Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle (71 page)

'I don't hold much hope at all.'

His words proved fortuitous. By eleven o'clock the next morning, the whole village knew, in spite of the late night of dancing at the Squire's, that The Cat had appeared in Manchester and hit the homes on Cheetham Hill. Not just one house, but three. All three homes were occupied by major investors in the mill and all three of the homes' occupants had been away from home at the Squire's ball in Stockport-on-the-Medlock. Expensive items were missing, far beyond the usual prey of silver candlesticks and small pieces of jewellery.

Brandon speculated as to the reason for such a large-scale robbery. The Cat was getting ready to move on and needed enough funds to start over in a new place. She would need enough time to establish her new identity and to study the terrain. His careless conversation with Jack had forced her to it-or maybe Jack was right and it was inevitable.

Either way, the outcome pained him. He could not bring himself to go into town and hear the news first-hand. Instead, he sent Jack so he could stay hidden away at home, wallowing in self-pity.

Footsteps and a voice in the hallway alerted Brandon that his sanctuary had been invaded. Moments later, the butler announced the arrival of St John and Witherspoon. There was no denying them. He had to see them.

'Gentlemen, please come in.' Brandon gestured to the empty seats in front of his desk. He decided to address the issue head on. It would be useless to pretend he didn't know why they'd come. 'I hear The Cat has been busy again. I had hoped we'd seen the last of him.'

Scott

237

'Or her, as the case may be,' Witherspoon did not hesitate to put in. 'We mean to catch The Cat once and for all. I've spent the morning putting together a watch crew. Each of the investors' homes will be heavily guarded from now on. Additionally, we've organised a patrol to guard the mill. Now that the framing has begun, the construction site is more vulnerable than ever. There's actually something there now that could be burnt down or blown up. St John has organised a little militia to roam the countryside.'

'A militia?' Brandon repeated, trying to sound cool. He trained a gimlet eye on St John with the intent of intimidating him with his hauteur. 'Isn' t that word a little exaggerated?' He could only imagine how absurd the farmers would look armed with their pitchforks and scythes.

'Besides, St John, the farmers are my tenants. I am the only one who can "organise" them into a fighting force.'

St. John had the good sense to look abashed. 'Of course, my lord. I would not be so presumptuous as to order your people.

What Witherspoon means is that there is a group of half-pay British regulars billeted at the inn in the next town over. I've gotten permission to use them. They should arrive late this afternoon.'

Brandon hid his surprise. 'That's excellent St John.'

'Will you join us, Stockport?' Witherspoon asked, fixing Brandon with an intense stare that gave Brandon the impression of being transparent. What was the man looking for?

Before Brandon could answer, Jack's voice boomed from the hall. 'Absolutely. S tockport would not miss this opportunity for the world and neither would I. Count us both in.' Jack invited himself into the private meeting and drew up a chair.

'Lord Wainsbridge, how good of you to volunteer.' Witherspoon narrowed his gaze, looking Jack up and down in barely disguised disdain, his eyes clearly conveying the impression he thought Jack's services would be negligible at best.

238

Pickpocket Countess

'Glad that's settled.' Jack slapped his riding gloves against his palm. 'If you'll excuse us, Stockport and I have preparations to make.' He smiled, ignoring Witherspoon's chagrin over the abrupt dismissal from someone not even the host.

'Do be ready, Wainsbridge. Tonight, we ride for blood and we shoot to

Are you up for such sport?' Witherspoon said from the door.

'Are you?' Jack shot back.

Brandon stood up to intervene. 'Gentlemen, let's save our animosity for another time. We're all on the same side.'

'Are we?' Jack asked after the two visitors departed.

'What do you mean?'

'Witherspoon and St John have mustered a real army. Your Cat is no match for British soldiers. You heard him. Tonight they're out for blood. Is that the side you're on?'

Brandon paced to the French doors overlooking the garden.

He looked out over the bleak winter lawn, his hands clasped behind his back. 'No. I've thought about nothing else all day.

When I heard she'd struck, I knew it would come to this. I had hoped it wouldn't be so soon. Who knew Witherspoon and St John could be so efficient?' His attempt at sarcastic levity fell flat.

'Witherspoon is the brains behind that duo. He doesn't miss a detail,' Jack replied. 'Gawd, the man's fanatical. He's awfully emotional over money and for a man who's not the emotional sort, I find that odd, don't you?'

Brandon turned from the doors. 'Are you suggesting there is something else at stake?'

'I honestly don't know.' Jack shook his head. 'But I do know Witherspoon would rather see The Cat dead than caught. If The Cat is caught, she won't live long enough to see a trial.'

Brandon nodded slowly. 'I find that I don't care if she left because it was time to be The Cat again. If she bested me, I accept that. As you put it, I had a prime adventure. My pride is

Scott

wounded, if I meant nothing to her beyond another conquest.

Perhaps I am just another man she's duped into playing the accomplice.

'But whatever anger or hurt I feel, it is not enough to warrant seeing her dead. I can't blame her for my willing participation in what happened between us. She did not force me to keep her secrets or to come to her bed. I could have turned her in at any time and I chose not to. I didn't have to bed her, yet I did. She did not ask for my protection, but I gave it anyway.'

Jack yawned dramatically from his chair. 'You sound so reasonable for a man who's been jilted. Can't you sound a bit angry? You just lost the best sex of your life.

a wall or

something! '

Brandon turned sharply from the window, his voice a menacing growl that contradicted his dispassionate logic. 'If I am cool and collected, it is because I have no choice. A hot head will get her shot and me incriminated. Jack, what do you think will happen if Witherspoon actually succeeds in capturing her and discovers that The Cat of Manchester looks distinctly like my betrothed? Barring that most likely of calamities, what happens when I can no longer produce a betrothed? How do I explain that my intended has ridden off into nowhere and broken the engagement?'

comes to mind.'

'Disaster doesn't begin to cover it, Jack. Damn it, this is no time to be flippant,' Brandon reprimanded his indolent friend.

'Do we have a plan?' Jack said, sobering.

Brandon nodded tersely. 'I have some ideas about where she might go.' He hoped his guesses paid off. Nora was out there somewhere, alone and without any way of knowing what awaited her. 'Jack, it is imperative that we find her first, especially if you're right and Witherspoon would rather shoot than ask questions.'

In spite of his best efforts, Brandon failed to locate Nora by