Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle (39 page)

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Pickpocket Countess

Habersham is going to sneak into my bedchamber and tie me up,' Jack said glumly, but a spark of humour flared in his eyes.

'Essentially, but in less crass terms.'

certain?'

'As certain as I am going to be in the amount of time I have left. The investors are hungry for blood.'

'And if not? What happens if The Cat goes unchecked?'

'Then I am sunk before I've even begun. My largest investor, Cecil Witherspoon, leads the charge for The arrest.'

Brandon sighed. 'Not only do I need those last three investors, I need current investors to stay. Even though the earldom's coffers are solid, I cannot lay my hands on a hundred thousand pounds in currency at a moment's notice. It would mean liq-uidating a few of the estates not under the protection of the entailment,' Brandon explained.

'Is there a chance of them deserting?'

'It will be inevitable if The Cat hits their houses again.

Livingston is ready to walk and Flack may be right behind him.

They didn't bargain on a risky venture. None of us did.'

Brandon closed his eyes. The meeting had brought everything to a head. He could not offer guarantees of safety for the investors. Nor could he offer guarantees of new investors coming forward. The current investors, particularly those with more invested, were anxious to stay on schedule and start framing the mill within the month.

'The Cat should be pleased,' Jack observed, idly twirling his stick between his hands. 'You have to choose between her and the mill. It is interesting to me that there's any choice at all. What do you think it says to you, that you're even considering this woman's safety above the financial well being of Stockport-on-the-Medlock?' Jack paused, the look on his face indicating he was debating the wisdom of his next words.

'What is it, Jack? Apparently you have something more you wish to say?' Brandon said grumpily.

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'Hell, here it is, but remember we're friends.' Jack pointed the walking stick at him for emphasis. 'You don't think The Cat has real feelings for you, do you? She
wants
you to desire her, even fall in love with her. She is counting on it for her success. She knows that anything more between the two of you is not part of the game.'

'Stuff it, Jack,' Brandon growled. He wanted to say more.

He wanted to say that whatever she had done in the past with other men or other

was different than what lay between

he and she. What they felt for each other, the consuming heat of their passions, was real.

For the first time, Brandon realised how inane that explanation sounded. Was Jack right? Jack was an astute assessor of character. He would be a foolish man indeed if he rejected the very wisdom he had asked Jack to bring.

Across from him, Jack groaned. 'Egads, you did think she had feelings for you. Your face says it all.'

The coach turned down the drive to Stockport Hall. Jack raised a curtain and peered out into the early grey morning. He let the curtain drop and sighed heavily. 'Enough about your love life. I am going to bed for the remainder of the day. When I awake, I am going to take a long soak to alleviate my poor feet. Happy New Year, my friend.'

Happy New Year, his foot. Brandon cursed as he watched his friend sail through the doors into the warmth of the house without a care in the world. He knew it was something of an act. Jack had plenty of cares. He just didn't let on about them.

All the same, Jack didn't have a seductive villain to subdue, a mill to build, a fortune to protect and a bloodthirsty Cecil Witherspoon to keep in check before someone got hurt or, worse, killed. Brandon could not remember a new year that had gotten off to a more ominous start.

He hadn't a clue what his next move was. The only piece of luck he had was that The Cat hadn't struck since Day.

Pickpocket Countess

However, it was simply a matter of time before that bit of luck ran out. She'd assured him that night that she wouldn't stop her raids.

Perhaps, like him, she was watching and waiting to plot her next move. The one certainty he had was that she would strike again and, if the investors were correct in their guesses tonight, he knew where and he knew when. He could prevent it if he could verify that Eleanor Habersham was The Cat.

To his way of

there was only one way to find out

quickly. He would have to take a leaf from The own book

and pay her a nocturnal visit of his own. If he was wrong and Eleanor was really no one more than Eleanor there would be hell to pay. But these were desperate times.

When to strike next? Nora paced the small parlour of the Grange, scanning the list of investors she held in her hand. The Cat was close to success. All the news she'd gathered at the New Year's ball confirmed it; two investors were still needed and the others were getting nervous enough to consider pulling out. If she could keep up the steady pressure, the textile mill would become a moot development.

Once her work in Stockport-on-the-Medlock was done, she could move on, just like she'd done in Leeds, Bradford and Birmingham. The Cat of Manchester never stayed in any one place too long. It was her key to ensure The Cat lived all nine of her lives.

Eleanor Habersham could cease to exist. A new character could be created and the game could begin anew somewhere else where her efforts were needed; and there was always somewhere else. With approximately five hundred and sixty factories in the Lancashire region, employing one hundred and ten thousand workers, she had an amazing amount of job security-as long as she didn't get caught.

The thought of accomplishing her goal and moving on did not fill her with its usual satisfaction. Instead, it left her feeling