Page 42 of A Stranger’s Promise

Damnation. There he was again. Captain Edwards—with angry eyes and—she stifled a laugh—and a large, purple bruise on his nose. He shot her a glare and her amusement vanished. For one long, horrible moment, she feared he would stop and confront her. Instead, he stuck out his jaw and rode on.

Once out of earshot, Alistair remarked, “Captain Edwards seems quite taken with you.”

She snorted. “Hardly.” Perhaps she should let him know of the Captain’s advances last night. The man certainly deserved the consequences.

“Do you not find him an honorable, tall, strapping fellow? Rather fetching?” Alistair asked.

“Honorable?” she blurted. “He is a despicable man.” Realizing her mistake, she hurried to add, “Forgive me, my lord, I should not speak of your guest in that manner.”

He threw his head back and gave a deep laugh. When his eyes met hers once again, they were filled with obvious relief. “Please, I beg you, speak more ill of the man. It brightens my mood.”

She blinked, then found herself mirroring his smile. “Then…you do not care for him?”

“I cannot bear the pompous fool,” he admitted. “He’s a chaperone to Lady Brexley, nothing more.”

The pompous fool. Her mood shifted and she glanced away. She had to tell the truth. “I was once engaged to him.” She kept her eyes directed at her lap. “Indeed, he is pompous beyond belief.”

“Were you madly in love?” he asked in a quiet voice.

She snapped her head up. “Devil take the man, but no. My father owed him a great deal of money. Truth be told, I was payment—and at sixteen years of age, I knew of nothing but how to agree.” She hesitated. “The scandalous circumstances surrounding my father’s death inspired the Captain to seek his freedom—for which I will ever be grateful. The man cares more for his reputation than anything else.”

“Ah, yes, the ten shillings.” Alistair snorted under his breath.

It took a moment for the words to sink in. She frowned, astonished. “How would you know that?”

His green eyes twinkled. “I heard this tale from your very own lips, Charlotte.” His grin went lopsided. “That first night, when the highland whisky loosened your tongue.”

Her cheeks warmed.

He cocked a brow. “We had best be off to Maidens for Lady Cassilis’s rouge. We will make a quick ride of it. It’s not far.”

He kicked his horse’s flank, and the animal broke into a trot. Charlotte threw her arms around Alistair’s neck. He laughed and urged the horse on as she buried her face against his shoulder and held on for dear life.

Ten minutes later, Alistair slowed the horse to a walk and Charlotte surveyed the small fishing village of Maidens perched on the shores of the Firth of Clyde. Gulls circled overhead as Alistair clattered down the cobbled lane, past the market cross to the dye-shop just off the main square.

He halted before a small, stone building, then dismounted and lifted her down from the saddle. Placing her lightly on her feet, he kept his strong hands around her waist until she looked up. He really did have the most unusual eyes, bright green, flecked with gray and blue and ringed with thick, dark lashes.

“My lord.” A male voice intruded upon the moment. “A good day to you.”

A small smile played over his lips as Alistair stepped back and Charlotte faced an old man with snow-white hair standing in the door of his shop.

“A right good day to you, Sean,” Alistair replied.

“I’ve a message for Nicholas,” the old man said. “If you’d be so kind as to tell him. He asked me to keep an eye out for strange happenings in Maidens, no matter how small.”

Alistair lifted an inquisitive brow. “What have you found?”

“It’s Thomas, my lord, Thomas Graves. You’d recall him, I’d think.”

Alistair knit his brows in thought. “Thomas? The same Thomas Graves who worked my father’s estate as a footman when I was a wee lad?”

“Aye.” The old man nodded. “One and the same, my lord, though he’s always been a worthless fellow, a rabble rouser, drifting from fight to fight.” He shook his head in disgust.

“So, what has this Thomas to do with Nicholas?” Alistair prodded.

“He’s struck it rich,” the shopkeeper answered. “A man who’s not done a day’s honest work in years. ’Tis odd. How he came into money is a mystery, but ‘twill be no mystery in how he loses it, with all the drink he’s after.”

Alistair’s dark eyes turned speculative. “Where might Thomas be now?”