A Fine Madness by Eileen Dreyer

Author:Eileen Dreyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2015-11-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

"Release what prisoners?"

Ian settled into the green-and-white-striped Chippendale chair and did his best to catch his breath and attention. He'd left Quinn outside the study with Alistair, knowing that he couldn't be distracted from this phone call.

"That's just the problem, old son," his caller objected in a frustrated drawl. "They weren't obliging enough to identify them. Just said, release the prisoners or suffer the consequences."

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Ian leaned his elbows on the secretary and stared blindly out the front drive where a twin line of oaks that predated the present royal family name marched along, tall, sturdy sentinels against a wind that had warped them all the same way.

"Mailed from London," he said.

"Just like the others. Plain bond paper, standard business envelope, letters cut from one of the glossy magazines."

"And you think it's legitimate."

"Afraid so."

If his caller thought it was legitimate, Ian had to listen. He was no longer dealing with dear Leila, who spent the majority of her time protecting her own position. Sir Basil Farquhar was the best, in the course of his career trained in everything from antiterrorist tactics to cryptography. Holder of the Victoria Cross, he'd been personally responsible for pulling more than one member of the royal family out of the line of potential fire.

And his opinion was that the conference set for Hartley Hall in less than two weeks was a powder keg. Well, Ian had dealt with powder kegs before. The secret was to make sure there was no detonator available.

"I hear you had a spot of trouble with the old ailment. I thought the medicos had given you a clean slate."

Ian sighed. "Boring," he admitted, his attention split between the unsigned note promising catastrophe and the memory of Quinn bent over him, murmuring, her hand cool against his forehead. He actually shook his head to drag his attention back to the matter at hand. And that had never happened to him before. "The plans will be to you by tomorrow. We're still trying to work out a few of the kinks."

"The, uh, colonel told me." The well-bred voice paused with some amusement, the typical upper-class prejudice against the unexpected. "A ghost?"

"A ghost." And a renovator. A slim, bright, obsessed keeper of other people's history who kept creeping back into Ian's thoughts and destroying his concentration. Who made promises with just her eyes Ian had never before wanted to have made. Who had fatal sensitivity and the most sensual mouth Ian had ever kissed.

The ghost, in the end, would be the easy part.

Ian rubbed harder at his nose. "Read me the note he received one more time."

'"Your Royal Highness. We know they are coming. You have compassion. Help us free the helpless prisoners, or the meeting will suffer the consequences.'"

Ian grunted. "Polite for terrorists."

"Quite."

"Must have mutilated quite a few mags for all that."

If nothing else, he'd make sure Quinn was gone before the conference.

"Not very helpful, though. Both sides have camps full of prisoners."

Ian agreed. "Both sides have been cited for civil-rights violations.

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