The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae by Stephanie Laurens Page A

satisfying your undoubted curiosity, will explain nothing more than why the goblet holds great value for a coterie of London bankers.” Linking his fingers, he glanced at the mantelpiece clock, then met her eyes. “If you will accept that the goblet is fabulously valuable, we can avoid the distraction.”
    She searched his eyes, then nodded. “You can tell me the tale of the goblet later.”
    He straightened, then leaned back in the chair. His gaze returned to her face. “Very well—so we’re in late ’23, with the goblet in hand and my father desperate to keep the clan’s businesses afloat. Although the earl, the head of the clan, owns and manages the lands and businesses, by custom all clan members draw income from said businesses, so if the businesses fail, the entire clan fails. It wasn’t only his family’s future at stake.” He paused, then went on, “The deal he’d devised and sought my approval for was with a group of London bankers. In return for the goblet, they’d agreed to hand over a significant sum, more than enough to reestablish the clan’s finances. However, as I mentioned, my father was a deeply conventional man. Because of our family’s history with the goblet, he couldn’t bring himself to hand it over—I, however, had no such qualms. So the deal was set, signed, and the money handed over, and my part in it is to hand over the goblet to the bankers on the fifth anniversary of my father’s death.”
    He studied her eyes, then abruptly stood. He walked to the tantalus and poured himself a drink. Angelica used the moment to take a sip of her water. His story had held her mesmerized; if she was parched, he had to be, too.
    â€œMy father was neither a good laird, nor a bad one.” He spoke without turning around. “He was a relatively gentle man, no saint, but he always did the best he could for the clan. Over his time as laird, he did little anyone might complain of, but conversely he did nothing to actively further the clan’s holdings, to grow the businesses. If he hadn’t made that deal, the clan would have been destitute. It shouldn’t ever become that vulnerable again—I’ve spent the last five years ensuring that—but it’s primarily my grandfather’s legacy I’ve built on.”
    He drained the glass he’d filled, then refilled it, turned, and walked back.
    She raised her gaze to his face. “When are you due to hand over the goblet?”
    He let himself down into the chair. “On the fifth anniversary of my father’s death—the first of July this year.”
    â€œAnd . . . ?”
    His gaze locked on hers; there was a chilling coldness behind his eyes. “In January this year, the goblet went missing. It was kept in the estate safe, and I checked it every month. Only I and my steward had the combination, and neither of us had told anyone, let alone moved the cup.” He paused, sipped, then, his gaze shifting to rest, unseeing, on a point beyond her chair, he went on, “The next day my mother informed me that she had taken the cup and had hidden it. I have no idea how she’d opened the safe, but the family jewels are also kept there. Presumably at some point my father had opened the safe for her and she’d noted the combination.”
    Angelica did not envy his mother; his tone had changed to one of icy control, reined menace lending every word a cutting edge.
    â€œMirabelle has her own agenda—she informed me that she’ll return the goblet, allowing me to complete the deal and save the clan, provided I give her what she wants.”
    When he rested his head back against the chair but didn’t go on, Angelica prompted, “So what does she want?”
    He lowered his gaze to her face. “She wants revenge on your mother.”
    â€œMy mother?” Angelica frowned. “Why? And how?”
    â€œWhy? Because