Mr Golding bent over the table and inserted a key into a lock hidden at the back. The whirring of cogs preceded the opening of yet another secret drawer. “There are a few letters here for you, yes. I must say it’s been a mighty strain on my heart, keeping them here all this time. But my father made me swear to abide by the oath, and I’m not the sort of man to break a promise.”
Guilt flared, for Evan cared nothing about a pact made seventy years ago. Not when he was the one forced to make the ultimate sacrifice.
“I doubt our relatives expected two strangers to marry. And for what? So they might share a chest of pirate gold.”
Mr Golding retrieved the letters from the velvet-lined drawer and hobbled back to his seat. “Who can say what motivated the men to invent the complicated scheme. Though I remember my father saying Livingston Sloane despised his family and hoped one of his ancestors might inherit his moral character.”
“Moral character?” Evan scoffed but caught himself. Livingston Sloane was not the dastardly pirate he’d been told to loathe. The man had been permitted to hunt foreign vessels in the Mediterranean. Alas, many in society thought the term privateer was a polite name for pirate.
“Both your ancestors detested society’s hypocrisy. Livingston Sloane told my father that an honest man was worth more to the world than the richest prince.”
Pride filled Evan’s chest. He agreed with the statement wholeheartedly, and yet he was the only Sloane who did not value money and position above all else. But an honest man would not marry a stranger in the hope of finding treasure.
“I don’t believe our ancestors want us to marry,” he said. “I believe it is another test to determine our strength of character. To test the depth of our greed.”
Mr Golding pursed his lips and thought for a moment. “You must do what you feel is right, Mr Sloane, even if your choice proves unpopular. Unless I’m mistaken, that is the point your grandfather wished to make.”
“But what are we to do about our pressing problem?” Miss Hart sounded alarmed.
“Rest assured, I shall discover the identity of the devil who seeks to steal our grandfathers’ legacy.” Evan fought the urge to grab the lady’s hand and tell her she had nothing to fear. But he could not protect her night and day. She would return to Silver Street, and he would be five miles away in Little Chelsea.
“Having consulted the notes, I am obliged to offer you a choice.” Mr Golding pushed the clutter of papers aside and placed two sealed letters on the desk. “This is the letter you must choose if you fail to abide by the terms of the contract.” He pointed to the one with a sketch of a swallow perched on a dagger.
Something about the symbol often used by his ancestor roused a crippling sense of dread. Was Miss Hart the delicate creature teetering on the edge of disaster, the one left to fight the blackguard alone?
“Should you choose this option, you will both r
eceive the sum of a thousand pounds and may leave this office without further obligation. Of course, Miss Hart may wish to make a claim for compensation—recompense for the unpaid debt.”
“A thousand pounds?” Miss Hart repeated as if tempted to accept.
“Are you saying if we take the money, the debt to Lucian Hart will be considered unpaid?” Evan attempted to confirm.
Mr Golding’s pale lips thinned. “Yes, Mr Sloane. I shall record that Livingston Sloane’s descendant failed in his obligation to honour the vow.”
Hell’s teeth.
The words were like a sharp blade stabbing Evan’s conscience.
“However, should Miss Hart decide she cannot abide by the pact, then the letters remain sealed until two other descendants come forward to claim the right. Though it will be my nephew who deals with all future matters.”
As Evan had no intention of marrying or siring an heir, the contract would be void, the legacy lost. He found the thought unsettling.
Mr Golding directed their attention to the other letter, the one with a sketch of a heart wearing a princely crown. “Should you agree to marry and honour the contract, you will receive this letter along with permission for the archbishop to grant you a special licence. Though I must warn you. To satisfy the conditions stipulated by your ancestors, you must prove you hold some affection for each other. I have the right to deny your request, to stop proceedings.”
Miss Hart gasped. “Proof? What proof would you need?”
A faint blush crept across Mr Golding’s cheeks. He consulted the notebook twice to be sure. “You must seal the pact with a kiss, Miss Hart.”
Chapter 8
“A k-kiss?” Vivienne stuttered. “You want me to kiss Mr Sloane while you bear witness?” Her pulse thumped hard in her throat. Not that she hadn’t imagined kissing the gentleman—she had considered it twice during breakfast—but not while Mr Golding assessed their performance.
“I cannot believe Lucian Hart intended his relative to make a spectacle of herself in a lawyer’s office.” Mr Sloane gestured to the tatty black notebook on the desk. “Might I see the entry? Might I see where it states a sign of affection is necessary?”
Mr Golding folded the corner of the page, then closed the notebook and handed it to Mr Sloane. “Marriage is a serious affair. Sacrifices must be made when two people come together. This is a test of your mettle, so to speak.”
“My mettle?” Vivienne snorted. “Kissing a man I hardly know in front of a witness seems a cruel way to test one’s nerve.”