Hello Stranger (The Ravenels 4)

In the past week, Ethan had made love to her twice more, managing to overcome her concerns with the perfect mixture of reassurance and temptation. The man was a silver-tongued devil. He spent long minutes whispering, kissing, caressing her, until every subtle movement sent delight humming through deep-secreted chords in her body.

Trying to keep her mind on the conversation, Garrett turned her mouth from his long enough to ask, “What are you planning to do when we return? Go to the Lord Chancellor? The Attorney-General?”

“I’m not sure who to trust,” Ethan said ruefully. “I think it’s best to put them all on the hook by making the information public.”

Propping up on her elbow, Garrett looked down into his face with a slight frown. “But you gave the evidence to Commissioner Felbrigg. Will we have to break into Lord Tatham’s safe again?”

“I kept a few extra pages,” he said. “Just in case.”

Her eyes widened. “Where did you put them?”

A lazy smile curved Ethan’s lips. He was a handsome sight, his skin gold-dusted in the light, his eyes dark and vivid blue. “Can’t you guess?”

“Somewhere in your flat?”

“I gave them to you.”

“To me? How . . . Oh.” Garrett laughed. “You wrapped them with the monkey picture.”

“I pasted an envelope to the back of it,” he said. “It contains the pages, and a copy of my will.”

Although Garrett had been about to ask more about the evidence, she was distracted by that last part. “You have a will?” she asked skeptically.

He nodded. “I named you as the sole beneficiary.”

Surprised and touched, Garrett said, “That’s very kind of you. But shouldn’t you leave your possessions to a relation?”

“My mother was cast off by her family. I’d never give them a farthing. And anyone on the Ransom side would put it to ill use. No, it’s all for you. When the time comes—hopefully none too soon—you’ll be well taken care of. My lawyers will help you through the patent rights transfers, not only here but abroad. Everything will be put in your name, and—”

“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” Garrett asked in bewilderment. “Patents for what?”

“For lock designs.” He began to toy with the trimmings on her dress, tracing the seams with his forefinger. “I have about three dozen. Most of them are insignificant and don’t turn a farthing in profit. But a few—”

“I call that impressive,” Garrett exclaimed, beaming with pride. “How many talents you possess. You’re going to be a great success someday—in some profession other than spying, I mean.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said, enjoying her praise. “But there’s more to tell you. You see—”

“Yes, tell me everything. When did it start?”

“It was while I was still apprenticing for the Clerkenwell locksmith. I’d worked out a way to make the standard cell locks pick-proof, by adding a stop-plate to the bolt. The prison governors—and the locksmith—had me draw the plans and write out the specifications, and then they took out a patent on the invention. They made a pretty penny on it.” With a cynical twist of his mouth, Ethan added, “They cut me out of the profits, since I was only a boy.”

“Scoundrels,” Garrett said indignantly.

“Aye,” came his rueful agreement. “But the experience put me in the learning of patent applications. In the years after that, whenever I came up with an improvement on an existing lock design, or a new prototype, I registered a patent under the name of an anonymous holding company.” He paused. “A handful of them still earn royalties.”

“How wonderful.” Her brain began to calculate possibilities. “If we add those to what I earn, someday we might be able to sell my house in King’s Cross and buy a larger one.”

For some reason, the statement seemed to disconcert Ethan.

Garrett’s face flamed as she realized the assumption she’d made. “Forgive me,” she said hastily, “I didn’t mean to imply—there’s no obligation—”

“Hush,” Ethan interrupted firmly, and pulled her head down to his. After quieting her with a long, searching kiss, he drew back and smiled at her. “You jumped to the wrong conclusion, love. Let me explain.”

“You don’t have to—”

His forefinger touched her lips in a brief caress. “I receive annual income from selling usage rights and privileges to manufacturers. Sometimes I take shares of a company in lieu of cash. I have stock and securities in more businesses than I could name offhand. I run everything through holding companies to remain anonymous. I employ three solicitors full-time just to handle patent infringements, and I have two others on general retainer.”

Slowly it dawned on Garrett that this so-called hobby of his was far more lucrative than she’d assumed. “But you said your patents were insignificant.”

“I said most of them are. But a handful turned out to be not so insignificant. A few years ago, I came up with the idea for a permutation lock.”

“What is that?”

“It’s an assortment of active and passive tumblers arranged around a central spindle, all enclosed in a ring that adjusts them—” Ethan paused as he saw her puzzled expression. “The kind of lock with a dial instead of a key.”

“Like the one on the cannonball safe?”

His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “Like that one.”

Perhaps it was the proximity of his warm body, or the gently wandering hand on her leg and hip, but Garrett’s dumbfounded brain was slow to work through the implications of what he’d just revealed. “Was that your design?” she managed to ask. “Is that how you knew how to open it?”

“Aye.” Ethan continued slowly, giving her time to digest the information. “Those locks are used by banks, shipping and railway companies, dockyards, warehouses, military outposts, government buildings . . . everywhere.”

Her eyes turned huge. “Ethan,” she began, and paused, unable to think of a civilized way to phrase it. “Are you rich?”

He nodded gravely.

“Regular-rich,” she asked, “or vulgar-rich?”

Leaning closer, he whispered near her ear, “Swiney-rich.”

Garrett gave a bemused laugh, then shook her head in confusion. “But then why would you work for Sir Jasper? It makes no sense.”

The question brought a troubled look to Ethan’s face. “By the time the patent royalties started coming in, I’d already been recruited by Jenkyn. I didn’t want to stop. He was a fatherly figure. His approval . . . his interest . . . meant a great deal to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her heart wrenching as she realized how painful Jenkyn’s vicious betrayal must have been for him, and perhaps would always be.

Ethan gave a short laugh. “I’ve never had much luck in the way of fathers.”

“Does Sir Jasper know about your patents?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve always been careful to cover my tracks.”

“Is that why you lived in an empty flat? To keep anyone from suspecting you had another income?”