Win turns straight ahead. “No. Not yet.”
My eyes narrow. “Why is that?” I shiver despite my wrap and the heat of the car.
His face loses all emotion. “You promised me that you’d tell me your father’s greatest weakness today.”
“I told you I’d tell you a weakness, which I already have.” I cross my arms. “Answer my question.”
“What weakness?”
“His vanity.” I’m not telling the whole truth. My father lets his emotions rule him. His anger, his need for validation, his desire to be important. Any one of them could be used to cause him to misstep.
“Ah yes. But one might argue that it’s good business to tie his daughter to a man of influence and power.”
“One might.” I’m not saying anything else until Win answers my question.
He glances over at me again, then lets out a long slow breath. “You won’t explain.”
“You first.”
Lifting his hand, he rubs the bridge of his nose. “Must you be so difficult?”
“And you’re just a peach.”
He drops his hand again. “The less people who know you’re here, the less likely your father unexpectedly discovers your whereabouts.”
“My brother isn’t leaking information to my father.”
Win shrugs. “Ryker is attempting to keep relations strong with Dimitri while he closes all the casino deals.”
I suck in a breath. “You want Dimitri to think I just ran. It makes Ryker look innocent, and not like the scheming piece of shit?—”
“That is my brother’s plan. Not mine.”
“What’s yours?”
He looks at me. “To learn everything I can about your father. Addresses, business practices, weaknesses.”
I nip at my lip, because I now understand why I’m here. “All right. So you want information from me. But how do I get my revenge? What’s my part in taking down my father?”
Win looks forward again. “Undecided.”
He better not be. I’m only here because I think it increases my chances of success. “That’s not good enough, Your Grace.”
“It’s going to have to be, kitten.”
I open my mouth to tell him he’d better make a few more promises, when the car stops in a line of cars.
They are all queued to drop their occupants in front of a stately looking nautical building. “Museum?” We’re in Dover, the building is perched on the cliffs that face the French coast. It’s an unlikely place for such an event.
“That’s right.”
“This museum is where they’re having a charity for orphans?” That feeling that something isn’t right sparks down my body again. “Are you sure it’s not a fundraising program for smugglers or sailors, or the French revolution?”
“You know your English history.”
His answer is no answer at all. But this time I don’t press, because there are moments when a person senses danger and it’s best to remain quiet and listen.
But one thing is certain.
