Page 27 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
Chapter 8
Charley found his eldest brother, Bink Gibson, in the kitchen, his large frame folded onto a chair at the servants’ table, a steaming cup in front of him. The fragrance of coffee filled the air.
“Coffee for me also, Windle,” Charley said.
“What’s afoot, Charley?” There was no rancor in the question, and Bink did not get up. All they lacked was a plate of eggs and the morning news sheets.
The back door opened and a dark-eyed, dark-haired man of middle age and some height entered. “All’s well on the perimeter.” He shook moisture off his hat. “Morning, Charley.”
Charley groaned, and relief mixed with...what?
Happy heshouldbe that Kincaid, his father’s favorite henchman, Bink’s uncle by marriage, was along. If there was a villain to be disposed of, Kincaid would step up and oblige. He’d done so for Bink.
But Bink was a veteran of the Peninsula. He’d had nothing to prove.
“And who is watching out for Paulette?” Charley asked.
“As it happens, she’s gone down to Sussex for a few days with the Cathmores and Hackwells. Your timing is providential, little brother.” He turned and straddled the bench, stretching his long legs. “You’ve sent for Shaldon, so I take it he’s not the villain in this drama.”
There was no smile on Bink’s lips, but his eyes sparkled. He’d visited this house a few months before, protecting Bakeley’s intended from their father.
Kincaid looked from one to the other, his face devoid of expression as usual.
Charley took the cup Windle handed him and tamped down his anger. “There’s a lady upstairs whose guardian himself caned her so that she cannot rest on her back. Is that not right, Mrs. Windle?”
“Aye. And I’ve never seen such on a girl. The man himself should be thrashed.”
“All to persuade her to marry the man of his choice.”
Kincaid took a deep audible breath, his only reaction. Bink’s mouth firmed and he got to his feet. “Let’s go to the parlor, and let Mrs. Windle have her kitchen. Kincaid?”
The other man shook his head. “I'll wait here for the others.”
“What others?”
“The ones coming from Shaldon House.”
Of course. The ones bringing Miss Kingsley’s servants.
In the sparsely furnished parlor, Charley lit candles and then paced to the yawning fireplace and back again across the room.
“Who is the prospective groom?” Bink asked.
“Gregory Carvelle.”
Bink frowned. “Fill me in.”
“A Huguenot smuggler. A weasel in pilgrim’s clothing. Some also say he runs an enterprise that extends into the West Indies.”
Bink grunted. “Plenty of privateering there also.”
With the demise of Spain in the new world, the Caribbean was ripe for exploitation. The newest war against piracy was there.
“And the girl?” Bink asked.
“Graciela Kingsley. The wealthy heir of Captain Kingsley and his Spanish colonial wife. He left for the new world decades ago, took up citizenship and the religion, made a fortune in furs and hides and whatnot.” He had found out that much yesterday, though thewhatnotwas still a bit murky.
“The captain who has not returned. I heard he is dead.”
