Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order 3)

Mrs McCready’s eyes widened in horror. It took her a moment to catch her breath. “Och, no, lass, no. Yer mother wouldna have wanted to see ye married to a scoundrel. But there’s nae need to marry him now. Ye can claim all the treasure for yerself once we’re away from these shores.” She clutched Vivienne’s hand. “We’re off to Boston.”

Vivienne snatched her hand away. “I’m not going to Boston, and neither are you. The countess bought two tickets, though I’ve every reason to believe the second one is for the tea chest. You’re being duped.”

Mrs McCready frowned. “But the countess loves ye like a daughter.”

“Then it’s a blessing she has no children. The countess wants the treasure. She has waited patiently this last year, waited for me to take the contract to Mr Golding.”

Vivienne thought back to the last moments with her mother. From her sickbed, she implored Vivienne to find Evan Sloane. Evan Sloane would protect her. She had made no mention of the countess. Indeed, Vivienne recalled seeing a look of panic in her mother’s eyes when the countess entered the room. Panic Vivienne had thought stemmed from a fear of death.

“I’m in love with Mr Sloane. I trust him with my life.” Indeed, she could not imagine a life without him. “My mother urged me to trust him.”

“But he’s using ye for the treasure.”

Vivienne laughed. “There’s nothing in the chest but a pile of old letters.”

“Letters?” Mrs McCready’s mouth fell open.

“Yes, letters. The countess hasn’t the means to fund a life in Boston. You know she brought nothing to the marriage, and the earl will cut off all means of support. You’re sending me to my doom.” Vivienne watched the woman sag in the seat as realisation dawned. “Trust me. When Mr Sloane catches up with us, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Mrs McCready choked on a sob. “I meant nae harm. I was trying to save ye, lass.”

“Then if you wish to save me, you will help me steal the letters, help me return to Highwood.”

“Aye. I will. It’s the least I can do for the mess I’ve made.”

A sudden bang on the carriage window tore a gasp from them both. A man pressed his nose to the misty glass and gave a wide grin.

“Buchanan!” Vivienne flung open the door and threw herself into his embrace. “Merciful Lord! How did you find us?” Tears rolled down her cheeks. Relief pumped through her veins.

He hugged her tightly. “There now, lassie. All’s well. Yer gentleman rode like the devil to get here. Yer’d be mighty proud of his horsemanship.” He released Vivienne and turned on Mrs McCready. “And as for this witch. Happen the laird will be keen to hear about her treachery.”

Mrs McCready trembled. “Forgive me, Buchanan. I meant nae—”

“Tell that to the laird.” He muttered something in Gaelic before focusing on Vivienne. “Come now, lass, they’re all waiting inside.”

Buchanan escorted them across the muddy yard and into the crowded inn. People were too busy tending those injured in the accident to notice a woman wearing a nightgown beneath her cloak. He led her upstairs to a bedchamber with a beamed ceiling and a small poster bed, then went to speak privately with Mrs McCready.

Mr Ramsey and Lady Hollinshead sat perched on the sagging mattress, while Lord Hawkridge—or Mr Ashwood as he preferred—Mr D’Angelo and Evan Sloane all stood with their arms folded, glaring at the deceitful devils.

“Evan!” Vivienne ran into his open arms. She didn’t care who saw them embrace, who saw him stroke her hair, brush his thumb over her cold lips, clutch her to his chest.

“Are you all right?” His tone brimmed with concern, but there was no mistaking the steely edge. “Are you hurt?”

“No, just a little tired, and I have a terrible headache.”

“This is ludicrous!” the countess cried. “Move aside and let me leave, else I shall send for the magistrate. Innkeeper! Innkeeper!”

Mr D’Angelo chuckled. “And what will you tell him? That you abducted a woman from her bed so you might steal her jewels?”

The countess raised her chin. “Nonsense. I have simply come to the aid of my friend’s daughter. Mrs McCready said the girl was sick, being drugged by Mr Sloane so he might d

o away with her and keep the treasure. What crime have I committed?”

“You bought tickets for The Maybury,” Evan countered. “You knew we would find the treasure and have been planning to steal it for days.”

The lady’s eyes widened. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“That’s what we do, madam,” Mr D’Angelo said. “Hunt wicked devils who seek to harm the innocent.”