Mason looked surprised. "Of course. He headed the operation to capture the Cato Street conspirators."
"He died recently," she said.
Mason’s eyes clouded. “He was a good man. But what has he to do with you?”
"He sent me a journal of his private investigation into the allegations against you. He believed you were innocent."
“Well, damn it all." Mason laughed. "Redgrave told me of the investigation. I should have known John would keep a thorough account. I suppose I also should have known my daughter would follow that trail.”
“You were my final quarry," she said, "but I was headed for Tain.”
“Ahh,” Mason said, “Galbraith, Redgrave's trail.”
“Yes.”
“How did you end up in Dornoch?” Kiernan asked.
Phoebe lifted a brow. “Robbie.”
“Robbie?”
“The Achilty Inn?” she said.
Kiernan groaned. “You have a knack for being at just the right place, my dear.” And he had to admit, he liked that.
“It's in the blood," Mason said.
“Quite right,” Kiernan said, and winked at Phoebe. “I'll have to remember that in the future.”
"And I will have to remember that my husband is a schemer."
"Phoebe—" he began, but she cut her gaze onto Mason.
"Was my abduction your doing? Why concoct such a ridiculous scheme?"
"That," he said, "was pure chance."
Phoebe snorted. "I don't believe you."
"Your kidnapping is exactly what it seems," Kiernan said. "And is all my fault," he added when she narrowed her eyes.
"It's too fantastical," she said.
"I did tell you that when I saw you that night, I intended to secure an introduction. If you hadn't been in that carriage, it would have only been a matter of time before I found you…and fell in love with you."
Her lips parted in surprise and a blush reddened her cheeks. Kiernan was suddenly certain he would never tire of that reaction.
"Have you lost your mind?" she demanded.
"I lost my mind the night I waylaid your coach."
The blush deepened and she cast an embarrassed glance at her father. There came a sharp rap on the door and it opened.
“Forgive me,” Madam Duvall said, “but you have another guest.” She stepped aside and Kiernan straightened from the wall when the one man he didn't want to see stepped into the room.
*****
Phoebe shoved to her feet.
Lord Ronald Harrington stopped three paces inside the room, his gaze locked on her father. “Tell your daughter and Lord Ashlund to relax. I wouldn't get a round off without receiving a bullet for my trouble.” He gave a gracious nod to Phoebe. “Miss Wallington is quite a good shot.”
"That's Lady Ashlund," Kiernan said.
Lord Harrington appeared surprised. "My congratulations."
Phoebe tensed, then felt her father’s warm fingers grasp hers. Her heart pounded. What was Lord Harrington doing here? Alistair's words as written in John Stafford's journal raced to the forefront of her mind, "The criminals you deal with are nothing like Harrington. He has power and connections that are unimpeachable." What was Lord Harrington's part in her father being accused? Her father gently pulled her back onto the couch. and Lord Harrington's gaze shifted to him.
“You are looking well, Wallington.”
“You look as if you’ve eaten and drunk too much,” he replied.
“The price of sitting at my desk so much. I wouldn't have thought of looking for you in Scotland," he said. "Clachair was rumored to be in France. Clachair: bricklayer, stonemason.” He raised a brow. "The name was simply too obvious.”
Phoebe jerked her gaze onto her father. Clachair: Mason. She hadn't made the connection.
He smiled softly, as if reading her mind, and said, “It took my daughter to find me.”
Pain stabbed through her. She'd told Lord Redgrave her suspicions about Kiernan being in contact with Clachair, and the information had reached Lord Harrington. She squeezed her father's hand and he squeezed back.
“Actually, she isn't responsible for my being here," Lord Harrington said. "You have Lord Ashlund to thank for us finding you. Mason, your association with him is just a fortunate happenstance." He looked at Kiernan. “Really, my dear boy, aiding criminals?” He made a tsking sound. “When wanted criminals began to disappear, we knew someone was helping them leave the country. We placed several individuals among the ranks of the rebel rousers who were complaining about the government’s financial endeavors in Scotland."
“Wilson,” her father murmured.
Lord Harrington lifted his brows. “He was one of our agents. I gather his disappearance was your doing?"
“Yes, only we didn't kill him, but shipped him to a penal colony in Australia.”
“Poor devil,” Harrington muttered.
“Poor devil, indeed,” her father said. “He was a maniacal killer. What do you want, Ronald?"
Phoebe's stomach knotted. What did he want? She opened her mouth to ask—demand—answers, but her father said, "You were a fool to come here. You must know it's not safe for you here.”