Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order 3)

Not in any danger?

Suddenly everything fell into place.

Vivienne gritted her teeth, recalling how terrified she’d been when the carriage overturned in the field. “Your nephew purchased the plague masks from Mrs Mulligan’s costume shop. He followed me to Keel Hall because it was your idea I go there.” Her temper flared. “Mr Sloane is right. I could have been killed in that accident just so you could follow instructions.”

“Forgive me,” Mr Golding pleaded. “The drunken fool was supposed to fire into the air, not at the coachman.”

“You! You destroyed the painting of Livingston Sloane!” With a face like thunder, Evan shot to his feet.

“No, no, no. I took the painting for safekeeping, threw some old bits of wood into the fire to make it seem as if someone wanted to steal your legacy.” Mr Golding started shaking. “Please. Please. If you will just calm your tempers and listen. Please. I doubt my heart can take any more stress.”

“Stress!” Evan spat. “My life has been an utter nightmare since learning of the contract.”

A sharp pang in Vivienne’s chest made her catch her breath. It had been far from a nightmare. She’d had the most wonderful time of her life.

Evan suddenly caught himself. His eyes locked with hers.

She tore her gaze from his, pressed her lips together to halt her tears.

“Let me tell you everything,” Mr Golding pleaded, oblivious to her inner torment. “Then you may continue as planned.”

Evan dropped into the seat. She could feel him watching her, staring, but she focused on Mr Golding. “Let me save you the trouble. You told me to go to Keel Hall and discuss the contract with Mr Sloane. You and your nephew followed me there. Being a gentleman, you knew Mr Sloane would insist his coachman take me home. Then, while your nephew shot at us, you entered Keel Hall and took the painting.”

“Yes. I’m ashamed to say that is how it happened.”

“Yet you couldn’t have known we would have an accident, or that Mr Sloane would ride to our rescue. How would you have taken the painting otherwise?”

Mr Golding dragged his hand down his face. “We surveyed the house, knew the window was often left open, knew to wait until the coast was clear. I had terrible trouble climbing under the raised sash and had to give the jarvey three sovereigns for his help.”

Vivienne had no sympathy.

“How did you know where to find the painting?”

“You told me the butler let you into the drawing room to examine the painting of Livingston Sloane.”

Heavens! She had told him that.

“You must understand, my dear, when you first came to me with the contract, my heart leapt at the prospect of helping you secure the legacy. I feared Sloane and Hart’s scheme would die with me, and it would have all been for nothing.”

“You wished to ensure I played my part,” Evan said coldly. “That’s why you took the painting. As the grandson of a pirate, you knew I would never let anyone steal my bount

y.”

“I had to bring you together. I had to make sure you found the treasure, else I would have tossed and turned in my grave for all eternity.”

It was Buchanan’s turn to lose his temper. “So one of ye devil’s broke into the house in Silver Street, made a hell of a mess and left a plague mask to frighten the lass to death.”

An icy chill ran down Vivienne’s spine.

She’d spent sleepless nights waiting for the devil to return.

Fear had taken her to Mr Golding’s office.

Desperation had taken her to Keel Hall.

Mr Golding cradled his head in his hands. “The intruder was the impetus needed to give Miss Hart the courage to visit Mr Sloane.”

Buchanan muttered in Gaelic. “The sooner I get the lass out of this miserable place and back to the Highlands, the better.”