“I will be perfectly fine. Besides,” she said and patted her leg, “llevo mi pistola.”
“You are too confident in that Remington,” Aurora said disapprovingly.
“Regreso en diez minutos,” she called as she hurried up the street to her office with Clint on her heels, looking extremely discomfited by Luz’s disregard for the laird’s orders. “It won’t take but a minute,” she told her escort as they hurried toward her office.
It truly only took a few minutes, and soon they were approaching her building. Despite her cavalier attitude, she wasn’t reckless and approached the entrance cautiously but didn’t notice anything amiss.
She knew Evan had placed a guard in front of her building the night before, but the man must’ve gone home or to help with the fire. Everything looked as she’d left it the afternoon before. The ground-floor storefront was still not open to the public, and they had to enter the building through a side door. She’d given her secretary, Eliza, the day off, thinking there might be too much happening at home for anyone to get work done, but Mr. Grant had business to attend to this morning and would already be in.
“See? Everything is fine. My employee is likely here already,” she told Clint, who didn’t look very convinced. The footman had been with Evan for a long time, had started his employment as a groom in one of the stables and was now head footman. He took his work seriously, and despite how irritating Luz found being coddled, she didn’t want to make the poor man’s life harder.
“Why don’t you guard the entrance, and I will run up and procure my book? I won’t be long,” she promised, pulling a key out of her handbag. But when she turned the doorknob, it swung open. She looked over her shoulder at Clint, adding a smile to reassure him. “See? Mr. Grant is probably up there.” Her nerves were frayed enough, and she did not want Clint underfoot in her office.
“Yes, my lady,” Clint said unhappily as he planted himself beside the door.
She quickly made her way up the stairs to the second floor, deciding she’d get the book first and then go see Mr. Grant on her way out. Everything in her office was in its place: the two green armchairs in front of the fireplace facing each other; her father’s mahogany desk, which she’d brought from Santo Domingo, was just as she’d left it the day before; the decanters of Caña Brava and Braeburn on the cart by the window.
Everything was in order, yet something felt off.
It was likely just nerves, she told herself. With a day—and a night—like she’d had, it was natural to be somewhat antsy. She rushed to the locked cabinet across form her desk, opening it with the key she always kept on her chatelaine. She sighed with relief, tucking the book under her arm, as she locked things back up.
Evan would never know she’d been gone.
As she turned toward the door, she heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked behind her.
“Miss Heith-Benzan, or shall I sayLady Darnick.” A man with an unwashed appearance stepped out from behind her curtain with the weapon pointed at her. She didn’t recognize him, but something about him was eerily familiar. “Don’t even think of yelling for help, or you’ll be sorry.”
“My husband will be here any minute, and there are guards downstairs,” she said as calmly as she could manage, her eyes darting to the door of her office.
The man walked toward her, his shaky hands aiming the gun at her chest. “I’d imagine Lord Darnick is too preoccupied putting out fires to venture this way anytime soon.”
Oh God, this could not be happening.
“My employee is on the next floor.” Luz held her breath and counted backward in an attempt to clear her head. Her mind was racing so rapidly she almost missed the next thing the man said.
“Your Mr. Grant is probably still recovering from getting knocked on the head this morning.” That stopped Luz Alana cold, real fear seeping into her bones.
“What? Who are you?” she said, trying to hide how scared she was. Her own pistol was pressed to her thigh, but she feared that if she made any sudden movements, her captor would pull the trigger, and he was now merely feet away from her. Up close, the man looked unhinged. Red-rimmed eyes sunken into his skull, face scruffy as if he hadn’t shaved in days. His clothes were wrinkled, and he smelled foul. But the worst part was the loathing in his eyes.
“We never did get a chance to meet, sinceHisLordship—” the man spat out the words with obvious distaste “—sent his dogs after me and threatened to throw me in gaol if I made any attempt to contact you.” His face twisted into an ugly sneer, and again she thought she’d seen him before. “That’s the thanks I get for minding your trust. Not even a thank-you. Didn’t even deign to respond to my letters.” He lifted a shoulder, pistol waving in the air erratically. “I had to take matters into my own hands.”
Percy Childers. And despite the fear gripping her, the man’s gall infuriated her. Minding her trust—more like stealing from her! She should’ve told Evan about the letters. She’d kept it from him out of spite, and now this man was going to kill her. Nausea roiled in her stomach at the thought of him finding her here, of Clarita. She pushed down a sob, and tried to steel herself. She could not fall apart. She had to walk away from this. She had too much to live for.
A strange but absolute calm washed over her, and she decided that Childers was not going to cheat her out of her future, not after she’d gone and found one for herself. She attempted to slide her hand down to reach for her pistol, but the movement seemed to startle him.
“Lift your hands,” he barked, and she resisted the urge to pinch her nostrils shut. The man’s breath was vile. “Keep them where I can see them. You and I are going to have a talk, get to know each other. I think we’ll go to one of the upper floors where no one will come looking for you.” He suddenly stopped short, making the nozzle of the gun press against her back. Sweat ran down her spine, and she had to tighten her muscles to keep from shaking. “I’ll advise you on how to properly show gratitude for all the help my family has given you, and this time your protector won’t be here to interfere.”
A frisson of pure horror slithered up Luz’s spine.
“My husband’s guards will come for me if he doesn’t find me at home.” Childers scoffed, dismissing her.
“If it’s money you want, I have some upstairs. I’ll give you whatever I have.” She did have some notes in her safe. If he let her get close enough to it, she’d reach for her pistol. If not, there were a couple of solid gold candlesticks in there she could use to brain the man.
“Go,” he said, shoving her hard enough to make her stumble.
He shouldn’t have left her.
That was the only thought circling around Evan’s mind as he reached the warehouse where he’d stashed the reserves a few days ago. That precaution had saved their most valuable inventory, and though he was glad Luz Alana’s rum was intact he realized he could care less about the whisky. The only thing that mattered was keeping his wife safe from his father.
