Page 129 of My Highland Love

“Aye, you will.” Marcus prayed the boy wouldn't pull the pistol he'd noticed stuffed into his waistband. “You have pen and paper?”

Price produced paper from a desk drawer and laid it before Marcus as he scooted the quill, sitting at his left, up alongside the paper. Marcus wrote the note instructing the Josephine to set sail immediately, then folded the missive and extended it toward Steven.

“Anyone can deliver this,” Steven protested.

Marcus shook his head. “You take it, lad, and be on the ship when she sails.” This Marcus had not discussed with Steven, for the boy would not have agreed. Chances were, he wouldn't obey now.

Steven looked from Marcus to Price, then snatched the note from Marcus's grasp. He settled his gaze on Price. “We aren't finished.”

Price nodded with a sigh and Steven faced Marcus. “You shouldn't have come here.”

“Take care of Elise,” Marcus said.

“That I will,” he said, and left.

Marcus focused on Price. “My father, the Duke of Ashlund, will be waiting for the Josephine when she arrives. If anything happens to Elise or Steven, if any attempts are made to harm either of them, someone will set sail from Scotland before I step onto Scottish soil.”

“I have no intention of harming Elise.”

Aye, neither will you harm her brother, Marcus silently added. “How long am I to wait here?” Marcus asked.

“Until word arrives that the Josephine is well out of Boston Harbor. I estimate two hours.”

“A guard stands outside this door?”

Price gave a single nod.

“I would have preferred to wait at one of the harbor taverns,” Marcus said, not feeling the slightest twinge of guilt at the lie. He had planned all along to be here when the men of Landen Shipping arrived on Ardsley's door about the same time the Josephine left Boston Harbor.

“Shall I have refreshments served?” Price asked.

“Nae,” Marcus replied. “I dine only with friends.”

Nearly two hours of silence later, there came a quick knock on the library door. Price looked toward the door as it opened and Simons entered.

“Sir,” the butler said out of breath, “Mister Brentley and the other gentlemen from Landen Shipping are downstairs. They are demanding to see you—” A pounding of footsteps in the hallway intruded into Simon's speech. “There they are, sir. I feared they would not wait.”

Brentley appeared in the doorway. The rest of Landen Shipping's board of directors piled up behind him. Brentley stepped inside the room and looked at Marcus, who rose.

“We have just come from the Josephine,” Brentley said.

“The Josephine?” Price asked evenly.

“Yes,” Brentley replied, and the room broke out into a babble of voices. “Gentlemen,” he shouted. “Gentlemen, please!”

Another figure appeared behind the men. The din quieted as Steven pushed past them and halted beside Marcus.

“You should have sailed on the Josephine,” Marcus said.

“As should you have,” Steven replied.

“Price,” Brentley said, “we have just spoken with Miss Poteck and Elise.”

“Miss Poteck?” Price said as if he had never heard the name in his life.

“Don't,” Brentley cut in, his quiet voice harsh. He produced two folded pieces of paper from his front coat pocket. He unfolded them and held up one. “This is a signed affidavit from Miss Poteck, explaining in detail how you paid her to impersonate Elise Kingston.” Price frowned, but Brentley went on. “This,” he lifted the other document, “is Elise's statement.” He continued in a half strangled voice, “She swears you kidnapped her in Scotland and brought her to Boston against her will, then incarcerated her in Danvers Hospital.” Marcus's heart raced as if hearing this for the first time. Brentley lowered the papers. “If I had been given this information without the benefit of witnesses, I would put a bullet between your eyes.”

A murmur circulated through the men. Surprise flickered across Price's impassive face. Marcus had the sudden urge to slip the knife from his boot and throw it at him. However, the mental image of Price's fine white shirt darkening with his blood dissipated when Brentley said, “As it is, I will have to satisfy myself with the punishment allowed by the law. As you may know, Judge Quinley and I are well acquainted. I will see to it he takes a personal interest in this case. I have always known you were a scoundrel, but this”—Brentley faltered—”this goes beyond anything I could have imagined.”