Page 49 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
McCollum’s lips tightened like the line between his bushy brows. “Perhaps it is now time to call in a magistrate, as I suggested to Kingsley earlier.”
“No,” Charley said, and “No,” she said, at the same moment.
He touched her cheek. He could not help himself.
“How quickly do they want the funds?” he asked.
“In two days.”
“Or they will ruin your reputation?”
McCollum nodded. “Aye.”
“And cause a run upon the bank,” Bink said.
“We will not allow that.” Graciela scooted to the edge of her seat and waved the sheet of paper. “Mr. McCollum, these recent sizeable withdrawals have bought me gowns, but they have also purchased wardrobes for the Kingsleys and their servants, a new town coach, and furnishings for their house.” Her voice shook. “I sailed on some voyages with my father. I know how hard-fought was the earning of this money. And yet, I see, you have waged your own battle against my guardian and his greed. Your investments have been profitable. It is not as bad as I would have expected. It appears you have managed the money to your best, in spite of his mishandling. It is why, I suppose, my father chose you.”
McCollum studied her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
Charley’s heart swelled. She was a surprise, his Graciela.His fiancée.
He found he did not mind the designation.
His eyes strayed to her tight-laced bodice and his mind raced to a wedding night. He could drop her at Shaldon House, head for Doctors’ Commons, and marry her tomorrow. He would have to forge her guardian’s signature, unless Shaldon had arrived in their absence.
“But what of this solicitor, Mr. Watelford?” Her question brought him back from his ruminations. “He did indeed lay a trap for me.”
“He assured me that was not his doing.”
“You spoke with him?” Charley asked.
“Yesterday.”
Yesterday. And Kingsley and Carvelle had come to the bank today. They would be watching the bank. They would plan a similar trap for Graciela here. He looked at Bink, who nodded.
They had planned for it.
“My staff is trustworthy,” McCollum said, “and the bank is well-guarded.”
Indeed, it was well-guarded. Most of the bank’s customers were their men. Any attempt on Graciela—or Paulette—would be thwarted once again. As to the trustworthiness of the staff, he was not sure. The clerk who’d admitted them had been entirely too curious.
“Go on,” Charley said. “What else did Watelford say?”
“He mentioned the terms of the marriage settlement with Mr. Carvelle. Are you aware of them, Miss Kingsley?” He tapped the desk some more, this matter clearly causing him dismay. “Of course not. With Lord Farnsworth gone, and Lord Shaldon away, as someone else concerned with your welfare, Watelford talked to me. Upon your marriage to Carvelle, a portion of your money was to be settled immediately upon Lord Kingsley.”
“The same amount as the ransom?” Charley asked.
“No. It would be approximately one-quarter of your remaining funds.”
“The rest to Carvelle.” Her voice shook.
He nodded. “Once married, your wealth becomes his.”
“Unless the trust or the marriage settlement specifies that the wife keep control of her money.” Charley took her other hand in his. Her gaze had dropped to the mahogany carving that circled the base of the mammoth desk.
“He s-sold me for a c-commission of twenty-five percent.”
He moved a hand to her back, remembered her wounds, and touched her arm. “You will not release that money, McCollum.”
