Chapter 13 #2
Nicholas straightened, lowering his feet to the floor.
“I believe he helped her all these years. She would have needed him to intercept the mail from your late father. From what I can tell, my mother sold MacNaby the same dream she once pursued for herself … convinced him that his legacy could be a son raised to the rank of baron. At least according to these entries, where she describes using a combination of guilt over their affair and pride in Simon, whom he believes to be his son, becoming someone of high standing.”
John frowned, shifting in his chair as if to ease some discomfort. “Is it not enough that he is a viscount?”
Nicholas shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“She speaks of the truly great houses as English. She claims that until she married the baron, she was an inferior peeress from Scotland, but the wedding elevated her status. She was welcomed into important homes, even enjoying state dinners and important events with the King in attendance. Rank was her obsession, and I believe she convinced MacNaby that his son could one day rub shoulders with royalty.”
“Do we believe he will continue the quest to kill Marco?”
“I cannot say. I suppose it depends on how committed he is.”
Molly felt the need for privacy after the meeting. Witnessing Marco’s angry disgust over what Isla Scott had done, she had realized that convincing him to remain in England was a lost cause.
She was going to lose the man she thought she might very well love because of the dead Lady Blackwood, and it was not fair.
How was she going to be enough to make up for his terrible experiences since his arrival?
Three murder attempts? Dreadful family secrets about people he had never met, which had made him a target of such plots?
If she were in his position, she would choose to return to Italy, too.
Marco was repelled by what had happened here in this beautiful but terrible home. By what was happening even now.
He had said as much.
“I should never have come!”
As soon as she had heard the words, the ground had disappeared from beneath her feet.
Was their unprecedented affinity to be another casualty of the venomous Lady Blackwood’s schemes?
Meeting Miss Dubois out in the hall after leaving the gathering in the study, Molly found her spirits as low as they had ever been.
As low as the day her mother died months earlier.
When Mama had died, Molly had lost her entire life.
All familiar people and places had been left behind to join the baron’s household.
Now she was losing the only hope of building her own future.
Lady Blackwood might be dead, but her legacy of destruction lived on.
What would it have been like if she had met Marco without the specter of danger and discreditable secrets to ruin their introduction? How was she to tempt him into staying when there were such excellent reasons for him to return home?
“Lady Blackwood, she never made me zit out in the cold. It ees … ’ow you zay … freezing. I miss her zo much, I do.”
Molly ignored Miss Dubois, requesting her coat and bonnet from Duncan, who was on duty in the front hall.
“What would she say about zo many unwed men een residence? C’est impropre! It iz scandalous, no?”
She had heard quite enough about the paragon of vice, Lady Blackwood. She needed some time alone to collect herself.
Duncan assisted her into her coat, then she put on her bonnet and tied the ribbons.
“Where are we going? Mon Dieu, eet ees zo very cold! Surely, you do not truly wish to go outside?”
Molly did not reply, making her way toward the back door and wishing that Madeline was still here to talk to.
She had not realized how much she had begun to rely on her friend’s presence, but she was feeling her absence now.
Perhaps she should write to Madeline and ask about joining her household.
Perhaps she could move in before Madeline and Simon even returned from Scotland.
Then she would have a distraction while she tried to pick up the pieces of her broken heart when Marco eventually announced his departure.
Reaching the exit, she turned with a gasp of dismay. She hoped the ploy might work one more time, because she needed the poodle to leave her to her thoughts.
Miss Dubois frowned, before relaxing her face to prevent wrinkles, as Lady Blackwood had advised. The French pest truly had idolized the late baroness. “What ees it, zen?”
“My gloves! I quite forgot them!” She was not sure it would work a second time, but she did not think Miss Dubois was clever, so it was worth a try.
“You must wait ’ere, yes?”
“Of course! It is far too cold to leave the house without them.”
Molly watched the servant hurry away. As soon as Miss Dubois turned the corner, Molly swung the door open and strode away.
There was only one place to find peace, and Miss Dubois was not the companion to take with her.
She lengthened her stride, so she may extend her time alone as long as she could.
Entering the walled garden where she and Madeline had shared tea and conversation, Molly dropped onto the bench under the magnificent urn, closed her eyes, and leaned back to think, tucking her chilly fingers beneath her thighs to protect them from the cold.
It was not like her to be pessimistic, but something about Marco’s tone had told her he was reaching his decision and it was not the one she had hoped for.
While she attempted to regain her equilibrium, a crunch of gravel had her sigh in despair. She had thought she would have at least a few minutes before Miss Dubois caught up with her.
She slowly opened her eyes and yelped in surprise.
MacNaby stood facing her with a flintlock pistol pointed to her chest.
And there was madness glinting in the blue depths of his eyes.
“Miss Carter, I believe I have you to thank for my worsened circumstances,” he fumed, his Scottish brogue more pronounced than ever.
“I … that is …”
“You searched through my things and removed a personal item. A gift that was not yours to take.”
Molly frowned, a little confused that he called it a gift. Had Nicholas not said it revealed the details of Lady Blackwood’s seduction and manipulation of MacNaby? “Did you read it?”
“That is none of your business.”
She thought that probably meant no. Several questions flashed through her mind, but she deemed it poor timing to raise them as she tried to think of what to do about the angry would-be killer threatening her.
“What … are you doing here?”
MacNaby raised his free hand to swipe at his forehead with a handkerchief, evidence of his nerves. “I am here to finish my … work.”
“Oh.”
“But now that you are here, I am thinking it would be better to lure Mr. Scott out than to enter the house.”
“What do you mean?”
“Stand up, Miss Carter. We have a journey to take.”
Molly complied, and MacNaby gestured her along.
She tried walking slowly in the hopes Miss Dubois might arrive, but he grabbed her by the arm and hurried her through the back garden gateway.
Leading her to a narrow corridor that ran alongside the mews, he used his free hand to remove a key from his pocket and unlock a recessed door to the alley.
Molly realized she was being removed from the property, but she was not sure what to do about it, and for the very first time, she longed to hear the poodle approaching, but she had thwarted her own safety by tricking Miss Dubois to go away.
Once in the alley, he tugged her along and Molly peered about, looking for an opportunity to escape, but they were surrounded by high walls and no one was in sight.
Not to mention, he still had the pistol trained on her with his finger resting near the trigger.
If she tried to run, he might panic and shoot her.
They entered a street where she saw a small cart tethered with a single horse and finally noticed he was dressed as a workman in a large overcoat with his hat pulled low.
He must have rented the wagon with the coin that Nicholas had mentioned had been given to him by Lady Blackwood to fulfill her quest.
Molly was in trouble, fear eroding her composure. MacNaby was going to make her vanish without a trace. She could only hope that Miss Dubois would sound the alarm, but that might take some time, because her chaperon would believe she had merely run off to escape her company.
Molly hesitated, but felt the stock of the pistol jammed against her ribs.
“Do not think about causing any trouble.”
“No trouble, Mr. MacNaby. Would you like me to drive the wagon for you?”
The butler’s brows arched, taken aback by her offer.
But Molly had decided her wits were her one defense against the man.
Offering to take the reins might help coax him out of his agitated state.
If she could calm him while reminding him that she was a real person with hopes and dreams, perhaps she might be able to reason with him.
Would Lady Blackwood’s vile corruption of his mind relent in the face of persuasive logic?
“So you can hold your pistol steady. We do not want it to accidentally fire, do we?”