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That's when the courier had arrived.
He'd nearly thrown the man out, weaving back to his desk and ripping open the envelope with enough venom to tear it in two.
Fortunately, the message had remained intact. Because it had been anything but the terse rending of ties he'd expected.
He'd read it through five times, and was almost totally sober by the time the second message came.
Its urgency had been palpable, unable to be ignored. It demanded that he be at the customary location at one A.M. sharp, to discuss information that would alter his plans, his perspective, his life.
And so he'd come, arriving at half after twelve so he could read and ponder Rouge's message once again before the arrival of his contact.
Resettling himself on the hard, rotting chair at the pub's far corner table, George unfolded the letter again, reread the unexpected contents.
Ordinarily, I'd be severing our association at this time, as this extraordinary shipment you promised never arrived. However, circumstances allow me to give you one last chance. As luck would have it, I've been approached by a wealthy client with very specific tastes and an unreasonable sense of urgency. Nothing in your previous supply would have suited him, extraordinary or not. To be brief, he requires a specimen of rare beauty and breeding—a specimen as untouched as she is well-bred. A lady in speech, manner, and upbringing. And he requires her within one week's time, after which he'll be taking her and sailing for India. To this end, he is willing to pay an enormous sum. Your compensation would be fifty thousand pounds and a resumption of our business alliance—more if your shipment meets my client's needs. Don't even consider sending that gutter trash you've shipped in the past. If you do, it will be discarded, no payment made, and our business together permanently terminated.
I'll expect your shipment within the week. Otherwise, consider this to be my final communication.—M. Rouge
George stared broodingly off into space, contemplating this unforeseen opportunity he was being handed. Fifty thousand pounds—an astounding amount of money. Certainly enough to pay off some of his debts, to keep his life from crumbling into bits.
And all in exchange for one girl.
But where could he get such a girl—a lady rather than a common wench? Oh, Bates's latest crop had been exceptional—clean, attractive, a bit more refined and less dissipated than the previous ones. But they were still a workhouse crop-poor, uneducated, of questionable origins.
A well-bred young lady … that was another matter entirely. Where would he find someone of that caliber, someone who was not only polished, beautiful, and untouched, but who also came without the ties that would cause her to be missed if she were to disappear—permanently?
His mouth twisted into a bitter smile as, for the dozenth time, the ideal candidate sprang to mind—or if not ideal, at least the one young woman he really wanted to send.
Anastasia.
Every time he remembered the way he'd had to bow and scrape before her this morning, offer her unrestricted access to those files when all he'd really wanted to do was to choke her with his bare hands … the very memory sickened him. She was everything ugly and painful in his life—the embodiment of Anne's union to Henry, the usurper of Henry's inheritance, the intruder in his business.
The only thing she hadn't been able to take away from him was Sheldrake. The marquess was clearly enamored with Breanna. Lucky for Anastasia, or with God as his witness, she'd be on that ship to Paris right now.
How delightful it would be to send her off to become some rich man's whore—to reap that ultimate revenge and, in the process, earn a hefty sum and regain Henry's estate.
Reason intruded. Tempting as that prospect was, there would be too many unanswered questions, too many tracks to cover. And too little time to get it all done.
Still, the notion was enticing…
"Medford. You're unusually prompt tonight."
George's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his contact, who slid into the chair opposite his.
"Yes, well, I was preoccupied by the correspondence your courier delivered earlier. In fact, I brought it with me. I had to reread it."
"That bad?"
"Let's say it wasn't what I expected." George folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope. "In any case, your message was extremely urgent, more so than ever before. What's happened?"
"Quite a bit." The other man leaned forward, not even taking the time to light his customary cheroot. "Your niece was at the bank again today."
George stiffened. "That's impossible. She spent the whole morning at…" His voice trailed off. "What time did she arrive?"
"Around noon. And to answer your unfinished bit of reasoning, she came directly from Colby and Sons. She made that clear during her meeting with Sheldrake."
"They met?"
"Oh, very much so." An uneasy cough. "Sheldrake was waiting for her. More than waiting. He was pacing. He'd canceled all his afternoon meetings so he'd be free whenever she arrived. The moment she did, he whisked her away to his office."
