“I said I would aid you if you convinced me. I’m not convinced of anything but the fact that you’re willing to throw people who outrank you through windows and that you think a kiss can mend all the insults and misery you handed me that night. Now let me go.”
He released her elbow. “I told ye before I’d nae stop ye from leaving the house,” he rumbled. “Mind yer venom, woman, or I will stop ye from coming back inside.”
“Myvenom?” she snapped, and jabbed a finger into his chest, hard even through his jacket and waistcoat and the thin shirt beneath that.Concentrate,she ordered herself, and poked him again. “I have not done a damned thing wrong, Callum.Ididn’t run away. I didn’t—”
“I didnae run away, either,” he retorted, his jaw clenched and the words tight.
“Very well. I didn’t act so poorly that I was forced to leave my home,” she revised. “I did everything I was supposed to, and as I’ve said, I had nothing to do with Ian’s… demise. So be a little nicer to me, or don’t expect me to be any nicer to you.” Rebecca took a step closer to him, even though she had to lift her chin to hold his gaze. “For all I know, you’ve come here with the express purpose of creating destruction and chaos, simply because you blame Donnach and Dunncraigh and Ian and my father and me for your behavior that night and you want revenge on the lot of us.”
There. It likely wasn’t the wisest accusation to make, especially considering he literally could toss her from the house the same way he’d done with Donnach, but he didn’t seem to realize that he was the only one carrying doubts about other people’s motives.
“Dunnae mistake me,” he returned, his voice still hard and low. “I do mean to have my revenge. But not for that night. I remember quite well what happened, lass. I remember that if I hadnae gone to the tavern—again—I might have been here to keep Ian alive.” He closed his mouth, taking a deep breath. “If ye had naught to do with Ian, then ye’ve naught to fear from me. As long as ye dunnae side with those who did him harm.”
Which meant Donnach, of course, and his father—the two people who’d aided and guided her through the turmoil, who’d taken on some of Ian’s and then her father’sresponsibilities when she’d felt completely overwhelmed. “As long as you convince me that they’re guilty.”
He gazed at her for a long moment. “I want to trust ye, lass. We were friends once. Good friends. Or at least I reckoned we were.”
She wasn’t certain friends ever kissed the way he’d kissed her earlier. But in all honesty that was the first time he’d ever touched her like that. And he’d only brought up marriage that night because Ian had done so first. “We were,” she agreed. “As for now, I hope you’ve noticed that your niece has no preconceived notions about you, because I never attempted to carry tales about you.”
“Ye nae thought to set eyes on me again, so what would the point be?”
With a slow breath she lowered her hand again. “About six weeks before he died, Ian mentioned you in Maggie’s hearing. She adored the idea of having an uncle in the Colonies and demanded to know everything possible about you—not that either of us knew very much. Or even if you were still alive.” Rebecca sighed. “The fact that you’ve suddenly appeared, and with a wolf of all things, is simply the extra gravy on the goose, if you must know.”
“At least one lass in the house is happy to see me, then,” he mused, looking her up and down again in a way that made her blush. “Ye look very fine, Rebecca. It’d be a shame for ye to stay at home tonight. It’d be a greater shame for ye to be seen going about with Donnach Maxwell, especially considering what I mean to do to him. But I reckon I’ll leave that up to ye to decide.”
His gaze lowered to her mouth, and stayed there. Her breath hitched; if he kissed her again now she might do something mad like remember that she’d once imagineda life with him. That she’d once wished he would see her as more than a slightly unconventional friend.
When he turned around and started down the stairs, she realized she’d begun to lean toward him a little. Scowling, Rebecca straightened, her fists clenching. This would not do.
Halfway down to the landing he turned around to look up and face her again. “If ye do see Donnach, feel free to tell him I said that. I’d nae have ye keeping my secrets when ye dunnae trust me.”
No, she didn’t trust him. But that didn’t seem to be the problem. He didn’t care if she trusted him or not. He didn’t care if the men he’d declared to be his enemies knew his plans or not. Did he care, though, if he was wrong?
A small shiver went down her spine at an even more troubling thought: what if he was right?
Chapter Six
“Enter,” Callum said, keeping his gaze and his attention on his brother’s accounts books. He’d spent nearly a decade working on his own books, but his had been concentrated on one entity: the Kentucky Hills Distillery. Ian’s fingers were in dozens of ventures, businesses, properties, banks, and of course a good third of Sanderson’s, George’s fleet.
Pogue opened the office door and slipped inside. “As ye requested, m’laird,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder like a bairn expecting to be caught with his hand deep inside the biscuit jar. He handed over a folded note.
Callum opened it. The note, written in Lord Stapp’s too pretty hand, was surprisingly brief; he’d thought for certain that the marquis’s venom would take at least an additional page. No doubt both Stapp and Dunncraigh considered him beneath their notice these days, though, a drunk fit for nothing but bellowing. Good. It would make them easier to drag to hell if they weren’t even looking. That would make his revenge less satisfying, though. He damned well wanted them to know what was coming.
“Dearest Rebecca,” he read to himself, “I had anticipated arriving at your doorstep to escort you to the theater this evening. For your own safety, however, I think it best I not darken your halls tonight.”
“For her safety,” Callum repeated aloud, snorting. The coward. It wasn’t Rebecca’s safety that concerned Stapp.
He looked down again. “I request instead that you will concede to meet me and my father for breakfast at Maxwell Hall at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. If we are to hold to our plans for betrothal and matrimony, we must anticipate that your brother-in-law will attempt to interfere, and we must strategize accordingly. Yours, Donnach.”
So Donnach’s primary concern was that he wouldn’t be able to marry Rebecca. That made sense, when his family had a considerable amount of money wrapped up in her father’s shipping enterprise—her share and control of the company would go to whomever she wed. Of course Donnach wanted that. Had he wanted it badly enough to kill Ian for it, though?
Callum could answer that in his own mind, but now he evidently needed to convince Rebecca, as well. He had no real reason for doing that, except that at this moment he wanted her to believe him. To believe that ten years ago he’d been correct. And perhaps, to believeinhim. He didn’t expect to survive this, after all, and if the legal records could show that he’d been justified, he supposed his soul and his pride would rest easier.
“What do ye mean to do with that, m’laird?” Pogue prompted after a moment, gesturing at the note.
He wanted to burn it. That would only delay all parties, though, rather than resolve any issues among them. Folding it again, Callum handed it back to the butler. “Give it to Lady Geiry,” he instructed.
“Aye.” With a bow, Pogue headed from the room.
