Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order 3)

Five.

“Mother of all saints!” His irate gaze shot in her direction. “Madam, it seems I have completely misjudged your character. You’re not a wallflower. You’re a pirate come to pillage and plunder.”

“I am considered somewhat of a paradox, sir.” Vivienne hunkered down and held her nerve. “That said, had my grandfather not risked his life to save Livingston Sloane, you would not exist. They drew the contract to honour the sacrifice made, to ensure an heir of Livingston Sloane couldn’t break the oath.”

He continued to mutter and curse beneath his breath.

“Should you fail to marry me, sir, I can make a claim against your estate. Your father may have built this house, but the land once belonged to Livingston Sloane.”

“How the devil do you know that?”

“I have a copy of the origi

nal deed. The copy given to my grandfather.”

“You seem to be extremely well-informed, Miss Hart.” Mr Sloane threw the document onto the sofa. He strode to the rosewood drinks cabinet and yanked the stopper from a crystal decanter. “How is it I am scrambling around in the dark?”

She knew the answer to that, too.

Lucian Hart kept his prized possessions in a mahogany tea chest. The heirloom had passed to Vivienne’s father and then to her. But while Lucian wished to ensure every family member knew of the debt, it was said Lady Boscobel destroyed her copy of the contract.

“Upon your grandfather’s death, Lucian Hart wrote to Lady Boscobel to remind her of your family’s obligation. In her reply, she wrote that Livingston Sloane was no longer her son. She denounced all claims. Refused to accept responsibility.”

Mr Sloane stood sipping his brandy. “And there lies the hypocrisy.” Bitterness tainted the velvet texture of his voice. “Lady Boscobel openly condemned her son but made sure my father inherited this land. I presumed she came to an arrangement with the Crown, for they usually confiscate the property of a pirate.”

“Livingston Stone served the Crown, so there was no need to intervene.”

“Yet there is no evidence to substantiate your claim,” he said, reluctant to accept her version of the tale.

Oh, but there was.

Vivienne sat, hands clasped in her lap, while he downed his drink and refilled the glass. She took a moment to observe her surroundings. The burnt sienna walls, the gilt-framed paintings and sumptuous gold furnishings confirmed Mr Sloane lived in the height of luxury. Having watched him move confidently through the ballrooms of the ton, impeccably presented, he seemed far removed from his swashbuckling ancestor—more in keeping with Lady Boscobel’s highbrow pretensions. Yet tonight, with his long hair flowing wild and free, and his shirt gaping at the neck, one might mistake him for a master of the high seas.

“I must admit to knowing nothing of your background, Miss Hart.” Cradling the brandy glass in one hand, he came and sat on the sofa opposite. “How is it the granddaughter of a privateer receives invitations to the grandest balls?”

Despite the distance between them, his commanding presence made her stomach flip and her legs tremble like a blancmange. Perhaps marrying such a formidable man was a terrible idea.

“I’m the great-granddaughter of Laird McFarlane.” The powerful laird’s influence stretched the length and breadth of the land and lasted long after his passing. “Sir Otterly Hart is my paternal great-grandfather. My mother and the Countess of Hollinshead were great friends because of their Scottish heritage.”

“Otterly Hart? The explorer?”

Pride warmed her chest. “Yes, he led an expedition to Antarctica, made many discoveries in the field of astronomy. Lucian Hart inherited the same love of the sea, the same need to conquer.”

Mr Sloane swallowed a mouthful of brandy, his gaze falling to her empty hands. “Forgive me. While in a state of shock, I forgot to offer you another drink.”

With her nerves hanging by a thread, and with so much information still to impart, she needed something to bolster her courage. “May I have what you’re drinking, sir? I should take something stronger, strive to keep the cold from penetrating my bones.”

“A wily whistle?” He swirled the amber liquid in the glass. “It’s one of my famous concoctions. Rum, whisky and sugar syrup, finished with a dash of sherry. It’s far too potent for a lady of delicate sensibilities.”

“Might I be so bold as to take a sip of yours, Mr Sloane? I would hate to waste good liquor.”

The fumes would scald her throat, but she would be this gentleman’s wife before the week was out and had to foster a certain intimacy.

The flash of surprise and the sparkle of curiosity in the man’s eyes said he was fascinated by her request. “If that’s your desire.” He leaned forward and offered her the glass. “Be warned. Strong liquor is said to stimulate one’s appetite for pleasure.”

Their fingers touched as she accepted the vessel. It took effort to maintain a confident smile, to hide the delicious shiver shooting to her toes. Vivienne brought the glass slowly to her lips, aware his gaze remained fixed on her person.

“I advise but a small sip.” The throaty tone of his voice conveyed caution and a touch of amusement.