Page 28 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
Her insides roiled, as if caught in the grip of a great storm. She’d known her brother-in-law to be reckless, a gambler whose charm masked an arrogance he couldn’t entirely hide. Her sister had been swept away by that charisma, and despite his flaws, Richard Abbott had seemed a loving husband and father. Indeed, his affection for his daughter had served as his most redeeming quality.
But after Cynthia’s death, he’d grown aloof. Laurel had spent months in Johanna’s care, fearing she’d lost her father as well as her mother. His decision to cart the girl off to Scotland with him had been entirely unexpected, but he’d offered Johanna no cause for alarm. She’d hoped his plan to take a holiday with his daughter had signaled a desire to grow closer to the child he’d often left behind.
How very mistaken she had been. Somehow, it all made sense now. The man’s lack of caution with finances, as though he’d discovered a fountain of wealth he could readily tap. His frequent trips to destinations he didn’t care to divulge. His secretive ways.
Oh, she’d been such a fool.
If she’d known the truth, she would have dissuaded him from taking Laurel. She’d have found some way to stop him. What had he been thinking, plunging his daughter into danger? Or had he believed they’d be safe in Scotland? Had that even been his ultimate destination?
If only she’d known the true nature of his journey to the Highlands.
If only she’d insisted on keeping the child with her.
If only Laurel was safe and this nightmare was over.
She rubbed her temples, as if that would ease the sudden throb just below the surface. “You are wrong about one thing, Mr. MacMasters. Mr. Abbott was not a heartless man. He cared deeply for his family, for his wife and his daughter.”
“Daughter?”
She allowed a small smile to touch her lips. “So, there’s something even you don’t know about Mr. Abbott. He was a father. Quite an adoring one at that.”
His eyes narrowed and his jaw went taut. “Good God, that’s it—that’s why you’re here, traipsing about with men who’d slit yer throat, and smile while they did the deed.”
“Indeed. You’ve figured me out, Mr. MacMasters. I’ve come to ransom my niece. Perhaps if Mr. Abbott hadn’t loved his child, he would’ve left her behind in London. He wouldn’t have dragged the girl into a lion’s den. Laurel would be tucked up in bed at this hour, safe and content, and I would not be trapped here with the likes of you.”
…
If Johanna had plowed her fist into his gut, Connor might have been less stunned. Richard Benedict had had a daughter. Bluidy hell. How had his sources missed that crucial bit of intelligence? Somehow, the canny thief had managed to keep the existence of his wife and child cloaked, out of sight. He’d lived two lives. In one existence, he was Richard Abbott, businessman, husband and father. And in the other, he was a cunning blackguard who lied, cheated, and stole to fund his taste for fine things, using a name as fraudulent as the art he claimed had come from the brushes of old masters.
God above, it all made sense now. Johanna’s abrupt, almost frantic departure from London. Her willingness to do business with men like Ross and Munro. Her desperation to deliver the prize and conclude her bargain with the devil.
A child’s life hung in the balance.
Damn Richard Benedict. Damn the man to hell. What had the man been thinking, hauling his daughter with him to the Highlands? Did he think Cranston wouldn’t know he’d fled London? Had the child been part of his disguise? Benedict was a lot of things, but a blundering fool wasn’t one of them. Was it possible he truly couldn’t bear to leave the girl behind? Had he possessed a single decent quality—devotion to his daughter that would ultimately end in disaster?
For her part, Miss Templeton looked as though she’d been defeated. Revealing the truth had been painful for her. Surely she realized Connor’s knowledge of her circumstances made her even more vulnerable. What had it taken for her to disclose such a crucial part of the puzzle to him—a man she thought of as a potential enemy?
He settled his hand on her forearm, a light touch he intended to be reassuring. She was a bonny one, wasn’t she? But more than that, she had courage. Her spine might not have been lined with steel, but she did an admirable job of pretending it was. This was hard on her, harder than she’d ever admit. The tension edging the corners of her soft, rosy mouth attested to that truth. She wouldn’t abandon the child, no matter how dear the cost. No matter the sacrifice.
No matter that her own life was in danger.
And now, the truth of her quest had made Connor’s task immeasurably more difficult.
He had a mission, and he had a duty to complete it.
But could he endanger a child in his pursuit of the relic? Could he leave an innocent in harm’s way to ensure Cranston never got the supposedly cursed heirloom under his control?
Blast it, why did he have to give a damn?
“Tell me about the child,” he finally said, feeling Johanna’s gaze bore into his soul.
“She’s nine.” Johanna pressed her fingertips to her temples and rubbed the pads of her fingers against her flesh. “Quite precocious. The very image of her mother.”
“You’ve been caring for her?” Christ, why did he ask such a question? It didn’t matter to the Crown whether or not Johanna Templeton had nurtured the missing girl.
But somehow, it did to him.
Her lips pulled tight. A shimmer of moisture intensified the blue of her irises, but she blinked it away.
