The Indebted Earl Erica Vetsch (iphone ebook reader txt) 📖

He shoved a scrap of paper into the other man’s face, stabbing the page with his finger.

The other man backed up a step, put his hands up, and shook his head. The light fell upon his face, even as his obsequious gesture revealed his identity.

Grayson.

The argument was growing quite heated. Perhaps Charles had discovered some discrepancy in the estate books? Had the steward been swindling? His bowing and scraping had always seemed at odds with the calculating look in his eyes.

The reverend strolled out the front door with his hand up, as if to calm the men.

Sophie’s shoulders relaxed, and her breath eased.

Reverend Dunhill would sort things out. Nothing made men behave better than the arrival of the pastor.

Charles noted the interested stares as he led Sophie in the promenade. They were definitely going to provide the on dits for Gateshead Village for the next little while.

Sophie would stand out in any crowd, and he was proud to have her on his arm. Her green dress with delicate gold bits showed her excellent taste. Her citrusy scent filled his head, and his mind swirled with familiar and unwanted thoughts. He shouldn’t allow his attention to be diverted. He needed to concentrate on the business at hand, which was pinning Halbert Grayson to one spot long enough to confront him about the note.

But Sophie made thinking about anything other than her difficult. She smiled up at him, her cheeks rosy, and his heart lurched like it had hit a reef. When she moved in step with him, her hip brushed his, and his knees felt odd. None of the reasons he had for keeping his emotions out of their relationship seemed important in that moment.

The first set ended, and they were separated by the crowd. When he next caught sight of her, she was being escorted by Will Owens onto the dance floor. He seemed quite happy with his prize, grinning like a gargoyle and keeping hold of Sophie’s hand much too long when they pivoted.

Owens was younger than Charles. Closer to Sophie’s age than to his. The ratio of men to women was fairly even, possibly even weighted toward the men tonight. A handful of young bucks stood along the wall near the refreshment table, whispering and elbowing, watching the dancers—particularly Sophie. He clamped his teeth until his jaw ached.

Penny went by on the arm of Miles Enys. Uneasiness sloshed through Charles. What did he know about raising girls? He was thankful Sophie had stepped up to help him, but she seemed to think he should be involved with the decision-making required for the girls’ welfare too. He didn’t want Sophie to become too reliant upon him, because when he left, she would have to shoulder that burden alone.

Which somehow had seemed logical a week ago but now wasn’t sitting well.

He finally spotted the man he had been looking for all evening. His steward, Grayson, caught his eye and made a quick dart for the stairs.

Just as well. The taproom or the yard would be a better place for their discussion than the crowded assembly hall. Charles wended his way around the perimeter of the room to the steps. When he reached the taproom, half full already of men who would rather drink ale and talk than dance, Grayson was disappearing through the front door.

“Good evening, Lord Rothwell. Fancy a drop?” The man tending the bar leaned over with a full tankard. “Best in the county.”

“No, thank you.”

Another man scooted his chair back and stepped in front of Charles. “Milord, let me introduce myself. I’m Porter MacFie, and I own the butcher shop.” He tucked his fingertips into his waistband. “I understand you’re not planning on staying around these parts? Hiring a new steward and leaving us, eh?” He scratched the hair over his ear. “Not that I blame you. Not much of a life for a fancy gent like yourself.”

“I apologize—there’s someone to whom I must speak.” When he moved to go around MacFie, the man edged into his path once more. “Oh, I beg your pardon.”

They swayed and swerved, bobbing in front of each other until Charles finally lost patience, took the man by the upper arms, and moved him out of the way. If he didn’t know better, he’d say these men were conspiring to keep him away from his quarry.

Finally, Charles made it out into the night air. Where had Grayson gotten to? The man’s actions were certainly suspicious.

A large man with a beard leaned against the front of the public house, arms crossed. Charles gave him a glance as he went by, but since he wasn’t Grayson, paid him no mind.

Grayson had crossed the road, but he stopped dead when a man wearing a hooded cloak stepped out of the shadows. Turning around, Grayson looked for a way of escape, but Charles had caught him up by that time.

The hooded man stepped back into the shadows, but not before Charles caught the glint of a blade. The hair on his neck stood up, and he grabbed Grayson by the sleeve and hauled him toward the middle of the road.

“I want a word.” He looked into the darkness behind them, but the hooded man had disappeared. Charles pulled the paper from his pocket. “What do you know about this?”

“What? I haven’t done anything.” Grayson cowered, putting on his best hang-dog air. But Charles wasn’t having it.

“Smuggling. I want to know who is involved and how long it’s been going on.” He rattled the paper. “If my uncle was smuggling goods, he was doing it with someone’s help.”

“Smuggling? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Grayson struggled, but Charles hung on.

“If you don’t know smuggling has been going on right under your nose, then you’re the most inept steward in the history of estate management.”

Grayson jerked, as if stung. “You can’t pin this on me. I don’t know