There was nothing but a deadening silence, a silence that was filled with the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, as Grif could not seem to catch his breath.
Miss Addison was staring in horror at him. And at Hugh. And at Miss Brody, who had the cheek to eye her just as intently. It seemed like an eternity before Miss Addison at last dragged her gaze to Grif and said, rather unsteadily, “I beg your pardon, my lord, but the door was standing open.”
Dudley, God bless him, was the first to come to his senses, and swooped down on her parasol. “It is I who must beg yer pardon, miss. Might I show ye to the drawing room where’d ye’d be a wee bit more comfortable?” he asked, inching toward the door. Miss Addison blinked up at Grif, and with a small nod fell in behind Dudley.
Grif looked at Hugh; Hugh looked at Grif. Grif slapped him on the shoulder. “What in God’s name is the matter with ye? Mary Queen of Scots, we’ve done it now,” he said, dipping to swipe up his coat. “Make yerselves scarce and I’ll get rid of her,” he said, and stalked out of the parlor, shoving his arms into his coat, then dragging his hand through his hair, trying to put some semblance of order to it.
As he neared the drawing room, Dudley stepped out, instantly withdrew a kerchief from his pocket, and thrust it at Grif.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Grif whispered.
“I couldna say, sir,” Dudley said as he motioned to the corner of Grif’s mouth where he had, obviously, missed some blood.
Grif swiped at it with the kerchief, thrust it back at Dudley, and put his hand on the door. “Stand by, then—I’ll no’ be long.”
With that, he threw open the door, strode into the drawing room, and hands on hips, glared at Miss Addison. “What are ye doing here?”
Her spine stiffened and she lifted her chin. “I might ask the same of you.”
“Ye might. But as ye are in this house, I suggest ye explain yerself.”
“All right,” she said, tossing her bonnet onto a couch. “I shall. I’ll start with this: I know you are not Lord Ardencaple,” she said, reaching into her reticule. “I know there is no such place as Ardencaple. I know what you’ve come for, and moreover, I know where it is.”
She withdrew something from her reticule, walked to where he stood, and gestured for him to open his hand. In his upturned palm, she laid a tiny ruby.
Had the floor opened up and swallowed him whole, he could not have been more shocked. Speechless, Grif stared at the ruby, then slowly lifted his gaze. Miss Addison’s chin was high, the spark in her eyes triumphant.
He was a proud man, and he’d as soon die than be bested by a woman. But by the same token, he was man enough to admit when he had been bested, and closing his fist tightly around the tiny ruby, he carefully closed the door behind him.
Thirteen
T he moment he shut the door and leaned against it, staring at her like some enraged beast, Anna’s heart twisted with fear. He was terribly disheveled, with a bruised eye and a cut lip. Some buttons from his shirt had been torn away and she could see the hair of his chest from across the room.
Worse, brutal fury had seeped into his green eyes.
“What is it, then,” he asked in a horribly soft, horribly cold voice, “that ye think ye have, lass?”
Honestly, she wanted to tell him, wanted to explain that she really meant him no harm, but she was so fearful that she could not find her tongue.
Lord Ardencaple took one long, menacing step forward, his hands still clasped at his back, and Anna had the distinct impression it took some effort on his part to keep them there. “What?” he demanded, much louder. “What is it that ye will use to taunt me now? Tell me!” he commanded.
“I, ah…I have this… thing,” she said shakily, and turned abruptly, walked to the other side of the room, as far away from him as she could get. “A, ah… gold thing,” she clarified.
“And why would ye think this gold thing would interest me?”
Actually, that was the part Anna was hoping he could answer, but as he did not seem the least bit disposed to do any answering whatsoever, she pressed her trembling hands to her abdomen and said, “I don’t know, really. But I also know you are not the first Scotsman to seek it.”
That proclamation was met with a wintry silence, during which Anna pretended to be looking at the figurines on the mantel, but had closed her eyes to summon the courage that had been so damnably present not a half hour ago.
When it was apparent it had escaped her, she opened her eye, glanced over her shoulder—and jumped with a shriek. She’d not heard him move so close, but there he was, at her back, those glacial eyes boring through her.
“Describe this thing,” he demanded.