Page 7 of The Highlander’s Unexpected Wife

“He does not sound like a good driver,” Lord Weston said.

“Everyone has at least one flaw, Hunter. This man happens to be good with a knife and a pistol. In our line of work, that makes him a good man to employ.”

Deep, rich laughter followed. “I suppose you have a point.”

Alison’s thoughts raced. The viscount was home and, not only had he brought a friend, but the friend had a driver sitting outside the house. How would she leave without being noticed? To make matters worse, the driver knew how to use a knife and gun. Her heart sank. Might she escape through the garden? If there was no rear gate, she would never be able to scale the wall. It was twice her height. Either way, she had to leave.

The scrape of wood told her a pocket door was being opened. The library or study?

“Have a seat,” the viscount said. He had stepped inside the room.

Alison took the three steps to the door, reached for the handle, then stopped. When she’d entered, the door had creaked loudly. The short hallway between pantry and study made it easy to hear the men talking with the door open. Which meant they would hear the door creak open. Alison closed her eyes and prayed they would close the door. She had to try to sneak past the driver outside. In a few minutes, he would likely be asleep…or shooting her for trespassing.

“How much will he pay?” the viscount said.

Alison’s heart fell. The men were discussing business. She balled one hand into a fist. Cameron Hunter was talking business while believing Erin awaited him in his bedchambers. Did he expect his lovers to wait until he was ready to ravish them?

“Brandy?” the viscount offered his guest.

Alison chewed her bottom lip. What if they talked until dawn? She couldn’t possibly hide the entire night. She had to return and free Erin from the closet where Alison had locked her. When she left, Erin had been livid. Erin would, no doubt, be even more furious when Alison freed her. Her cousin’s anger was a small price to pay for saving her from a man like Lord Weston. Alison didn’t want to consider the confrontation with Cousin Henry should he discover she wasn’t home.

Might she risk slipping out the door? When she’d entered, the creak had sounded in an empty room. Everything sounded louder in silence. She took one step toward the door.

“As high as five thousand pounds for the right girl,” the man said.

Alison halted. Girl?

“A beautiful virgin is worth a fortune,” the viscount said.

“Aye,” the other man replied. “Those girls must be young and very pretty—minor nobility or the gentry, or perhaps exceptionally beautiful. For those of the lower class, twelve hundred pounds. Still, that is a fortune. And—just as you suspected—he said he can pay that sum as often as we can provide the girls.”

“What is our share?” Viscount Weston asked.

“Twenty percent.”

“Two hundred and forty pounds for the crime of kidnapping a woman—a minor noblewoman or a gentlewoman,” said his lordship.

Alison barely stifled a gasp. Kidnapping?

“Napier is of the mind we can harvest the young working class until the clients’ money runs out.”

Good God, Cameron Hunter, the future 8th Earl of Weston, was a kidnapper?

Alison jarred at the quiet thump of approaching bootfalls. She wouldn’t get as far as the street before getting caught. Alison veered toward the servants’ stairs and hurried up. Her sleeve snagged on a splinter of wood on the door jamb and ripped. She stifled a cry and kept going.

Thank God she’d worn her evening slippers. She’d borrowed one of her maid’s work dresses, but the girl’s shoes were too small, and Alison had been forced to wear her slippers. They made no sound on the stairs. She reached the third floor, ducked into the viscount’s room and collapsed, back against the door, breathing hard.

She simply couldn’t believe it. She didn’t know Cameron Hunter well, but he’d seemed the typical rake. Too much money, too much idle time, and lots of gambling. His note to Erin was indicative of a man who believed his power over women to be absolute. A bored, arrogant nobleman. But to partake in the criminal world? Would he go that far to relieve his boredom?

The door abruptly shoved open, sending Alison tumbling forward. She landed on the floor, shoulder first, and rolled onto her back to find herself staring up into Viscount Weston’s face.

***

Cameron cursed. Was the woman lying on her back in his bedchambers the Earl of Kincaid’s daughter?

Cameron reached for her arm. “You have some explaining to do, Lady Alison.”

She slapped his hand. “Do not touch me.”