Page 24 of Her Wicked Highwayman
Mr. Fellows ushered his son out of the house. Lord Caddington lingered in the doorway. His presence continued to make her skin crawl.
“Should you remember anything, you would do well to inform me at once.”
“Of course, Lord Caddington. I’ve kept your card, and I shall not misplace it.” She flashed the card for him to see.
Glaring at her, he lowered his voice but didn’t hide the menace oozing from it. “Anyone harboring knowledge about fugitives of the law will be put to death, even pretty young ladieslike you.” He smiled at her, the expression showing far too much teeth.
“I certainly would not wish to supportfugitives, my lord,” she replied seriously. Diana waited patiently for him to leave, with a bland expression upon her face.
He pulled on his riding gloves before he leaned in and whispered, “You might believe you are clever, Miss Fox, but I assure you, you are nothing more than a vessel for men to slake their basic lusts upon. And I would have no qualms reminding you of that.” With that, Caddington walked down the steps to his horse, as if he hadn’t just threatened to rape her.
Diana held still, heart slamming against her ribs. Peele came to stand beside her.
“I could shoot him and bury him in the back gardens,” the butler suggested, his tone icy. He must have heard what Caddington had said. Peele was excellent at hiding in the shadows and not being noticed unless he was needed, and Caddington was not the sort to notice servants.
“I am tempted to let you,” Diana said as Caddington rode away. She had a terrible feeling that she would see far more of him than she would like. And then a rather wicked thought entered her mind. If Caddington had too much money on his hands, then perhaps she would relieve him of some as well. That was certainly a man she would feel no guilt about stealing from.
“Please tell the footmen to meet me in my study. It’s time to formulate our plan.”
I will show Caddington just how clever I can be.
Rafe saton the large settee in the Lennox library. Isla was cozied up beside him as they feasted on a tray of tarts they’dnicked from the kitchens. Most likely, Mrs. Gibbs had left the tray unguarded on purpose for them. She did so adore spoiling him, and now Isla as well. The dear old woman.
“What say you, kitten? Is cherry better than the apple?” He stretched an arm over the back of the couch. His little girl licked her fingers and grinned up at him. The tray they’d stolen had a mix of both apple and cherry tarts.
“Cherry is much better, Papa,” said Isla. “Apple is sweet, but I like the tartness of cherry.” Her adorable little brogue made his heart clench.
He stroked a lock of hair back from her face. “Spoken like a true connoisseur.”
She yawned and leaned her head into the crook of his arm. “What is a con—ah—sir?”
“It means you are an expert judge in matters of taste.”
“Hmmm...” Isla burrowed closer to him. “Are ye a connoisseur, Papa?”
Rafe considered her question. “I suppose I am a connoisseur of fine ladies and sparkling treasures,” he answered with a chuckle. He’d been plagued all day with thoughts of that little vixen-turned-thief he’d abducted last night. Her eyes had certainly sparkled as bright as any of the finest jewels he’d ever stolen.
Isla raised her little face to look at him. “Will ye find me a new mama?”
“A new mama? What’s all this now?” Rafe brushed his thumb over her little cheeks.
“Uncle Ash says I need a good mama, but he thinks... he thinks ye dinna ken how to find one.”
“Uncle Ash is a busybody,” Rafe muttered. “And I do know how to find a mama for you, but I haven’t found the perfect one yet. And you deserve the best mama, don’t you think?”
“I suppose... if she is verra kind and verra smart,” Isla murmured. “And if she likes to tell me stories and would eat cherry tarts... with us.” She yawned as her lashes fell onto her cheeks.
“All right, kitten, time for you to be in bed.” Rafe took her into his arms and stood. He carried the girl up to the nursery, and under her nanny’s care, she was soon ready for bed. She clutched the doll that he’d bought her in Edinburgh as he tucked her in and pressed a kiss to the girl’s head.
“Ye must kiss Mrs. Crumpet,” she demanded, and held out her doll.
Chuckling, Rafe pressed a kiss to the doll’s forehead as well.
“Good night, kitten. And good night, Mrs. Crumpet.” He stroked Isla’s hair back from her face.
But Isla was not quite done fighting off sleep. “Ye willna go away again?”
“Not for a while,” he promised.
