“What about a Scot with a fiery temper?” Mackenzie marched to their side and thrust his hands on his hips. “Did you not know pickled bollocks are a Highland delicacy?” He turned to Lillian. “Beg your pardon, my lady, for my foul tongue.”
“You’re forgiven, Mackenzie.”
“I won’t get paid if I don’t report back,” the beast complained.
“I’d be more concerned about being hit between the eyes with a lead ball.” Lillian cocked the pistol. “Now, give me the name of the person who hired you.”
Fabian cleared his throat. “My wife is prone to sudden bouts of anger. I should do what she says else I can guarantee it won’t be pretty.”
“Your wife?” The news threw the beast off kilter. He shuffled from one foot to the other and held his rough hands up in surrender. “All right. I’ll tell you. It was Lord Cornell. He’s the one who hired me.”
“Cornell?” Lillian could not contain her surprise. The lord had never expressed a grievance. She lowered the pistol. Was Cornell the gentleman who paid Lord Martin to ruin her? Despite Vane’s effort to learn the truth, he had failed to uncover a name.
“His lordship hired me when he heard you were back from Italy.”
Fabian stepped closer. “And how did you know to come here?”
“I knew the Scot was following the lady.” He gestured to Mackenzie, who appeared affronted that anyone would have the nerve to pry into his business. “I tracked them back to the Eight Bells. The landlord said he knew nothing, but his doxy had heard talk of the Raven. When Trevane left Vauxhall without his sister, I knew you’d made your move.”
“That does not explain how you found the island.” Fabian balled his fists at his sides. Lillian supposed one could not offer a lady freedom if every rogue in London knew where she lived.
“I trailed you along the coast as far as Branscombe. Most people know the Scot. Most people know he lives on the island.”
Mackenzie’s cheeks ballooned. Lillian didn’t know whether he was ashamed or offended. Even so, she didn’t care how the blackguard had found them.
“Tell me what Cornell wants.” She stepped forward and aimed at the permanent furrows between the man’s brows. “Does this have anything to do with Lord Martin?”
Fabian inhaled sharply but said nothing.
The beast raised his hands. “All I know is his lordship won’t rest until he’s hurt your brother.”
“What do you know of Lord Martin?” Lillian gritted her teeth. “Tell me.” She was somewhat thankful the barrel of the pistol was empty. Whenever she thought of Lord Martin her head filled with a cloudy haze that obliterated all rational thought.
“His lordship mentioned him.” The rogue grimaced. “He said Lord Martin had done his job and now it was up to me to do mine.”
The words echoed in Lillian’s ears — goading her, taunting her like the spiteful gossips of the ton.
She pulled the trigger.
In her mind, she saw the deceitful Lord Martin crumple to the ground in a bloody heap.
Fabian gasped.
The rogue fell back in shock. The acrid scent of urine caught her nose, and she realised the terrifying man with the pockmarked face had piddled in his trousers.
“Make no mistake,” she said in a deadly tone, “the next time you cross me I shall blow a hole in your chest. One so large everyone will see you have no heart.”
A heavy silence filled the air.
Lillian lowered the pistol, turned on her heels and strode back to the castle alone.
Chapter Ten
“So, what shall we do with this sneaky scrote, my lord?” Mackenzie squared his shoulders and snarled at the thug hired to track down Lillian.
With a heavy heart, Fabian dragged his gaze away from the dejected figure of his wife in the distance. Perhaps he should chase after her, but gut instinct told him to give her some time alone before broaching the subject of Lord Martin. Clearly, the gossip making the rounds of the London ballrooms failed to convey the full measure of the story.
“Throw him in the dungeon for the time being.” Until in possession of all the facts, Fabian would be foolish to release the man. “He is to stay there until I decide what to do with him.”