My Highland Lord (Highland Lords, #2)

She stared. "You're insane."

"Be that as it may, I warn you, when I return home, should I find you in this bed instead of mine, I will remove you to my bed and tie you there. As you know, I'm quite capable of carrying out that threat. Though you haven't learned where that can lead." He turned and started for the anteroom.

"By heavens," she exclaimed. "I have no intention of sitting idly by while you—"

He whirled. "What?"

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

"I have a meeting." He lifted the note and shook it. "I suspect you now know who is responsible for the story in the Satirist."

With that he whirled and left.

Phoebe stared. She hadn't told him about Clive.

*****

Phoebe started awake when the clock in the library chimed. The book she'd been reading thunked as it struck the carpet and the second chime told her she'd slept for an hour. The fire had died to coal red embers and her blanket hung half off the couch where she lay. She considered putting another log on the fire, but pulled the blanket over her shoulders instead. Either Kiernan hadn't returned home, or he hadn't yet found her. The mansion was a labyrinth of rooms. He might have looked for her and given up. No, she decided. He hadn't exaggerated when he said he was a relentless hunter. He would search every nook and cranny of the mansion—then make her pay for the effort.

She wasn't strictly disobeying him—the idea she had to obey rankled beyond reason—after all, she hadn't gone to sleep in her bed. She had decided to tell him that she'd waited up in order to tell him about Clive…and that she remembered what it was that caught her attention when she'd heard his voice. Her aunt's lover was the highwayman who escaped.

The door opened with a quiet click. Phoebe froze, Kiernan's words rolling around in her head "…you will pay the piper. That is me, madam, in case you think otherwise."

By heavens, she was actually trembling. Phoebe inched her head up until she could peek over the top of the couch. Her heart jumped into her throat. The man sitting at the duke's desk wasn't Kiernan.

*****

"He was last seen at the Davenport soirée?" Kiernan asked of Mather as they descended the steps of his club.

"That was the report an hour ago, sir."

"So he is ensuring that witnesses can testify to his whereabouts. Good. And you're sure he knows I was contacted by someone anxious to sell me information about a man who hired him to kill me while in Scotland?"

"Mr. Sykes is known for not keeping a secret. I feel certain he has told Baron Arlington's valet the story."

They reached Kiernan's coach. "Here is where we part ways, Mather."

"I must protest once again, sir. I feel certain your father wouldn't approve of this plan."

Kiernan swung open the carriage door. "No, he wouldn't. In you go."

"I really should go with you."

"We've discussed this," Kiernan said. "I'm an easier target alone. Besides, I have half a dozen officers from the Metropolitan Police on the case."

"A bullet or a knife can find its mark before they police reach you."

"One way or another, Arlington intends to kill me. Then he will force Phoebe to marry him. I can't allow either."

"Your father is sure to send me packing once he learns I not only didn't stop you, but I aided you," he grumbled.

"We won't tell him." Mather still hesitated, and Kiernan laid a hand on his back. "Go on, my friend."

He sighed, but stepped into the carriage. Kiernan closed the door and started down the sidewalk. Ten minutes later, he turned into the nearest gaming hell.



An hour and several whiskies later, Kiernan left the club five hundred pounds poorer than when he entered. The big man sitting in the corner quietly drinking had cast him enough covert glances that Kiernan knew him to be his would-be killer. Kiernan couldn't help a grimace. Phoebe's cousin wasn't taking any chances. He'd hired a man a head taller than Kiernan.

Kiernan began an unsteady walk down the sidewalk. The pad of footsteps followed a moment later, and he was impressed that the big man could tread so lightly. This brigand might be a more practiced killer than Arlington's previous employees. A hansom cab passed. Kiernan flicked the passenger a glance and rubbed his chin as if scratching an itch. The man didn't twitch a muscle, but Kiernan knew he'd seen the signal. Kiernan made a sudden left into one of the appointed alleys. As expected, the footsteps quickened.

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