“I am not lending you my new chaise and the bays so you can take this woman—”
“She saved my life, Marcus.”
“So it’s gratitude?”
“No, it’s—” He didn’t know what it was. “I’m not going to discuss it. She’s in danger and I need to get her out of the area tonight, to keep her safe.”
Marcus frowned. “Danger? What danger?”
“She’s been harassed by a man dressing up as a ghost to frighten her. On several occasions, her cottage has been attacked and two nights ago her beehives were burned and her vegetable garden destroyed.” He gestured to the ruined garden with its wilted, newly replanted plants. “My actions may have made it worse, so I need to get her to safety.”
Marcus eyed him enigmatically. Nash stared him down. Marcus could be annoyingly stubborn. “It touches on my honor, Marcus.”
“Mmm.” Marcus pursed his lips.
“Will you help me, dammit, or must I beg the local vicar to lend me his carriage?”
Marcus gave a cool nod. “Very well, I have a fancy to visit Nell and Harry myself, see how my horses are doing—”
“No, sorry,” Nash interrupted. “I need you to stay here.”
“Here? You mean at Whitethorn Manor?”
“I mean here, in the cottage. I need someone here for when this villain attacks. Keep your groom with you just in case. I want to get to the bottom of this, catch the bastard and find out why he’s doing it.”
Marcus’s brow rose. “I see, you want me to lend you my new chaise and my favorite team, while you take that red-headed termagant—”
“She’s very sweet when you get to know her.”
“—termagant to Harry and Nell’s and in the meantime I’m to wait in this poky little cottage and expect to be attacked by person or persons unknown. Is that it?”
“In a nutshell.” Nash grinned. “You’re quite astute, you know, brother. So that’s a yes, then?”
His older brother gave him a long-suffering look. “And what am I to do while I’m waiting to be attacked? I can’t imagine this cottage stretches to a library.”
“I have just the thing.” From his saddlebag, Nash pulled out the bundle containing the charred estate books and handed it to Marcus. “The Whitethorn estate manager has been cooking the books—literally and metaphorically. The evidence will be in there. You know how much you enjoy accounts and puzzles.”
Marcus peered disdainfully into the bundle, sighed, and rewrapped it. “I don’t understand why anyone thinks you have talent at diplomacy. As far as I can see it’s nothing but sheer, unmitigated cheek. At least the cottage is warm.” He tucked the bundle under his arm.
“Ah,” Nash said in a tone that made Marcus look at him with foreboding. “Maddy keeps early hours so after about nine you must let the fire go out. And no candles or lanterns, either. I want the Bloody Abbot to think them all asleep—that’s when he usually strikes.”
“The bloody who?”
“It’s a disguise the swine wears, pretending to be the ghost of some long-dead murdered abbot who’s famous hereabouts.”
“I see, so I am to sit in a poky little cottage in the cold and dark, waiting to be attacked by a desperate criminal dressed up as a ghostly monk, while you ride in the comfort of my chaise, accompanying Miss Woodford to Nell and Harry’s. How delightful. I don’t suppose I could convey her there in my own carriage while you sit in the dark. No? I didn’t think so.”
“The mood she’s in at the moment, I doubt she’d go to the end of the lane with you. I’ll ride back here after I’ve dropped Maddy and the children at Harry and Nell’s.”
“Children? What children? You’re marrying a woman with children? Who by? And how many?”
“It’s not what you think, they’re her orphaned half-siblings. Five of them, aged between four and twelve.”
Marcus’s brows shot up. “Five?”
Nash nodded.
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Machiavelli had nothing on you, little brother. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you didn’t mention this little detail until after I’d given you my word, so I’m warning you now: if one of those brats throws up in my chaise, you will buy me a new one. And it won’t be cheap—I had it specially built to my specifications.”
