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“You cannot … I mean … that is, he’s away. ”
She crossed her arms at her chest. Though she wasn’t clear about precisely what her plan was, she was eager to get it under way. “What do you mean he’s away?”
“Business at the docks. You’ll have to return later. And who might I say—”
“I’ll wait for him in his office. ”
They engaged in a silent stare-off, until finally she raised her brows. “Will you show me to his office, or would you be the one to make Dougal’s fiancée stand waiting?” She dabbed at her damp forehead. “And with me, so weary from my journey. ”
The man looked stricken. With a quick flurry of bows, he backed up, saying, “Apologies, mum. This way, if you please. ” He led her down the hall and into a room whose large oak desk and panel of windows told her it was indeed the office of a man in charge of things.
Her dismay at not finding Dougal disappeared. An excuse to sit unwatched in his office was an unexpected coup.
The assistant left her, and she went behind Fraser’s desk. She beamed, feeling her chest swell. There were piles and piles of important-looking papers, and her fingers itched to shuffle through them. She’d find her evidence in no time, and then she’d be done with this ridiculous betrothal.
Hadn’t she proved in her management of the farm that she didn’t need a man’s help? She’d be the deftest of spies—courageous, a warrior heroine, like Joan of Arc. Finding hard proof of Fraser’s villainy would be easier than even she had imagined.
The beleaguered young man appeared again, his head popping through the doorway, and she snatched her hands to her chest.
“I came to offer you a refreshment, but”—his eyes flicked to the papers, and when they came back to her face, they were suspicious—“might I help you find something?”
“No, no, I was simply …” Spinning, she gestured grandly at the bank of windows. They were grimy and looked out onto an alley, but she hoped her enthusiasm was convincing. “I’d walked back here to enjoy Dougal’s tremendous view. And, well”—she spun back to give a slow and loving sweep of her hands along his desk—“the feel of this desk at my back, I simply had to look at it. What a powerful man is my intended. ”
Throwing herself into the role, she’d tried to purr that last bit, and had to suppress a satisfied smile. She’d make a most excellent pirate bride.
“Lord Fraser’s got his hands in many pots,” he said, appearing to breathe more easily. “If that’s all, then, I’ve much work to do. ”
“Oh, that will more than do it. ” She rested a hand on the table, knowing the exact stack of papers she’d begin with first.
He left, and she dove right in, cursing that she hadn’t brought her spectacles. Aidan had just gotten them for her, but already she’d become accustomed to not having to squint when she read.
The first stack of documents seemed nothing more than invoices and earnings pertaining to his knitted goods business. She knew better than most how to read an account book, and she scanned the different prices for different items. It appeared Fraser dealt mostly in hosiery, but his register reflected a growing number of textiles in the form of plaids and arisaids. There were varying fabrics listed too—wool, cotton, worsted crepe.
“Tedious,” she muttered, taking in page after page of tallies. “What a miserably … boring … business,” she said, riffling through the bottom of the stack, clearly more of the same.
This man wasn’t nearly so exciting as her swashbuckling Aidan.
She dug deeper, more certain than ever that somewhere in his office some evidence of wrongdoing was sure to be found. She got to the bottom of all his stacks, though, had opened and sifted through drawers, but there was nothing villainous in sight.
Putting her hands on her hips, she turned in a circle, taking in the room. “Where are you?”
She plopped into his desk chair, idly opening and closing each drawer once more for good measure. As she closed the last drawer, her eyes lit on a strange seam along the bottom.
“And what are you?” She dug her fingers along the edge. Fitting her thumb inside the seam, she pried up a small panel. She pulled out a small leather-bound folio and chuckled. “Dougal Fraser, you sneaky old cadger. ”
She opened it and flipped through, and though she didn’t understand exactly what she was looking at, she could tell that it was something out of the ordinary. And one name recurred over and over.
“Virginia Company,” she whispered. She scanned pages of names written on what looked like a passenger manifest. What was an exporter of knit goods doing transporting passengers?
She flipped through some more pages, and the blood froze in her veins. The Endeavor—the ship on which young Aidan had been held prisoner. She read on. It appeared as though Fraser had commissioned cargo for the Endeavor. Were these the same sort of “passengers” as Aidan had been? She shivered.
If she could just tear out the page, it might be enough to prove that her fiancé was involved in shady dealings. Or enough for her father to postpone the betrothal, at least. She needed to rip it from the seam, and in such a way that Fraser wouldn’t notice. She cracked the folio all the way open and ran a finger along the binding.
“Find what you’re looking for?”
Her heart exploded in her chest. Dougal Fraser stood in the doorway.
Though he was an older gentleman with thinning, graying hair, he wasn’t precisely old. Nor, with a set of well-balanced features and an aquiline nose, was he unattractive. But hovering there, his already pinched eyes narrowed tightly in anger, he struck Elspeth as a very ugly sort indeed. “Making yourself at home, I see. ”
