Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

“Yes, of course, I can’t find out who he is, dammit. Kindred won’t tell me a bloody thing. He won’t even admit to a bloody thing.”

She looked at the clock beside the sideboard, gave him a fat smile. “Because I’m an excellent wife and partner, I am serving him up to you on a platter. Henry and Quincy should walk up to the front door with him very soon now.”

“The man who shot Lorry? What is this, Hallie? What are you talking about?”

“Early this morning, I had an informative encounter with Kindred. He told me the other man’s name. It’s Potter He’s also a stable lad for Lord Grimsby. He blamed Potter for everything, of course.”

Jason stared at his wife. “You’re telling me that Kindred spilled his guts simply because you asked him? I can’t believe that, Hallie. I threatened Kindred several times with a long voyage to Botany Bay, but still he wouldn’t tell me a single thing, claimed over and over, he was smoking his silver pipe when a rock comes flashing through the air to strike him in the head. I can’t believe he told you.”

“Big threats weren’t working on him, so I made a believable threat. Kindred said the ‘little bugger must believe he’s all safe’—and Kindred spit then—so I don’t think he was sorry to give up Potter’s name to me.”

He could but stare at her, this young woman who’d broken a man’s nearly weeklong silence early this very morning. He didn’t know whether to be happy or howl because she’d done it and he hadn’t. “Hallie, what did you threaten? Not to cut off his manhood, I hope.”

“Oh no, that’s not believable.”

“Tell me.”

Hallie sat forward, rested her chin on her steepled fingers.

“I told Kindred that I would strip him naked and have him walk behind my horse, hands bound in front of him, tethered to a rope. I told him we would ride all hereabouts—visit with every soul in the village, see all his relatives, his friends, his enemies, visit Lord Grimsby and the stables, and I would tell everyone what he’d done, and this would be the punishment for anyone who ever tried to harm either our horses or jockeys. He didn’t choose to believe me. He laughed, called me a cute little girlie, and surely I couldn’t be such a bold chit.”

Jason hadn’t realized what an excellent storyteller she was. He paused a beat, then, “And?”

“I had him stripped to his dirty hide, his hands tied together and looped to the end of a rope. I rode Charlemagne, holding the other end. He cursed, yelled I wasn’t a cute little girlie at all, and called me unnatural, among other charming names. When we were no farther than one hundred feet beyond Lyon’s Gate, just getting a good start toward the village, he gave it up. He screamed out Potter’s name, swore that Lord Grimsby had told Potter to visit his brother in Cranston until everyone forgot about the race. He cursed again and said it wasn’t fair that Dodger still won, that he bet Lord Grimsby wasn’t happy about that.”

Jason didn’t want to picture Kindred naked in his mind, but he did. Not an appetizing vision. Kindred was tall, but he had thin legs and a chest that sank inward. He had hair everywhere. Even on his back? He wasn’t about to ask his wife. “So Henry and Quincy went after this Potter fellow.”

“Yes. The key is to follow through on the threat. One must even be prepared to up the ante for repeat bad behavior. While I had him naked in the middle of the road, I told him if he personally ever tried to harm any of our horses or jockeys again, I would have his mother-in-law lead him about. The idiot said she didn’t like horses, to which I replied that she could ride in my lovely gig on a delightful sunny day, with him trotting behind her. He believed me. I told him to spread this around since it would be the official Lyon’s Gate punishment for any trouble at the racetrack.”

“Did Kindred tell you Lord Grimsby threatened him if he ever opened his mouth?”

“Oh yes. I simply said that a threat in the hand was worth any number of unseen threats in a bush, didn’t he think so? Then I looked him up and down, told him that the bunions on his toes were very unappealing.” She threw back her head and laughed and laughed, so pleased she was with herself.

Jason joined her, couldn’t help himself. What she’d done was worthy of Jessie Wyndham. When she was hiccupping and sipping water, he said, “Of course he believed you, since he was bare to the hide. Well, that’s that. You’ve taken care of everything.” Was that sour grapes in his voice? Jason was appalled at himself.

His wife was grinning at him, shaking her head. “Oh no, I merely scooped up the pawns. You’re going to flatten the black king.”

“Calling him a black king is giving him too much gravitas.”

“He’s only the first in a series of black kings who will know your anger.” He realized she was perfectly serious. He felt something expand deep inside him, something that made him feel grand, filled with energy and contentment. He realized it was conceit. “I haven’t yet been to confront Lord Grimsby because I wanted to know exactly why Elgin Sloane and Charles Grandison and he were so bloody close. I set inquiries in motion six days ago.”

“But you didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t tell me what you were going to do with Kindred either. Don’

t whine. The fact is that I would prefer to strip Lord Grimsby naked like you did Kindred. Unfortunately I don’t think I could get away with it.”

“Talk about an appalling sight—Oh well, I think that was very smart of you, Jason.” He heard admiration in her voice and it sent warmth flooding through him.

Petrie appeared in the doorway. “Master Jason, there is a small man here to see you. Very small in stature, not, I hope, in character. He says it is urgent.”

Jason tossed his napkin on his plate and rose. “That sounds like Mr. Clooney. Maybe I’ll be visiting Lord Grimsby this morning after all.”

She wanted desperately to go with him; she was his partner after all, but she knew deep in that well of knowledge she was convinced women were born with, that this was something he had to handle himself. She knew it was, simply, men dealing with men, drawing boundaries, meting out retribution for breaking rules.

“What about Elgin and Charles Grandison?”

“I’ll be sending a message over to Lord Grimsby, asking him to have them there when I arrive, if, that is, Mr. Clooney has answers for me.”