Page 92 of The Countess Caper

“See, that just makes me want to shoot you more,” Rue remarked. “Not very bright, is he?”

“You’ve already forgotten their names,” Roarke said. “And any secrets you might know. In fact, you will make sure they are all safe in their new lives. Because if anything happens to any of them, I’ll come for you.” He advanced, plucking the knife from the carriage door. “And I don’t miss.”

“You’re a disgrace,” George said.

“Yes.” Tessa rolled her eyes. “That’s the point. You really are an idiot, aren’t you?” She marched forward and pulled the crumpled parchment from his pocket. “I believe this is mine.”

When George twitched in protest, Roarke shoved him back. He stumbled, yelping.

“You could have done this at any time over the years,” Tessa pointed out, reading the will, the faded and brown ink. The signature in her father’s handwriting.

“I couldn’t find the bloody will, now could I? And then your bloody giant of a husband started talking to lawyers and setting up house trusts and making inquiries about women inheriting, I knew it was a matter of time.”

She looked up. “Yes, you’ve been through such a trial,” she said blandly. Roarke had been making sure Magpie House stayed in her hands, even after marriage. George did not need to know that. “Poor you.”

Roarke’s lips twitched in a brief smile. He glanced over her shoulder at the will. “It appears you own a second house. Congratulations.”

Her father had not forgotten her after all. Had not abandoned her to his careless and greedy family.

“Right,” Rue announced. “I’ve had enough of this one’s face.” She poked George with the end of her musket. “Off you go.”

“What?”

“I’m keeping your carriage. Your coachman can do as he likes, I suppose. As long as he does not make of himself a nuisance.”

Daphne laughed as she strolled out of the greenery. “Splendid. It would have been a long walk home.”

Tessa rolled the parchment carefully. “All this for a house in Bath when he already has a fortune.”

“Some people are never satisfied,” Roarke said.

She wanted to ask him if he was, but didn’t. She wavered a bit on her feet. He caught her. “I’m still a bit fuzzy,” she admitted.

“Let’s get you home.” He turned to help her back to the carriage, where Atticus waited, still holding his cudgel. George was muttering furiously. She caught a flash of him as he raced into the bushes.

“Is he… in his smalls?”

“Yes,” Rue said. “I’ve stolen his clothes. He didn’t deserve them.”

Tessa smiled. She felt like she might burst with the joy snaking through the chaos of the day. “You came for me,” she said. “All of you.”

“Of course we came for you,” Rue replied. She huffed at the genuine surprise on Tessa’s face. “Now who’s the idiot?

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tessa woke to a quiet house. Even Parsley was sleeping peacefully. She felt herself again, the laudanum having passed through her system, leaving only a deep thirst and the kind of hunger that rumbled like thunder. She tiptoed out of the chambers, on the hunt for something to eat.

Roarke’s door swung open instantly. “Where are you going?”

She started, hand flying to her racing heart. “Roarke.”

“Running away?” His face was cast in shadows, dark, hard. But she knew it was hurt that lurked beneath the clipped question. She could soothe him, flatter him. But that was the old Tessa, and he had never smiled at that Tessa the way he smiled at the one who tried to steal his carriage in a rainstorm.

“I’m looking for scones,” she said instead. It threw him off slightly, as intended. The hurt softened. Something like amusement flared instead, though he did not smile. “With blackberries. I’m hungry.”

He stepped into the hall, wearing only his dressing gown. She could see a good portion of his chest, his tanned skin. “You slept through dinner.”

“What time is it?” She wondered if her father’s pocket watch was fixable.