Livingston Sloane’s blood flowed in Evan’s veins. The man standing opposite was also his kin. It was up to Evan to decide if they remained estranged, or if he could do something to heal the rift. Charles Sloane was not to blame for his grandfather’s choices. Evan had spent years coming to the same conclusion about his own fate.
However, Charles was responsible for aiming a pistol at their heads.
“I’m keeping the box, Charles, but shall give you the letter incriminating your grandfather, on the condition you answer my questions. The first being, where did you get that mask?”
“The mask? Does it matter?”
“It matters.”
Charles shrugged. “A gentleman by the name of Ramsey came to see me. He had information to sell. He’s the one who told me you were following clues to a chest of pirate treasure.”
Damn Wicks and his drunken mouth.
Damn Bonnie and her loose morals.
Vivienne muttered her condemnation. “Mr Ramsey gave you the mask because he knew we’d been shot at by a plague doctor.”
“He sold me the mask given to him by his informant, said it would be the perfect disguise.”
“Bonnie!” Vivienne huffed. “Someone needs to teach that woman a lesson.” She directed her annoyance at Charles Sloane. “I suppose you followed us here from London.”
Charles hesitated. “I—I knew Livingston’s clues would lead you to Highwood. I’m staying locally at—”
“The coaching inn in Potton,” Evan declared. “This is a small village, Charles. My steward received word you were in the area.”
While Charles cursed, Vivienne looked aghast. “You knew he was here yet didn’t tell me.”
“Bradmore wasn’t completely certain.” Evan had carried the guilt of it all day. “But I didn’t want you pulling a pocket pistol from your thigh belt and getting yourself killed. You should be pleased. My first thought was to lock you in your bedchamber.”
He’d rather suffer an argument than lose her.
“Surely you suspected someone would follow us here, Vivienne. Someone determined to steal our treasure. And we did find treasure. To Charles, the letter is worth a king’s ransom.”
“My mind has been so consumed with solving the clues, I’ve thought of little else.”
Had she not thought of their heated kisses and passionate romps? Had she not thought these feelings they shared ran deeper than mere admiration?
“We wouldn’t be standing here had you not made your intelligent deductions. Charles would have gone to his grave, knowing one day someone would stumble on the truth.”
Charles gave a mocking snort. “If you were expecting me to make an appearance, why dig in the dark? Why not arm yourself and lie in wait?”
Because Evan was tired of playing games—unless it was one of questions and commands, he would never tire of that—tired of racing about like a Bedlamite.
“I have a blade in my boot and could hit you between the eyes before you took aim. But Buchanan would likely shoot you first.”
Evan gestured to a point beyond Charles’ shoulder.
The Scot stepped out from the trees. “Aye, just say the word, and I’ll put a lead ball between his brows.”
“But I don’t need to pull a blade, Charles. And Buchanan doesn’t need to fire his pistol. No, I estimate in three seconds you’ll be on the ground, injured and disarmed.”
It took two seconds for Evan’s
words to penetrate his cousin’s brain. Then the fellow jumped in fright. Too late. For the last few minutes, D’Angelo had been moving stealthily towards them.
D’Angelo moved like a panther in the darkness, fiercely sleek, determined and deadly. His black eyes held a vicious hunger, a need to savage every man who posed a threat. He pounced. A few swift punches and Charles lay bleeding on the ground, D’Angelo hovering over him brandishing the pistol.
“Am I to shoot him, Sloane? We could weigh him down and throw him in the lake, let him rot there until he’s but a slimy bag of bones.”