Page 70 of Go, Rogue

His brother always was a greedy weasel, but this is too much. Too far by a dozen nautical miles.

Barclay only smiles at him, and McGann can’t help but notice how much he resembles their father. The sight sends a shudder through him because he knows which parts of himself bear that same inheritance. Which features he shares with Barclay. They’re both tall and broad-shouldered, though Barclay has gone soft around the middle and neck. Their eyes are the same shade of green, but his brother’s are set in a sallow face with a reddened nose that already speaks of early dissipation.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Barclay says. “Although, watching you and Esmee lose what should have rightfully been mine has had its advantages. An inheritance should be complete, do you not agree, brother? It never sat right that pieces of it went to you and that woman.”

“That woman is your sister,” McGann says. “And a duke’s daughter.”

“Half-sister at best. But better, I suppose, than you. At least her mother wasn’t a—”

“What do you want, Barclay?” McGann cuts him off, tired of this conversation already.

“That’s ‘Your Grace’, and I won’t remind you again. But since you ask, I’d like the key to the lockbox now.” To McGann’s astonishment, Barclay produces the box from the shadows. “It’s rather harder to open than I imagined it would be.”

“Why do you have that?” McGann says, trying to keep the shock and surprise from his face. He thought the East India Company had been after it. Not Barclay. He would never in a million years imagine his brother to be involved.

Except…

He thinks back to the man with the mustache and that long ago night in Jamaica. Your brother is a handy man to have as a friend, he’d said.

“Where is the key?” Barclay interrupts his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” McGann says.

“I don’t believe you. Although I will grant you you’ve hidden it well, or we would have found it when we searched your shabby little rented rooms. And James here left no stone unturned on your ridiculous ship. What’s it called, James? The Eventide?”

“The Elphame,” McGann corrects. “It’s Gaelic, in case you’ve already forgotten where you came from.”

“Oh, I’m quite clear on that front. Those of us on the right side of the blanket usually are. Now tell me where the key is or I’ll leave you here to rot.”

“I don’t know,” McGann says again, his heart suddenly beating hard in his chest.

Catherine has the key. And whatever his brother is up to, he can never know that. He can never know about her.

Not if—goddamn it. His eyes flick to James, who undoubtedly knows something about Catherine, just from her presence aboard his ship. He may even know everything about her.

Hell.

“There’s nothing in that box for you,” McGann says.

“On the contrary,” Barclay replies, “That box is worth a fortune, and I’ll have it.” He looks down his nose at McGann. “And make no mistake, I will let you rot here until you tell me where that key is. So you best do whatever it takes to jog your memory before James does it for you.”