Head in the Clouds by Karen Witemeyer Page A

importance in the fortnight since the court ruled against us, and now you have the nerve to summon me away from my club? I ought to dismiss you out of hand for such impertinence. You—”
    “I found Westcott.”
    Reginald halted his tirade and pierced his solicitor with a contemptuous glance designed to put him in his place. Farnsworth looked decidedly pasty-faced, and no doubt his knees were knocking together behind his desk, miserable milksop that he was, but he held steady. For the moment. Perhaps he wasn’t a complete invertebrate after all.
    “Go on.”
    Farnsworth managed to hold his gaze for a second or two before his mouth started quivering. Then his attention dropped to somewhere in the middle of Reginald’s chest. Satisfied at the man’s reaction, Reginald turned over his hand and began examining his manicured fingernails, sliding a dark look out of the corner of his eye every few seconds for good measure. He admired Farnsworth’s unusual display of mettle, but it wouldn’t do for the man to suddenly grow a backbone. There was too much at stake.
    “Yes, my lord.” The little toad coughed and shuffled his papers. “I dispatched a man to Leicestershire last week to bribe Baron Westcott’s servants into divulging his son’s location. Unfortunately, the staff turned out to be quite loyal. We made little headway until I changed tactics.”
    “You’re rambling, Farnsworth.”
    The solicitor twitched and squirmed in his chair, then apparently dredged up what remained of his spine and looked Reginald in the eye again.
    “Blackmail, my lord. The Westcotts insist upon morality from those who work for them, so we started searching for blemishes among the lambs, if you will. One loose-lipped fellow at the local tavern let it slip that an upstairs maid was rumored to have had a child out of wedlock a couple years back. My man traveled to her home village to investigate and found the girl’s parents raising the brat and claiming him as their own in an effort to preserve her reputation. However, he dug up several fine citizens who eagerly verified the rumor once they saw coin was involved. When we threatened to reveal her secret, the maid intercepted a letter her mistress intended to post to America and turned it over to us.”
    Impatient with the long-winded explanation, Reginald gritted his teeth. “We already know he’s in America.”
    “Yes, but until now we didn’t know where.”
    Farnsworth paused for effect, but Reginald was fed up with the theatrics. He pushed up out of his chair, planted his palms on the solicitor’s desk, and leaned across the surface. His face lowered an inch closer to Farnsworth’s with each word he forced through his clenched jaw.
    “Where … is … he?”
    Farnsworth swallowed and pulled back, his round eyes emitting a delightful quantity of distress.
    “H-h-he’s in the state of Texas. On a sheep ranch in a region called Menard County.”
    Triumph surged through Reginald’s veins, but he masked his pleasure. He was having too much fun watching Farnsworth sweat.
    “I assume you’ve booked passage for me on a steamer, then?” His nose nearly touched the man’s cheek as he rumbled the question.
    “N-n-no, sir. But I’ll go as soon as we’ve concluded our business.”
    “You’ll go now.”
    Farnsworth sprung backward out of his chair, like a hare evading a hound. “I’ll go now.” Never taking his wary eyes off Reginald, he stumbled toward the door, plucked his hat off the rack, and fumbled with the latch. After several unsuccessful attempts, the cornered hare finally found his rabbit hole and escaped down the corridor.
    Reginald paced over to the window and watched Farnsworth scurry down the street. Then his gaze blurred as his focus turned inward, his lips twisting into a feral smile. Lucinda’s attempt at revenge had failed. Why had he ever doubted it? No mere woman could outmaneuver him. Stuart might have surrendered to her wiles, but his brother had gone