“What is it, Hergus?” Shanna inquired, grateful for the interruption.
The servant moved nearer. “I did not mean to intrude, but as you told me to hurry I thought I’d better ask. What have ye in mind to do with these?”
Shanna’s breath caught sharply in her throat as Hergus held up the cloak and coat Ruark had left behind in the carriage. Ralston frowned slightly as he noted them to be a man’s garments and peered at Shanna questioningly. She rose to the test of her wit and, sighing pensively, went to take them from Hergus. Almost tenderly she caressed the soft velvet fabric of the coat.
“ ‘Twas Ruark’s,” she murmured sadly. “He was handsome, manly, charming, and with the most persuasive smile. I fear he swept me off my feet.”
Holding it carefully over her arms, Shanna presented it back to the woman.
“In one of my trunks, Hergus. I’ll keep it for the memories.” But already she was thinking how she would get rid of them, for the memories they stirred were anything but consoling.
Ralston’s knuckles were white as he gripped the quirt, and his bony jaw grew rigid. “Your father will question me on this matter, Madam Beauchamp. I must give him answers. I must know the place where this marriage was secured and examine the documents. The Beauchamp name is well enough known here in London, but there are things I must be assured of, and I can hardly present myself to that family’s door inquiring on their kin, especially in a time of bereavement. But I must acquaint myself with the validity of the marriage for your father’s peace of mind.”
Shanna experienced a brief moment of temptation to hurl a caustic accusation that he would do anything if it might fatten his purse. However, she managed to appear only slightly injured.
“But of course, sir. I suppose my father would not simply take my word for it.” Sweeping across the room to the secretary, she retrieved the packet of documents she had won with a kiss and her virtue. “Here is your proof.”
Ralston was already at her side, taking them from her and eagerly untying the scarlet ribbon. But as his eyes fell to the sheet of parchment on the desk, his interest was diverted, and he paused to stare down at it. Shanna followed his gaze and watched helplessly as the man lifted the sketch to more closely inspect it. She could not bear his eyes prying into her secret thoughts, for certainly that was what it was, a rude and callous invasion of her privacy, as surely as if he had witnessed her intimacy with Ruark in the coach.
Her resentment aroused, Shanna made to snatch the paper from him, but Ralston deftly jerked it out of her reach.
“Madam, your talents are many. I was not aware they extended to producing images of people on parchment.” He considered her askance. “Your late husband?”
Reluctantly Shanna nodded. “Give it to me.”
“Your father would be curious—”
In a quick movement Shanna tore the paper from his hand and ripped it into small pieces.
“Madam, why do you destroy a drawing of your husband? ‘Twould appear he had all the qualities you boast. ’Twas certainly done in an amorous vein. Perhaps he won your heart as you declare.”
Shanna’s mind screamed—poppycock! But her spoken reply came meekly. “Aye, and it tears me so I cannot bear to look upon his likeness.”
The same fair, crisp weather graced the morning after. The chill wind whipped around the buildings as Ralston stepped from the landau and clutched his cloak tighter about his long frame. He rapped the handle of his quirt on the portal of the structure until a reply came from within.
“I have business with the gaoler. Open up,” he commanded.
After a brief rattle of keys, the iron door swung aside, and he went within. A guard led him through the halls until he was ushered before the turnkey.
“Ah, Mister Hicks,” he began heartily. “I find I shall be returning to the island sooner than expected. I’ve come to see what good merchandise you have for me.”
“But, gov’na—” the fat man came to his feet stuttering and wringing his stubby hands, “but, Mister Ralston, I’ve naught else but what ye’ve already chosen.”
“Oh, come now, my good man.” Ralston laughed with little humor as he drew off his leather gloves, wrapped them carefully around the riding crop, then grasped the crop in his slim hand and slapped his leg. “You must have some good young debtors or even a thief or two who would see their paper redeemed for a chance to escape this hole. You know my master pays well with a goodly tithe for the men who serve him.” He poked Mister Hicks’s rolling belly with his whip and sniffed coyly. “ ‘Twould mean some more good coin for your purse.”