Lady Fugitive (28 page)

"She's gone out, Nash."

"She never goes anywhere without
telling me. And what the hell are you doing here? We told you your little
ladybird flew the coop."

"Widow Hardwick says you handle
financial matters. I told her I'd wait here until you got home. We need to
confer, my good fellow. Hope you don't mind that I poured myself a drink. Join
me?"

Cameron nodded and splashed some liquor
into a glass, his expression cagey. "I don't know what financial things
you mean or why I'd talk to
you
about 'em."

Morgan smiled and became the Bargainer.
"I've got a confession to make, Nash. I located Richelle. She knows I'm
here. I wasn't entirely honest when I came by the house the other day. I did
much more than meet Richelle aboard the vessel from London. I married her on
it."

"So, what's that got to do with
me?"

"We're men of experience and
commerce, you and I. Men with a distinctive talent and certain tastes in
common."

"Other than those leather boots on
your feet, I don't see anything in common. You're a friggin' Limey."

"Gambling. A talent for attracting
ladies with a good deal of coin." Something flickered in Cameron's facial
expression and Morgan knew he'd taken the hook.

"When I learned Richelle's father
was dying and she's the only child of a wealthy businessman, I jumped at the
chance to wed her." He gave Nash a sardonic grin. "Though a good many
other wenches over the years have been disappointed that I wasn't the marrying
sort." Both men chuckled.

"You don't see no ring through my
nose," Cameron snorted.

"But I'm sure there'll be a wedding
band on Elaine's finger soon. Because the will stipulates the women need
husbands to manage the estate."

Now Cameron's brown eyes had a feral
gleam in them. "That's what I heard tell."

"One look at this house and the
suit you were wearing, and I knew you'd done well enough. That's why I've a
notion that we might conduct some private business between ourselves…you know,
seeing as we're practically kinsmen." Morgan winked and took another
swallow of his drink.

"That depends on what you figure to
give up," Cameron announced, leaning forward. "Your little bitch has
most of the old man's holdings. That don't seem right. Elaine had to put out
for the old coot the past fifteen years. I hardly ever got to see her and had
to baby-sit that gal of yours. She was married to my little brother for while.
You know that?"

Morgan nodded and tamped down his fury
at the reminder. "Well, he was never too bright, so I had to check up on
her. All the way out to Oregon. Figure me and Elaine earned a lot more than
what's declared her portion in that there will. I got a certain style to
maintain, like you noticed. Quality liquor like this, cards, nice
clothes."

Morgan set down his glass. "I've
several irons in the fire myself back in England. Can't say I'd opt to stay on
here. Not without the proper incentive. Richelle's told me her father left her
a factory. Metals of some kind. She wants to sell it, but I should imagine there'd
be significant profits in metals with a war on. This may not be the time to
sell."

A broad grin lit up Cameron's face.
"Limey, you're smarter than you look. That was always my point. Couldn't
get her idiot pa to see what he had."

Morgan rubbed his chin. "I might be
willing to sign over Richelle's half of this house. Could even stake you to a
few more games of poker with some cash besides, if there's serious money in
that factory."

"There's money, all right,"
Nash was quick to assure him. "North and South both pushin' to outfit
their armies. Any time you got two buyers after the same thing, you get a
bidding match. Gone beyond frettin' over bids, though. Play cards
yourself?" Morgan nodded. Now Cameron's eyes positively glittered.
"Don't lose sleep if somebody loses big, do you?"

"Not so long as it's the other
chap."

Cameron rose and beckoned for Morgan to
follow him to the study. "Got something to show you." He pulled the
ledger from the desk and began openly bragging how profits had increased.
"Hardwick always sold short, worried about his damned reputation. Look
what happened since he took sick and I started runnin' things." 

Morgan scowled. "Costs seem too low
for so many shipments. You wouldn't try to pull the proverbial wool over my
eyes, would you, Nash?"

Cameron nudged Morgan's ribs. Morgan
resisted the urge to grab the bastard and choke the life out of him. "Cost
figures are right…but cut shipments down to less than half that. I make up
duplicate bills of lading, one for each side. Most outposts are such a mess,
the brass don't know what's in munitions stores or sittin' on docks. Anybody
wises up they got shorted, I offer shippin' credits, rush a few parts out, and
shut 'em up."

"Aren't you the least concerned
about what would happen should someone learn you're shipping to the
Southerners? That's not exactly cricket, is it? You're essentially outfitting
the enemy." Morgan held his breath. Everything rode on this one answer.

"Don't send the goods direct.
Riverboat or rail 'em to a depot or warehouse. Then I get a third party to move
them. You'd be surprised what you can get away with if you plan it right."

Morgan scowled. "But your scheme's
bloody complicated. Might be simpler to sell and take my cash. I don't need to
get involved in all these shenanigans."

Cameron's expression darkened. "Don't
be like the old man. You don't want to sell that ironworks. Factory's like gold
lining your pockets, Limey."

"How do I know your arrangements
won't blow up in my face as soon as I step in? Don't want trouble with your
authorities. And it's not as though you've a reputation for masterminding
successful frauds. I've checked on you, and all I heard is that you're an
occasionally lucky gambler with some connections."

"That all, huh? Did you also happen
to hear about a blackleg by the name of Grubstake, who turned up dead in Carson
City last year?"

Morgan raised his shoulders in
indifference. "Can't say I did. What's he got to do with your factory
scheme?"

"Nothin'. He was somebody I owed
big. Poisoned him with his own liquor. Debt erased. Ain't nobody looking for
me, either, cause somebody else got the blame. I got a middleman at the
factory. Any problem comes up would be
his
, not yours."

