“I’m afraid you made a fatal mistake trusting Mr Ramsey.” Evan kicked Mr Ramsey’s shoe to get his attention, for he had consumed far too much wine and struggled to follow the conversation. “He told Bonnie of your plan. Sold information to Charles Sloane. You’ll both be arrested for theft and conspiracy to defraud. Half of the treasure is mine, and no doubt you would have taken your share.”
Mr Ramsey jumped in shock. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I—I did nothing other than protect Miss Hart’s interests.”
“Worry about your own interests,” Mr D’Angelo said. “I gathered your creditors and gave them the money to obtain a writ. By now, there’ll be a warrant for your arrest and a cosy little room waiting at the sponging-house.”
In shock, Mr Ramsey slipped off the bed. He scrambled to his feet. “No! No! I just need time to pay. Wait!” Spittle dribbled down his chin. “I just need … need—”
“Your share of the treasure,” Vivienne said, indebted to Mr D’Angelo for he knew how to hurt this devil. “What was it you promised Bonnie? A ruby for her loyalty?”
“Fool,” the countess grumbled. “Elspeth always said you had the sense of a donkey.”
“Do not dare speak of my mother like she’s kin.” Anger bubbled in Vivienne’s throat. Anger turned to rage. “Mr Ramsey told you what he’d learned from my father. While you were tending to my mother, you were pestering her for information, pestering Mrs McCready, too. My mother’s last moments should have been calm, peaceful, but I shall never forget the fearful look in her eyes.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve done nothing but care for you since she died.” The countess gave a mocking snort. “Is this any way to show your gratitude? Elspeth would be ashamed of you, gel!”
Vivienne might have slapped the sneer off the lady’s face had Evan not caught her wrist. “Though I feel your frustration,” he said, “don’t lower yourself to her level. Let’s hit her with the truth instead.”
Evan removed a key from his waistcoat pocket and opened the tea chest. He presented it to the countess who peered inside like a child at a confectioner’s window.
“Fur?” She jerked her head back, confused. “Fur?”
Mr Ramsey found his voice. “The gems are in a fur pouch. No wonder we couldn’t hear them rattling in the box.”
Vivienne reached inside and removed the letters wrapped in rabbit skin. “Our legacy amounts to nothing more than proof Livingston Sloane served the Crown.”
When Livingston died, no doubt it suited Cecil Sloane to have everyone believe his brother was a pirate. After all, should the truth about Cecil’s betrayal surface, who would believe the offspring of a criminal?
“Letters!” The countess could not contain her rage. “Letters! Ramsey, you imbecile. You said it was a chest full of precious gems.”
Mr Ramsey looked equally shocked and confused. “That’s what Mr Wicks told Bonnie. She assured me we never need worry about money again.”
D’Angelo laughed. “Money will be the only thing on both your minds for the foreseeable future. Ramsey, should you return to London, I’ll make sure the writ is enforced.”
“And don’t worry about Bonnie,” Mr Ashwood said. “Cole discovered something interesting. Sir Malcolm Langley, Chief Magistrate at Bow Street, now has evidence she runs a brothel from the back rooms of the Old Red Crow.”
Vivienne smiled. Only a fool would cross the gentlemen of the Order.
Evan closed the lid on the tea chest, the sudden snap making the countess jump. “And you seem to have come unstuck, Lady Hollinshead. The earl and his highbrow friends will learn of your treachery. It seems a trip to Boston might be just what’s needed.”
The countess’ arrogant bearing faltered. Her bottom lip quivered as she stared at the tea chest. “But I cannot possibly support myself in Boston, not without the … without the—”
“Treasure,” Vivienne spat. “I’m sure a lady with your cunning will devise a plan.”
Evan clutched the box and captured Vivienne’s hand. “I don’t know about you, but there’s somewhere else I would rather be. Something else I would rather be doing. I feel lucky tonight, and a game of questions is long overdue.”
“In your excitement, you’ve forgotten I have the devil’s luck.”
“I’ve not forgotten. It’s time I answered your questions, banished your fears.” His gaze drifted to her nightgown and the satin slippers covered in mud. “You’ll go with Ashwood in his carriage. It’s too cold to ride with me. And we will continue this conversation at Highwood.”
“D’Angelo can ride that beast of his, and I’ll take your horse,” Mr Ashwood said. “Sloane, you accompany Miss Hart in the carriage.”
Evan offered no challenge. “If you’re sure.”
A knowing look passed between the men.
The countess and Mr Ramsey started whining, lamenting the unfairness of it all, blaming each other, hurling accusations.
It was Mr D’Angelo who gripped Mr Ramsey by the throat and warned him not to try the patience of a man who dined with the devil.