Page 3 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“Yes.”
“Good.” Steepling his fingers, he watched her over clean, even nails that confirmed Johanna’s suspicion—this was not a man who labored with his hands. “If we are to achieve our mutual goals, it is imperative that you avoid any attempt to deceive me.”
“I would not be so foolish.”
He inclined his head, a subtle gesture. “You’ve brought the item?”
Johanna met his piercing gaze. Was it possible he could actually hear her heart thudding against her breastbone? She held the eye contact. Anything less would betray vulnerability she could ill afford.
“Of course.”
“Very good.” He studied her again, seeming to search for some hint of trickery. He drummed the fingers of his right hand against the tabletop in a maddeningly even rhythm.Tap.Tap.Tap.
She pulled in a breath, slow and easy, and released it. “You offered my niece’s safe return. I am prepared to make the exchange. But first, I must see that she is unharmed.”
Something that resembled a smile quirked one corner of his mouth. “You are in no position to be setting terms. Your willingness to comply with my instructions will determine my actions from this point forward. Rest assured, I am willing to do whatever it takes to procure the object the girl’s father stole from my employer. No harm will come to the child…for now.”
“And her father?”
His head moved slowly from side to side. “He is no longer a concern.”
Her stomach lurched. Bile rose to her throat. She choked it back. “You did this?”
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?”
