Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,96

at him and came forward for a handshake. “My nerves are still a bit dodgy after this summer.”

“As usual,” West said, gripping the other man’s hand, “a visit from you is as soothing as a blister.”

Phoebe was struck by the easy familiarity between the two, as if they had known each other for years instead of months. “Mr. Ransom,” she said, “I do hope we’ll have the pleasure of your company for dinner. You’re welcome to stay the night, if you wish.”

“I’m obliged, milady, but I have to be back on the next train for London.” Ransom went to retrieve a small traveling bag that had been set beside a chair. “I’ve brought some materials for you to have a glance at. Make all the notes you like, but I have to take the original documents back with me and replace them before anyone notices they’re missing.”

West gave him an alert glance. “Did you find anything interesting in the account records?”

Ransom’s mouth curved slightly, but his expression was deadly serious as he replied. “Aye.”

Chapter 29

As Phoebe led the way to the study, where they could speak in complete privacy, she noticed Ethan Ransom absorbing every detail of his surroundings. Not in the way of someone who appreciated interior décor, but rather like a surveyor examining distances and angles. He was pleasant and polite, with a guarded charm that almost made her forget the flash of ice-cold brutality in the first few moments of their disastrous meeting.

Even without having been told about Ransom’s appointment with the Metropolitan Police, Phoebe would have known he held a position of responsibility in some potentially dangerous profession. There was something almost catlike about him—a quiet and lethal grace. She sensed that West’s relaxed presence helped to make him far more approachable than he ordinarily would have been.

Once inside the study, Phoebe and West sat at the table, while Ransom stood on the opposite side and began to lay out documents. The review of the loan and initial expenses began predictably enough: there had been checks made out to brick and tile manufacturers for field drainage systems, and other checks for installation. There were also checks for land work such as hedge removal and leveling, and waste land reclamation. But soon they reached a run of checks written for less easily identifiable purposes.

“C. T. Hawkes and Associates,” Phoebe read aloud, frowning as she saw a draft in the amount of five thousand eight hundred pounds. “What kind of work do they do?”

“It’s a residential building company,” Ransom replied.

“Why would Edward Larson pay such a large sum to a house builder? Do they also repair farm buildings?”

“I don’t believe so, my lady.”

Frowning, Phoebe scrutinized the next large entry. “James Prince Hayward of London. Who is that?”

“A coach builder,” West said, his gaze moving farther down the list. “Here are expenses for a saddler and harness maker . . . a domestic employment agency . . . and more than a few charges at Winterborne’s department store.” He gave Ransom a sardonic glance, shaking his head slowly.

It vexed Phoebe that they both seemed to understand something she hadn’t yet grasped. She mulled over the information. House . . . coach . . . horse furnishings . . . domestic servants . . . “Edward set up a household somewhere,” she said in wonder. “With money he borrowed from my son’s inheritance.” A wobbly feeling came over her, and she needed ballast even though she was seated. She watched her slender white fingers creep over West’s coat sleeve as if they belonged to someone else. The solid muscle beneath her hand was familiar and comforting. “Is there more you can tell me?”

West spoke in a flat, resigned tone. “Out with it, Ransom.”

The other man nodded and leaned down to pull more papers from his bag. “Mr. Larson purchased a speculative house built not far from here, in Chipping Ongar. It has eight bedrooms, a conservatory and a veranda.” Ransom set the floor plans and elevations in front of them. “There’s also a walled garden and a small coach house occupied by a single-horse brougham.” Ransom paused to glance at her with a faint frown of concern, as if to evaluate her emotional state before continuing. “It’s been leased for the nominal sum of one pound a year to Mrs. Parrett, a woman of approximately twenty-two years of age.”

“Why such a large a house for only one person?” Phoebe asked.

“There seems to be a plan for the woman to turn

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