At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

“Good God, man,” Miles said, shocked the steward hadn’t an ounce of fight in him. “Stand up. Anyone would think I’ve beaten you to a pulp.”

The steward scrambled to his feet and took flight again, tripping and stumbling until he landed face-first in the copper-coloured ferns.

“There is nowhere left to run, monsieur.” Dariell laughed. “And Greystone, he is not a man who takes kindly to deceit. Honesty is your only friend. Honesty might save your life. Think about that while your nose is pressed into the dirt.”

Miles stared at Gilligan’s sprawled body. From the rapid rise and fall of his chest, clearly, he was alive. No doubt he was taking time to contemplate his options.

“You’re working for someone,” Miles snapped. “Tell me his name, and I shall let you live. Tell me his motive, and I shall let you leave here.”

Miles had experience when it came to bartering for goods and information. That’s how he’d made his fortune. Gilligan was of no interest to him. Desperate people did desperate things. He could crush the man in an instant if that was what he truly wanted.

“I shall count to three, Mr Gilligan,” Miles said in the frosty tone that could freeze a man’s blood in his veins. “You will tell me what I want to know, or I will put an end to the matter here and now.”

Miles locked eyes with Dariell, who bowed his head respectfully.

“One!” Miles’ menacing tone sent the crows scattering from the boughs above. “Two!” He cracked his knuckles merely to intimidate. “Three!”

“Wait.” Gilligan moved. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything once you’ve escorted me out of the woods.”

“You’ll tell me now, Mr Gilligan, else you’ll not be leaving here.”

Miles had spent enough time running around in circles. Impatience had got the better of him. He had no time for this nonsense. Not when he had a shipping company to run, a new business venture to oversee and a beguiling woman he wanted to marry.

“I want a name, Mr Gilligan.” Miles dragged the steward to his feet.

Gilligan stared at Miles in terrified silence. His bottom lip quivered, and still, the man managed to form an odd grin. “I … I’ve been working for … for Lord Randall.”

“Randall?” Miles had expected him to say Edwin. Particularly when he’d had no dealings with the dandified lord. “For how long?”

“Four months. Since one of his recent visits to Dunnam Park.”

Miles might be lovesick, but he failed to see the connection. Had Gilligan said a week it might be a different story. Jealousy would be the motive.

He glanced at Dariell, who returned his gaze with a curious twitch of a brow.

“And what was Lord Randall’s purpose approaching you?”

Gilligan scanned the woods as if fearing the fop lurked in the shrubbery. “I—I was to make sure the Harridan-Jones brothers lost at cards. I hired card sharps so I might take their vowels and give them to Lord Randall.”

The mere mention of his brothers’ names caused bile to bubble up to his throat. Miles recalled the night he threw Gilligan’s lackeys out of his house. Gilligan paid them for their skill at cheating. Did Edwin and Stephen know they were about to be fleeced? Had Miles known of the steward’s plans, he’d have let the game go ahead.

“In return for what?” Miles said, though suspected the answer was money. “What did Randall promise you?”

Gilligan’s head lolled to the side. “That he … that he’d keep my secret. That he wouldn’t tell Miss Lovell I was st-stealing from the Greystone Estate.”

Lord Randall knew of the steward’s betrayal and had not eased Lydia’s fears? Miles recalled the pained look in her eyes at that first meeting.

“You bastard.” Anger burst to the fore when Miles recalled Lydia’s eagerness to defend the steward. “You preyed on Miss Lovell’s kind heart and warm nature. You took money from her whenever she had spare funds. She thought she was helping the tenants and all the time she was lining your blasted pocket. God damn, have you no conscience?”

Miles clenched his fists, ready to rip the man’s head from his shoulders.

Dariell placed his hand lightly on Miles’ arm. “Let us return to the matter of Lord Randall. Else I fear this might become—how you say—messy.” His soft melodic tone brought calm to any situation.

Miles drew a deep breath to master his temper. “And yet you’re still working for Randall, despite the fact Miss Lovell and the whole of Cuckfield know the depth of your betrayal.”

The steward’s gaze dropped to his boots. His whole body shook. “I’ve no choice.”

Was he crying?