“That didn’t surprise you?”
A scoffing little laugh escaped her. “Of course it surprised me. He was not known for his thoughtfulness. Or his generosity, for that matter. Mr. Abbott wasn’t a man to readily part with his acquisitions. Quite honestly, I’d have been less shocked if he’d pressed a sovereign in my palm and sent me on my way.”
So, she was letting her protective armor display a few cracks. Good. The tasks he faced would be easier if she trusted him with the truth. “Why do you think he chose that work?”
Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I suppose he knew I admired Mrs. Shelley. I’ve often counted her as an inspiration.”
“Do you know the value of that manuscript?”
“Not in pound notes and pence. But it is irreplaceable and precious to me.”
“To a man like Cranston, that book represents little more than a stack of pages with a worn leather binding. Ye’re certain this is the ransom he demanded?”
She dropped her gaze to the Aubusson carpet and offered a soft nod. “His instructions were explicit. He requires the book in exchange for my niece.”
“Something is wrong. This does not fit Geoffrey Cranston’s profile.” Turning, he went to the window and stared into the darkness for any sign they’d been pursued. He heard Johanna’s abruptly indrawn breath and pictured her mouth in his mind. How he’d enjoy easing the terse set of those plump lips with another kiss.
God above, he’d gone daft to even think of it. This was not some amorous lass ripe for a randy seduction. No, this was a woman so driven by fierce devotion to a child that she’d cast her fear and better judgment to the wind. It was bad enough he’d already tasted Johanna’s mouth. But now—now that he knew what had spurred her dealings with Cranston—he had to rein in his desire. She was a temptation he couldn’t afford.
“You doubt my word? What reason might I have to lie?” Her words were clipped and tightly controlled, an undercurrent of ire simmering just below the smooth surface.
“You’d have reason enough to conceal the truth. I’m naught but a stranger to ye. But it’s not you I believe who’s behind this deception.” He leaned against the window, meeting her questioning eyes. “I’d sooner believe the queen swam the bluidy Channel than trust that those lying thieves are interested in a book.”
The shimmer in her eyes intensified. Damnation. He hadn’t meant to distress her. But Johanna had to know the kind of men she was dealing with. “If you don’t believe they want the book, what do you think they’re really after?”
“A fortune.” Now it was his turn to veil the truth with a vague response, not quite a lie. If his sources were correct, the man Johanna knew as Richard Abbott had stumbled upon an artifact of great historical significance, a treasure rumored to harness powers beyond the realm of possibility; indeed, the stuff of legend. Abbott most likely would never have guessed at the properties the gem was rumored to bestow upon the person who controlled it. Far-fetched tales, as unbelievable as the stories Connor’s grandmother had told of spirits that could bring good fortune and abundant garden harvests.
But Geoffrey Cranston was a true believer. If Connor’s sources were right, the Englishman would stop at nothing to claim the artifact.
Somehow, Johanna Templeton held a key to locating the stone—a key she didn’t even realize she possessed. And it needed to stay that way.
Her feathered brows arched. “How do you propose my brother-in-law might have hidden a fortune within the pages of that book? Perhaps he wove diamonds and rubies into the binding. I shall have to investigate.”
Cheeky lass. At least she didn’t look on the verge of tears now. He far preferred her spirit to her sadness. “I’d say that’s unlikely, Miss Templeton.”
“Pity we’re not dealing with pirates. We might look for a map leading to a treasure chest—stolen riches, gold coins, and bright, shiny gems.” Her words came out with an air of flippant dismissal.
“These men are not pirates. Buccaneers have a code, a semblance of honor. Cranston and his thugs know nothing but cruelty and greed.”
Understanding lit her eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it?” She poked him in the chest with one pointed finger. “You think there’s a map.”
He should’ve known she’d puzzle it out. But he hadn’t guessed she’d fathom the truth so soon. “That is the most likely scenario.”
She snatched up the satchel. “You’ve gone mad. You will not damage this masterpiece in search of some imaginary document.”
“I have no intention of destroying the book in that bag.”
Her forehead furrowed, and that tempting mouth of hers thinned to a taut line. Her eyes narrowed with sudden comprehension. Tearing open the case, she yanked out the leather-bound volume he’d substituted for her treasure. The book dangled from her fingers as if she’d fished vermin from a sewer.