“Tea is one of those civilized English things. I think we should make some and then discuss my plans to secure your future with Lionel.”
“I don’t want tea. I want facts. Do you know that a duke has overtaken Hamlin Hall?”
“I do. I sent for him.”
My ears must have stopped working. I twiddled the lobe, more ashy cosmetic coming off on my thumbs. “What?”
“I’ve been waiting for Repington. This is part of my plan. I pray you haven’t ruined it.”
This wasn’t right.
Lady Shrewsbury lifted Athena and went toward the scullery. Her face held a broad smile, her lips pursed with an I-know-something-you-don’t arch.
Fire and nerves exploded in my middle. I trusted the countess, and she solicited armed soldiers to surround my baby. Clasping the table, I tried to make sense of it all, but the one thing I was sure of, my ability to detect good people from bad ones was surely broken.
CHAPTER 5
A TRUEGUARDIANRISES
Busick drummed his thumb along the desk. More than forty minutes had passed since the last scout entered the drawing room and reported. All sweeps of the property were fruitless. No widow was located, just trunks in the catacombs and a pile of coconuts.
Odd, but nothing dastardly.
Rubbing the muscles along his neck, he leaned back in the chair. If he could, he’d put a boot atop the desk to gain more comfort, but there was none to be had, not with his thoughts heavy on Colin.
“You were happiest here. Your son shall be, too. To your boy, I’ll be a father, the one we both never had. I promise this.”
The door flung open with a resounding thud.
Markham, the devil, marched inside. “What’s the meaning of this?”
With hands steadied atop the desk and not upon his sidearm flintlock, Busick smiled. “ ’Tis my duty to inform you, your services are no longer needed. Go on, have a drink, then head out of Hamlin Hall forever.”
The man looked as if he could chew through the desk, but he turned and headed straight to the sideboard. With its walnut wood polished to shine, the thing must be a beacon for drunkards.
Markham gripped the furnishing as if he wanted to pick it up and throw it. The lanky man cursed aloud, then seized a crystal decanter. Pour after pour, he downed one brandy and then another. On his third, he walked to the desk.
Wild ash-colored hair scattered here and there, Markham muttered to himself and slurped. “You invade my home. You—”
“This is not your home. It belongs to Lionel Jordan, Colin Jordan’s son.”
The man gulped all the contents of his goblet, then slammed it down on the desk. The glass spun—swoop, swoop—sounding as if it would shatter. “He’s a mere babe. He’s not fit to handle the business of running Hamlin.”
Busick reached out and stopped the glass mid-spin. “But neither are you. Leave now before I have you flung down the steps.”
“I’m his guardian. I’m to take care of his interests.”
“No, you are not. You know this. That was my cousin’s instructions in his will. Yet you’ve sent me on multiple wild-goose chases across the whole of England to avoid turning over the child. Stop feigning indignation. You fool no one.”
A tremble set in Markham’s hand.
Good. The firm tone in Busick’s voice still held sway.
The blackguard’s gray eyes drifted, then he smiled. “Well, you must admit it’s been a good chase. I didn’t think you’d come this way for another month. That’s what I get for not listening to idle chatter.”
“Leave now, Markham.”
The fiend looked around as if he’d misplaced something. “Give your uncle a little credit. The little mongrel’s healthy, and I’ve kept that awful woman away from him.”
