders into the phone. Ugh. He’s one ofthose.The men who sound like they’re the general, roaring orders to the entire Roman Legion every time they pick up their cell. He finishes the call and seats himself, ignoring me.
“I believe you invited me to dinner?” I say a bit more caustically than I’d intended.
He looks up with a scowl as if noticing for the first time that I’m in the room. But the Laird of the Manor doesn’t realize I endured a childhood of being treated as if I was not worthy of notice. This little show is nothing.
So, I raise one brow in polite inquiry and stare him down. “Oh, is this the talk you told me that we’d have ‘tomorrow morning?’ When was that? Last week?”
Cameron stares at me, unamused as Miss Kevin presents our elaborately prepared salads. When she makes her speedy exit, he growls, “I had other matters to attend to.”
“Like the Bugatti?” I inquire solicitously, “That was a total loss, yes? A terrible shame.”
