Johanna longed to glance at Laurel, to reassure her with her gaze, but she kept her attention squarely on Cranston.
“I would not insult your intellect with so bold a lie.” Quite ironic, those words. She swallowed hard against the acrid taste in her mouth. It wouldn’t do to appear desperate. She’d hold her ground until she could wrest Laurel from the countess’s control. “I had nothing to lose. If the book truly was your prize, the stone would provide a comfortable life for me and my niece. But if it was not—if you sought something beside that volume as payment—I would be in a position to meet your demand.”
“It appears we’ve underestimated you.” Cranston shot the countess a speaking glance. “So now, the question is, what do you require to turn over the jewel over?”
“I am prepared to deliver the gem in exchange for my niece. On my terms, of course.”
“Your terms?” The countess crooked a delicate brow. “You are the cheeky one, aren’t you?”
Johanna met her scathing glare. “Not at all. Merely direct.”
“What is it that you want?” Cranston continued to study her, suspicion clear in his almost casual expression.
“As I’ve said, I require a driver to transport me and my niece to Inverness. At that time, I will surrender the stone to whomever you entrust to receive it.”
Cranston shook his head. “I trust no one other than myself.”
The countess gave a little huff. “You wound me, darling.”
“I’ve no desire to go the route of your husband.” His expression as bland as a man deciding between Earl Grey or oolong, he shifted his focus back to Johanna. “Miss Templeton, I hadn’t taken you for a fool. You’re welcome to continue this charade. Convincing you to reveal the stone’s location would prove…stimulating.”
The threat slashed through Johanna’s thin-as-gauze confidence, but she maintained eye contact through sheer will. She added a curve to her lips that bespoke boldness. A hint of fear would make her all the more vulnerable. She had to stay strong.
“You will not resort to violence,” she said, her voice quiet yet firm. “Believe me when I tell you it would not be in your best interests.”
Cranston shrugged, though he didn’t look away. “I’m not so sure of that. Tell me, why would I not take the path of least resistance?”
She defied the apprehension twisting her belly into knots. “There is much about the Deamhan Cridhe—about its powers—you have not yet learned. I possess highly specific knowledge that will make it worth your while to keep me…and my niece…alive. And unharmed.”
“More lies?” The countess scoffed.
“Judge for yourself.” Johanna centered her attention on Laurel, meeting the child’s teary-eyed gaze. Gulping hard against the sudden burn in her throat, she fashioned a diversion. Over the years, her ability to spin tales had proven her greatest asset. She prayed that skill would not fail her now, when she so desperately needed to convince Cranston of their worth to him. “I must share a secret with these people. But first, darling, I need you to wipe away your tears. Will you do that?”
Laurel nibbled her lip. “I’ll try.” The child nodded and gave a little sniff. As if repulsed by what might trickle from the child’s nose onto her immaculate burgundy sleeves, the countess loosened her hold. Her fingers slid around the girl’s wrist.
“We’ve no time for this nonsense.” The countess threw Laurel a razor-edged glance. “Surrender the stone or the little banshee will pay the price.”
“Not so fast.” Cranston observed Laurel with a hawk’s focus. “Tell me what you know, Miss Templeton.”
Johanna forced her features into a bland mask and held her response a few heartbeats longer than necessary. Let the bastard wait for the answer. Let his imagination accomplish the task for her.
“I trust you are familiar with the curse of the Demon’s Heart,” she said finally.
“Curse? The ruby harbors nothing of the sort.” The countess’s eyes gleamed. “There is only power—power that can be claimed and harnessed in the right hands.”
Johanna slowly shook her head. “Ah, you do not know the entirety of the legend.”
Cranston regarded her for a long, silent moment. His focus bore into her. “I’ve devoted much of my life to learning the secrets of the Deamhan Cridhe. My research has been extensive.”
Again, Johanna gave her head a slow, rueful shake. “If you knew the truth, you would not involve a child in your scheme.” She paused for effect. “Unless you intend to fall victim to the curse.”
“What is this nonsense?” The countess scoffed. “I know nothing of such a thing.”
“The sorceress who imparted her powers to the stone had a daughter,” Johanna said, turning to Cranston. “I assume you are aware of that.”
He nodded. “What of it?”
“It is said that the sorceress’s spell provides special protection for children. There is an incantation, a simple verse that will protect an innocent.”