Page 44 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
Chapter 12
“DidI not tell you it was a foolish ploy?” Gregory Carvelle’s hooded eyes were those of a lizard. “Bankers do not let go of money so easily.”
Kingsley stared down his nose at the man, reminding himself that he was a peer, the latest holder of a very old title. His family had helped rule this island for centuries. And Carvelle was merely the descendant of foreign tradesmen—dishonest ones at that.
In league with a devil, he was. He was being swallowed whole, inch by torturing inch. He rued the day his wife had brought him this plan, and the one that had come before that started the whole damnable mess.
Nay, he rued the day he’d married the woman with her spendthrift ways and her sordid connections. “We shall find her. She could not have gone far.”
The beady eyes sparkled. “Perhaps she has run to Shaldon.”
“She couldn’t possibly know that Farnsworth appointed him guardian in his absence.” He had not known himself until this morning.
“The daughter was friendly with her, Blanche said. And I did see Everly out on that balcony where she was found. He might have taken her that night. He is known for seducing women.”
“Ridiculous. If the chit could fight you off, Carvelle, she could resist a gentleman.”
Carvelle’s lips curled. “If she wished to.” He rapped the carriage roof and called for the coachman to halt. “I shall wait to hear how your debt will be paid. I shall not wait forever.”
“I’ll find the girl. The marriage agreements have been signed. Busy yourself with procuring the license.”
“Busy myself?” Carvelle raised an eyebrow. “A license? Perhaps a trip to Scotland is in order. Perhaps I’ll find her before you.” He disappeared into the busy mercantile street, snaking between delivery carts and the storekeepers opening shop.
Kingsley sank back against the velvet squab. The coach was a gem, the newest design, well-appointed and well-sprung, and, like the new draperies and upholstery at Kingsley House, came courtesy of the trust Captain Kingsley had set up for his daughter.
If he controlled the girl, he controlled the funds. The girl was his chip. He needed to find her before Carvelle.
Damn Blanche. She had mishandled her—the girl was as proud as her father. As a boy, every time a fist hit Tristan Kingsley, he’d struggled to his feet to take more. Like her father, the cut of the cane had only made the chit more defiant, more determined.
The coach turned into his square and slowed to a crawl. A plain hackney and two horses blocked the curb in front of his house. Two men in coarse coats and hats stood on the front steps.
The sight sent a chill rattling through him. Tradesmen would not linger on the front steps of a lord’s townhouse. This scene wasn’t hard to decipher. He’d seen their types enough running about town, poking, probing, and interfering.
They did no more than tip their dusty hats to him as he walked up the steps. Inside, the butler handed him a card.
His blood drained and then surged again pounding in his ears like an incipient apoplexy.
“He is in the front parlor, my lord.”
“Lady Kingsley?”
“She has not come down yet.”
Thank God. Blanche would only run at the mouth and start quarreling with—he looked at the card again—Sir Henry Laughlin. His mouth firmed. No man tolerated a quarrelsome woman well, but especially not a magistrate.
“Very well.” He started for the door but the butler stopped him.
“My lord.” He cleared his throat and looked at a spot on the wall. “There are men in the garden, digging.”
The garden? Blanche had made plans for the weed-infested space. She’d been studying designs, looking to appoint a new gardener. She’d moved things along much more quickly than expected.
Damn her spendthrift ways. “Very well. Her ladyship will be pleased her gardener has arrived, I’m sure.”
More throat-clearing stopped him.
“What the hell else?” he snapped.
“They are not gardeners, my lord.” The butler’s voice quaked. “They accompanied your visitor. They have unearthed an article of...” The butler paused and looked at his own shaking hands... “bloody clothing. It appears to have been one of Miss Kingsley’s dresses.”
