“You’re his partner,” she whispered after him. “This is business.”
“I’m nae his partner.”
“Your accountant would say otherwise.”
Shrugging free, he kicked out the step and descended to the ground. Seeing Pogue approach from the house, he gestured at the pair of vehicles behind him. “See to the lasses,” he ordered, stalking up to the Maxwell’s heavy coach.
The door opened as he reached it, and Dunncraigh himself stepped to the ground. “Good evening, Lord Geiry.”
“Ye’re in my way,” Callum grunted. “Get out of it.”
“I wanted a word with ye, lad,” the Maxwell returned, his words smooth despite the hard set to his eyes. “We’ve another business, one located in Knightsbridge down in London, that wants to do its shipping with Lady Geiry’s fleet, but there’s a matter of a signature or two still required.”
“And so ye came and sat in yer coach all day long and waited for me?” Callum returned. “The bloody Maxwell, himself? Or was it that ye had the road watched, so ye knew I was headed back into town?”
“Or is it that Donnach and I’ve come by for the past few days, hoping to catch ye without having to darken yer door?” the duke countered. “This is business. We dunnae have to be friends for business.”
“Whose signature do you need, Your Grace?” Rebecca asked from close behind him.
“A month ago yers would have sufficed, my dear,” the duke returned with a warm smile that made every muscle in Callum’s body go taut. “But Callum here has been recognized by the courts, I hear, so it must be all three of us.” He put an arm on her shoulder, and Callum nearly flattened him. “Will ye give me a moment with the lad, Rebecca?”
“Certainly.” She stepped away, leaning toward Callum as she did so. “Behave,” she breathed.
“Nae,” he returned in the same tone.
“Now. Walk with me, will ye?”
“I thought we went through this already. I’m nae walking with ye.”
Beneath the street’s lamplight Dunncraigh’s smile faltered a little before he resumed it again. “I dunnae think ye want either of the lasses to hear what I mean to say to ye, lad. Walk with me.”
Margaret stood in the doorway, chatting to Pogue about wolf packs, while Rebecca had returned to wait behind her, one hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Scowling, Callum turned back to the duke. “Waya, guard Margaret,” he ordered. With a low growl the wolf sent a look at Dunncraigh, then walked away, tail down. “The wolf doesnae like ye, either, Dunncraigh,” he said, and began stalking up the street. “She can smell carrion.”
“Ye’ve picked up an interesting companion. I’ll give ye that.” The duke matched his pace as they continued away from the house. “I hear ye began a brewery in America. The only way for ye to slake yer thirst these days, aye?”
“If that’s how we’re beginning, I foresee ye taking a swim in the river by the end of this conversation,” Callum returned, rather than answering. Let the Maxwell think what he wished. There were other men who’d found that underestimating him could be fatal, as well.
“Ye’re a strapping lad, now. I’ll grant ye that. But I ken who ye are, Callum. Ye’re a man who craves adventure, nae wanting to rest yer head in the same place twice. I can make that possible for ye.”
Abruptly interested in more than just trading threats and insults, Callum slowed his pace. “And how is it ye reckon ye know me?”
“I heard ye, the night ye left. And yer brother told tales of ye all the time, how ye wished to visit China and Africa and cross the Atlantic to see the southern Americas. I can give ye that.”
He could have it now if he wished it, but that wasn’t the point of this conversation, clearly. “I’m the earl now. I have duties.”
“If ye hadnae made an appearance within the next few weeks the title would’ve gone to yer cousin James, as I reckon ye’ve been told. A fine, bright lad, by the way. With a good head for business. I very much doubt the courts would fight ye if ye decided ye couldnae accept the responsibility and ye handed it over to him.”
“Aside from the fact that James has the smarts of a mushroom and ye know it, that plan of yers sounds like it would make me considerably less wealthy.”
Dunncraigh folded his hands behind his back, reminding Callum of nothing so much as a vulture waiting for its dinner to die. “I’ll be honest with ye. Ye’ve a large share in a business where I’ve sunk a great deal of my money and my time. And the idea of a reckless lad with a penchant for too much drink having that much control over my future doesnae sit well with me. So I’m asking ye to sign over yer share of Sanderson’s fleet to me, and I’ll definitely be generous with yer compensation.”
“How generous?”
“I’ll give ye thirty thousand quid for it, lad. That’s more than it’s worth, but it’ll see ye well gone from here and in considerable style. Ye could purchase a kingdom in China with that amount of blunt. In fact, ye dunnae have to sell it to me. Just go away and leave the running of it to me or to yer cousin. The thirty thousand’ll still be yers.”
For a moment Callum considered that the idiot he’d been ten years ago would have jumped at the offer. Taking responsibility off his shoulders and paying him for the privilege? Leaving him free to drink and whore on every continent and island between here and Australia and back again?
Now, though, he had more important things to ponder. Had that been it? Had Dunncraigh resented Ian and George having the reins to the shipping business? Had Ian protested against his increased involvement or some new commerce the duke favored? Dunncraigh had as much as said he didn’t like anyone else steering his ship. Was that reason enough for a murder? Two murders, even?