Morgan purposely gave no reaction and
appeared lost in thought. Cameron's tone became insistent. "Here's our
deal: I want the house and five thousand cash. You keep the ironworks. I'll set
up a few sales for a percentage of the take. These here are my private books.
Set in the factory office don't show none of this. Elaine doesn't know, either.
I get a third off the top. You keep two-thirds. Damned fair, considering I laid
all the ground work."

"Maybe. I'd have to think about
it."

"What's to think about? I'll still
be helping you, kind of like a silent partner." Cameron began to laugh.
"What do you say,
Son
? Once I get hitched to Elaine, you'll be my
son-in-law. Tarnation, partners and kin! I like it!"

"There's a detail you've overlooked
in all this kinship," Morgan announced in a dispassionate voice. "I
agree to the percentages and the five thousand. However, I want the stepmother
servicing my needs when Richelle's indisposed each month. Elaine's past childbearing
age, so she shouldn't suffer the same indisposition. I know the whelp in Richelle's
first pregnancy was yours, not your brother's. You've had both the women. I
want the same arrangement.
That
would be equitable."

"Now wait a just a goddamned
minute!"

"Why? You intend to take a cut of
my money. I want a cut of your wench. I'm a lusty fellow. Don't like abstinence
a week out of every month."

"
You friggin' nuts
? I don't
care what that lyin' bitch Richelle told you—"

"Only that you'd forced yourself on
her. I could do the same to Elaine, or we could come to a gentlemen's agreement
now."

"Gentlemen's agreement?"
Cameron gaped. "You think I'd ever
agree
to let some other man bed
my woman? Christ Almighty!"

"Come on, Nash," Morgan
snorted. "You let Richelle's father bed the blonde for years. But then, he
was an 'old coot', as you put it. Probably wasn't much between the sheets,
while I'm quite virile. Elaine might not be content with you once she's had a
real man plow her field."

As Morgan expected, the last remark
brought Cameron's fist up, swinging wildly.

Morgan unleashed every ounce of the
stoked fury in his soul. He seized the younger man by the shirt and flung him
against the wall. "I love Richelle, you worthless son of an infected
whore! You and your sniveling brother abused her and left her to die on the
frontier. Fitting retribution that she survived, while Cletus caught pneumonia
and died."

"My brother—"

"Shut your face! I've got something
for you, on behalf of my wife. Something she should have given you years
ago."

Morgan's knee shot forward and up,
connecting with Cameron's groin. Morgan straightened the lapels of his frock
coat. He left the study without glancing back at the slumped American writhing
helplessly on the floor.

"He's all yours, Richardson."

Morgan and Richelle had gone out for a
walk. Lorella was waiting when they returned to Hardwick House. "This came
while you were out, sir." She held out an envelope. Morgan took it and
went to the study, where he poured himself a drink and began to read.

Lorella asked Richelle if she might have
the evening off to go to supper with a local drummer who'd come to the door
selling spices and herbs. Richelle encouraged the girl to go, enjoying the
prospect of an evening alone with her new husband. She entered the study to tell
Morgan they'd have some unexpected privacy, but found him looking paler than
she'd ever seen him except while he'd been ill aboard the vessel.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

He crumpled the letter in one fist.
"It's from Boyd. I wired him this address before I went to Washington. We
have to go home right away. The holding company has suffered financial
reversals. It's bad. Freight service may be in danger of collapse. I'll have to
work something out once I get back," he mumbled, more to himself than her,
Richelle suspected. "Maybe I can renegotiate with the squire."

Richelle knew Boyd better than that. He
must have indicated some reason for the problems. "Why would your delivery
service be near financial ruin? You were doing well enough when we sailed."

"One of our shipments was stolen.
Highwaymen, apparently. We also lost a driver in the incident. He quit right
afterward. There was no insurance on the shipment, so Boyd had to pay for the
lost goods. Some of the other customers heard the tale and canceled pending
deliveries. Damn it!" He took a long swallow of his drink and rubbed at
one temple.

Richelle reached for his hand. "I'm
sorry. You probably regret ever leaving England."

"You remember Boyd and I met with
Squire Martin, the day in the town square?" Morgan asked. She nodded,
flushing. To her that day had always been memorable as the occasion of Morgan's
bizarre proposal.

"The squire invested in our
company. Boyd's had to guarantee repayment of the funds. I signed a power of
attorney long ago so Boyd has autonomy to act in my stead. It seemed a
reasonable precaution, as I was often away. Naturally I trust Boyd."

He closed stormy gray eyes. "But he
issued a promissory note against the inn. I've got to get home, develop some
new prospects and generate more business.
I'm
the Bargainer, not Boyd.
Without me there isn't likely to
be
new activity. Just mounting debts
and no way to make the payments. I could lose the inn."

She squeezed his fingers. "No,
Morgan. I'd never let that happen. Papa left some money in bank accounts. We'll
wire funds to Boyd."

He pushed her away and frowned.
"I'm not begging for alms by telling you this. I can manage my own
affairs, but I must be in England. You know I planned to return shortly even
before this news."

"It's not charity. I want to help
you because we're man and wife. What harms you harms me."

He answered in an odd, flat voice.
"I understand you mean to show me a kindness, but I cannot take part of
your inheritance. You must let me deal with this in my own way. I led Cameron
to believe I was of his ilk—a man who would deliberately prey upon women,
beguiling them into parting with their coin. Were I to accept money from you
now, an ugly element of truth would creep into that distasteful lie."

Richelle sighed. "Where would you
be without your damned pride, Englishman?"

"On a farm outside Crowshaven,
stacking hay. Where I may yet end up. Advise the harlot we'll be packing and
closing up the house. I've got to see about passage for us and send a reply to
Boyd."