A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,104
fresh air. She hadn’t dared go out after the scene with Liam, and her soul seemed to unfold and heal a little in the warm sunshine.
She was thinking of what she would tell Drew—she couldn’t send him away, nor did she want to anymore, but she was determined to keep him in the dark as much as possible, for his sake—when someone said her name behind her. Like an idiot, she stopped and turned, only to realize with alarm that the two men approaching her were not friends.
One of them doffed his hat, which did nothing to soften his implacable expression. “Mrs. Ramsay, a moment of your time, if you please.”
She clutched the hem of her jacket and kept her spine rigid. “Who, pray, are you, sir?”
“George Williamson, ma’am. King’s Messenger for North Britain.” He motioned at his companion. “And Mr. Hay, sheriff-officer of Edinburgh.”
Mr. Hay was Mrs. Arbuthnot’s loose-lipped brother-in-law. Her heart stuck in her throat. She managed a nod and resumed walking. “Regrettably, I am in a hurry. Good day, sirs.”
They fell in on either side of her. Sweat beaded the back of her neck. She ought to have let Drew accompany her. “We can talk as we go, ma’am.”
“I’m sure I have nothing interesting to tell you.” She kept her eyes straight ahead and walked as briskly as her feet would go.
“Perhaps not,” agreed Mr. Williamson affably. “But perhaps you’d be so kind as to oblige us by answering a few questions.”
“Where is your father now?” asked Mr. Hay. He was a big fellow with hard, squinty eyes and a suspicious expression.
“I don’t know,” she said evenly.
“Have you any idea where he might have gone?”
“He has frequently expressed a desire to see Paris,” she replied. “I suggest you seek him there.”
Mr. Hay growled. Mr. Williamson smiled, but she sensed his patience was waning. “Anywhere else? Where does he have family?”
“My grandparents came from Perth, but they have both passed away,” she told them truthfully. “His only sibling, his sister, resides in Edinburgh with me. You already know that.” Mr. Williamson didn’t blink. “And his cousin Mrs. Murray lives here. I’ve been to visit her, in fact. I assure you she also knows nothing of his whereabouts, but by all means inquire with her directly.”
“And you’ve just come on a whim to see her,” said the officer cynically.
“I wished to leave Edinburgh,” she said, her voice growing tight. They showed no signs of leaving and the inn still seemed a league away. “Perhaps you can guess why, after your fellow officers searched my home and gave everyone to believe I conspired with the criminals.”
“Not all the criminals,” Mr. Hay said with a sharp look. “Only the one. Your father.”
She swallowed. Her heart beat a sharp tattoo against her breastbone. Would they seize her? Would they arrest her? Would they tell Drew, or arrest him, too? Had he led them to her, or had she led him into disaster?
Then the man himself appeared over the rise of the road, and she couldn’t stop a gasp of relief. Both officers looked up.
“What luck meeting you here, Captain,” said Mr. Hay sardonically as Drew approached. “Mr. Cockburn thought we might. He sends his regards.”
“Very kind of him. Convey mine to him, sir.” Drew barely bowed his head at the officers. “Mrs. Ramsay, I apologize for not meeting you sooner.”
“I enjoyed the walk,” she said with a smile, trying to hide how fast her heart was racing. “I had a delightful visit with my cousin. You were too kind to indulge me.”
“I am delighted to hear it.” He looked at the men flanking her with unmistakable hauteur and command. “Is that all?”
Mr. Williamson cleared his throat. “Nay, Captain. We’ve a few more questions for Mrs. Ramsay.”
“Oh?” Drew’s brow arched impatiently. “What are they?”
“Where did William Fletcher go?” demanded Mr. Hay.
“I don’t know—”
“Ah, ma’am, we can’t truly believe that,” said Williamson almost regretfully.
“The lady answered your question.” Drew’s tone was icy.
Williamson stepped forward, hands raised to placate. He spoke to Drew, his voice low and calm. Mr. Hay leaned closer to Ilsa. “What did that letter mean? The one your solicitor brought?”
“I showed it to Mr. Cockburn.” Her throat was tight. “Though I doubt my father even wrote it . . .”
“Convenient story, that.” He took hold of her arm. “Obviously there was something hidden in it, wasn’t there? Some clue that made you hurry all the way to Dunbar to see a distant cousin for a few hours.”