He met her question with narrowed eyes that revealed neither a confession nor a denial. “My employer does not tolerate disloyalty. The blighter knew what he was doing when he violated the trust we’d placed in him.”
Johanna continued to hold his intent gaze. “All this…for a book.”
“A treasure, Miss Templeton. Surely you realize the value of a first edition of such quality.”
His eyes continued to pierce her defenses, as if reading her deepest fears. Pity she’d done such a poor job of hiding the way her insides twisted at the truth of her brother-in-law’s fate. The unseen talons dug deeper when she pictured her niece. Laurel would be terrified. Grieving. Trapped by brutal men who’d murdered her father.
If only she could mask her fear, perhaps the bastard would stop looking at her and get on with this ugly business. But even an actress of Sarah Bernhardt’s talents could not offer such a convincing performance.
A foul odor drifted to her nostrils. She shifted a glance to the source of the stench. A mammoth man thundered toward the table. He looked and reeked as if he hadn’t seen the inside of a tub in months. A mop of hair that might have been blond beneath a coating of filth brushed his pale, unruly brows. His stained jacket hung from a body as formidable as the trunk of an oak.
Ross gave a disdainful sniff. His upper lip curled. “Bloody hell, Munro, did you fall into a trough of manure?”
“Ye think I give a rat’s arse about your opinion?” The behemoth moved closer to Johanna, effectively trapping her in the corner. He licked a thick tongue over blubbery lips. “So this is the lass his highness is waitin’ on.”
Ross offered a nod in confirmation. He pinned Johanna with his gaze. “I need to see it—the book.”
“Of course.” She placed the valise on the table and removed a leather-bound volume. Frankenstein; or The Modern Prometheus. Mrs. Shelley’s masterpiece, embellished in the author’s own hand more than seventy years prior.
Johanna’s brother-in-law had given her the pristine first edition before he left London for what he’d dubbed a holiday in Scotland. A token of his appreciation, or so he’d said. She hadn’t questioned his motives. After all, she’d left her home in Philadelphia at the first inkling of her sister’s illness. Some eighteen months later, her beloved, even-tempered older sister had taken her last breath on a rainy Sunday morning. After the funeral, Johanna had remained in London, determined to provide her sister’s child with the nurturing the girl’s father was ill-equipped to provide.
Now, her brother-in-law’s intentions had taken on an entirely new meaning. Had the gift been far more than a thoughtful gesture? Had he left the book with her to shield his ill-gotten gain until he could retrieve it?
The thought wrenched Johanna’s stomach anew. In her heart, she’d long questioned the man’s character, but his devotion during her sister’s illness had gone a long way toward redeeming her opinion of Cynthia’s mate. But now she’d discovered how very mistaken her renewed faith in Richard Abbott’s good nature had been.
Presenting the book like an offering, Johanna kept her gloved fingers firmly on the tome. She was not about to surrender it, not until she had Laurel safely at her side. “I believe this is the item you’ve come to claim.”
Ross offered a cursory examination. He brushed a fingertip over hers. His eyes narrowed. He seemed to sense her aversion to his touch, even as he traced a slow path over the back of her velvet-sheathed hand. “Final judgment on that matter belongs to my employer.”
“You can have the book.” Despite her words, Johanna tightened her hold on the leather cover. Blast it all, she would not meekly surrender the volume to this scoundrel. “I’ll take the girl and be on my way.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said, infuriatingly civilized. “You’ll need to come with us. After the book is determined to be authentic, the child will be released.”
The talons in her belly moved higher, digging into her heart. Johanna wanted to curl into a miserable ball, but she forced iron into her spine and met his gaze. “This is unacceptable. I was promised an exchange—the book for my niece. Where is she?”
His lips quirked again. The bastard was actually amused with her show of spirit. Johanna itched to slap the hint of a smile off his handsome face.
Eyes cold and flat as a viper’s met hers. “She is not here.”
Fear welled in her throat, bitter as poison. She choked it back. “I believed we had an arrangement.”
Ross’s mouth hardened, flat and cruel. “I must advise against making demands. Given the chit is the offspring of a man who foolishly betrayed my employer, I would not try his patience. What happens to the child is up to you.”
“I fully understand. But I must insist that you bring my niece to me before I hand over the ransom. I have a driver waiting—”
“Munro sent the gent on his way. He can be…persuasive.” Ross nodded to his odious associate. “See Miss Templeton to the coach.”