Page 90 of Too Scot to Handle
It could work marvelously, and the day was quickly coming right—for Win.
Miss Anwen stared over his shoulder as if a lot of dusty old books might start performing the minuet on their dusty old shelves.
“So you’ll see Lord Colin condemned in the court of public opinion even if the magistrate finds no evidence to bind him over. Scandal will close the orphanage if a lack of funds doesn’t, while you gain a wife, means you did nothing to earn, and commiseration from your many friends for the troubles you’ve endured.”
He hadn’t thought about the commiseration. Commiseration was always lovely.
“I am marrying a woman of some discernment,” Win said. “I will leave in your graceful hands the delicate matter of explaining particulars to Lord Colin. He has until Monday, no need to thank me. I am a gentleman, after all, and compassion should inform my every decision. I am content that I’ve prevented a lady I esteem from being ruined by a Scottish rogue.”
Miss Anwen said nothing, which boded well for their marital accord. Win kissed her cheek and left her in the empty office. He really ought to have a chat with the magistrate with all due haste, but that would mean locating same, and a trip to Bow Street. Monday was soon enough for those dreary undertakings. The funds were gone, and a day or two’s delay wouldn’t change that.
A consultation with Win’s gold pocket watch assured him the fellows would be gathering at the club to lament the damage done by the infernal card party. Too bad for them. For Win, a celebratory glass or three was in order before he presented himself at his papa’s dinner party.
Also some hair of the dog. Rather lot of hair of the dog, for matters could not be turning out any better.
Chapter Seventeen
“MacDeever spent the night with his lady friend,” Colin said. “He had his keys with him, so they couldn’t have been stolen, but he says the locks in the building are so old they can be forced or opened without a key.”
Anwen sat on the chairman’s desk where the strongbox was usually to be found, an odd perch for a lady. Her air was distracted, though her calm didn’t fool Colin.
“I forced one of the locks when we searched the unused wing,” she said. “I used my hairpin, remember? If Win Montague learned of that, he’d be sure to let the magistrate know.” Her tone was flat, beyond bitterness, beyond resignation or even despair.
“Has Montague been spreading his foul talk again?” Montague had driven his phaeton out of the mews at a rattling trot, denying Colin even a nod of parting.
“I hate him, Colin. I thought I hated the quadrille, long sermons, serious illness. I don’t. I hate Win Montague.”
Colin took Anwen in his arms. She remained passive in his embrace, and that troubled him.
Scared him witless, in fact. “Tell me, love. What has Montague done now?”
Anwen felt small and brittle in his embrace. Her fire was down to coals, and Colin would shelter the flame they held with his life if necessary.
“He will have you arrested on Monday morning, and if I were you, I’d be very careful no one has access to your domicile between then and now. Win will put a sack of coin under your pillow or otherwise incriminate you with more than gossip. He can do it too, Colin. You were right not to underestimate him.”
For a moment, Colin simply held his beloved, because he needed to stay near her goodness and dearness.
“What’s the rest of it?”
“In the alternative, I can marry him, and you will be allowed to slip away quietly as a gentlemanly courtesy extended by Mr. Montague to a distant family connection. You’ll be a wanted man, and my family must compensate the orphanage for the missing funds, but nobody will hang for stealing. The House of Urchins will be demolished in any case.”
Was there an uglier verb in the language than “to hang”?
“Anwen, I did not take that money.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she said. “Neither did I, but such is Winthrop Montague’s honor that he’ll intimate from every club and race meet that I planned the entire card party so I could steal the proceeds. I’m withdrawn and eccentric, a difficult woman, much indulged by my family. I had no maid sleeping in my dressing room to attest to the fact that I fell into bed exhausted and barely stirred until I joined you here this morning.”
“To accuse you makes no sense,” Colin said, holding her more closely. “You love this place, and you have no motive to steal from children. Don’t let Win’s fancies frighten you into marrying him.”
She kissed him, a gesture of faith in a desperate conversation. “I’d kill him before the vows were consummated, Colin, which makes me as bad as he is. I won’t blame you if you take ship for Scotland. This situation will sort itself out, and my family will stand behind you. I’ll join you in Scotland, and there’s nothing Win Montague can say to it.”
He kissed her back, a gesture of determination. “What about the boys, Anwen? I’ve given them and you my word that they’ll not be tossed to the elements for Montague’s convenience or my own.”
She eased away and began a perambulation about the room. “I gave them the same promise, but I won’t lose you to Montague’s vile games, Colin. The boys had nothing to add to what we know, and they still think you should beat the stuffing out of Montague.”
“And be arrested for assault?”
“No, actually.” Her smile was wan. “Dickie explained that if you haven’t any witnesses, and you say Win fell down the steps, and Win says you pushed him, no arrest can follow. It’s a difference of opinion. Quite the little barrister.”
