That sounded very satisfying, until she recalled what an angry Robert Vale could do to her and her family. “Aden, how does that help anything?”
“Well, firstly he deserved it, and secondly it was damned satisfying,” he returned. “The rest of ye might as well ken now that I had a plan to lose to him, reveal my desperation, and then stage a failed break-in at Lord George’s house to convince Vale to move yer brother’s promissory notes somewhere a might safer. I reckon this saved me some time sitting across the table from the rat.”
“And he got to threaten to burn down Lord George Humphries’s house with Vale and his notes inside it,afterAden dug through his pockets to be certain the vulture wasnae carrying them.” Niall sat on the arm of the chair occupied by his bride and took her hand in his. “Trying to lose doesnae seem at all Scottish, but at least ye set him on his arse.”
Miranda looked from one brother to the next, and finally back at Aden. “You threatened him after you hit him?” she asked, her insides twisting a little. “Inside Boodle’s? With witnesses, I presume?”
“Aye. All of that.”
“That’s… not good. Unless you’re kicked out of a club for politics or something more frivolous, being banned by one generally means you won’t be welcomed at any of the others. Not if you aren’t already a member everywhere. I mean, I know you meant to lose to him, but I had no idea you meant to ruin your own reputation to do so.”
“Och,” Aden returned softly. “Who wants to have to dress up to play a hand of cards?”
“That sounds very… heroic, but you, well…”
“Out with it, lass. Ye’re to tell me if I’ve a hole in my trousers.”
Miranda would have preferred to sit in the circle of his arms, to simply enjoy the fact that he’d punched a man she’d wanted to punch from the moment she’d met him. But she and Aden were partners, and if he did have a hole in his trousers—his plans—he needed to know about it. “You didn’t get the notes. Vale will very likely go to my father now, and tell him exactly why I am going to marry him.” She shuddered.
“Aye, he’ll have that on his shopping list. Nae doubt about it. But first he’s going to make certain that all his wee promissory notes are safe. He’s wagered his entire future on what they can bring him. He’s owned admirals, and shareholders of the East India Trading Company, I reckon, and now he has Matthew and Lord George, and the devil knows who else. If I burn his house down, he wants to be certain he can call in enough favors and notes to see me jailed for it. Or worse.”
The matter-of-fact way he spoke to describe just how much trouble he’d voluntarily made for himself chilled her to her bones. “Somehow I’m not reassured. You trading fates with me doesn’t serve anyone but Vale, and those odds you delight in don’t seem very much in my favor, either.”
“I’d wager he has those notes somewhere in George’s house, so hidden nae even George kens where they could be. But now he’ll be moving them. Since he’s nae a voluntary ally to speak of, nae other place to lay his head but an inn or a hotel where he doesnae own the loyalty of the staff, and he cannae carry them about with him without risking me taking them, he has to tuck them away somewhere safe.”
“A bank?” she supplied, frowning. “So now you mean to burn down a bank?”
Aden grinned. “Nae. I mean to rob a bank. I’ve a particular one in mind.”
Miranda abruptly wished she’d been a woman who fainted. She could close her eyes, sink to the floor, and when she woke again everything would be resolved. She wouldn’t have to worry or watch Aden be arrested, or see Captain Robert Vale gloat because he’d won.
But Aden wasn’t foolish. Far from it. He’d made her a promise, and thus far he’d gone to great lengths to keep it. Above all of that, she trusted him. She trusted his instincts, his capabilities, and his heart. “Then I suppose if you bring the black powder, I’ll bring the fuse.”
“Boireannach gaisgeil,” he whispered. “Ye’re a bonny, brave lass, Miranda Harris.”
“Just a moment,” Lady Aldriss said, rising. “While previously you three boys—men—have flouted the conventions of polite Society and I’ve condoned it, this is… a bit much, even for me.”
“Then dunnae condone it,” Aden returned. “I dunnae need yer permission.” He climbed to his feet, pulling Miranda up with him. “I could eat a sheep,” he drawled. “Smythe, do ye reckon Mrs. Gordon could make me a sandwich or two?”
“I will have dinner set out early,” the butler said. “With your permission, Lady Aldriss.”
The countess waved her hand at him. “Evidently no one requires my permission any longer. By all means, serve dinner early. Perhaps we should begin with dessert.”
They actually began with potatoes, while Mrs. Gordon, according to Smythe, wept and threw more wood on the stove to speed the roasting of the chicken she’d meantto serve with a delicate sauce of cheese and pine nuts and garlic, but now had no time to make.
Lord Glendarril seemed to be the only one with an appetite anyway, but Miranda did her best to eat a few bites. She thought Aden was eating—until she caught him passing bits of chicken beneath the table to Brògan. Despite everything, despite being half out of her mind waiting for the mysterious note Aden had them all waiting for, the sight made her smile. Yes, he’d knocked Captain Vale on his arse and threatened him, but he’d also rescued a dog, and he was doing his damnedest to save her.
When a footman stepped into the room, every pair of eyes watched him deliver a note on a silver salver to Smythe and whisper something in the butler’s ear. Immediately Smythe took charge of the tray and walked it around the table to deliver it to… her.
“A note, Miss Harris,” he intoned, and held out the salver.
She took the note. “Is this it?” she asked Aden, who shrugged.
“It could be.”
“Who delivered it, Smythe?” Eloise asked, leaning forward to look.
“It came by messenger, Lady Eloise. The man didn’t say who’d dispatched him.”
