Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) by Heather Boyd Page A

different now. His face and rough, scarred hands gave away his lifestyle.
    When Turner took his leave with a promise to return tomorrow, Oliver followed him to the door, ensuring he heard every single word he spoke. George trailed after, his face eager for stories of how wonderful his uncle’s life was, and Turner was happy to embellish quite liberally.
    When Henry Turner’s horse disappeared from view, George tugged his sleeve. “May I return upstairs again?”
    Oliver took a moment to consider where the boy should be. If he knew anything about Elizabeth and her moods, she was upset again. If George was here she might not speak her mind. Perhaps the boy did not need to be present. “Off you go.”
    George sprinted up the main staircase as if the devil chased him.
    “He looks to you for advice,” Eamon murmured at his side.
    Oliver shrugged. “Take the afternoon off, Eamon. I’m sure you deserve a pint or two at the tavern.”
    His friend hesitated. “Won’t I be needed here?”
    “No, Eamon,” Oliver said as he cast one final glance outside before the door closed. “Your gift for ferreting out the heart of important gossip will serve us better. Find out everything you can about Turner and particularly his business interests in America.”
    “Do you believe he’s lying?”
    Oliver shook his head as Elizabeth was led to a chair and comforted by Blythe and the duchess. His disquiet grew. “I cannot determine that until I have more than just his word. I need facts and you’re the man to furnish them.”

 
    Chapter Ten
     
    BETH STARED INTO the flames as panic clawed her throat. She’d done her best to hide her emotions while her brother-in-law had been present, but she had no desire to comply with his wishes and travel to America. How could she take her son away from everything he’d known?
    A soft, comforting arm curled around her shoulders and drew her back to the chairs. She was pushed into a well-padded seat, fussed over, and then a teacup appeared before her. The tea was black, the way she liked it. “Drink this. I’m sure you’ll feel better soon,” the duchess murmured.
    She lifted her arm to take it and when she did, the cup rattled on the saucer. The duchess swiftly took it back and drew her into her arms. “Shh, my dear. We’ll muddle through this.”
    Her embrace was firm and comforting and for a moment Beth needed that. “I do not see how. He threatened to take George whether I like it or not. I did not imagine that, did I?”
    She dropped her face to her hands to hide her distress, but Lady Venables settled on her other side and rubbed her back. “I’m sure it will not come to that,” the lady murmured soothingly.
    “It may,” Oliver interjected abruptly.
    Beth jumped. She thought he’d returned to his studies, but she could see his boots at the edge of her vision. She wished he would go away. He was not one to hold back an opinion to spare her feelings. When she lifted her head to look at him, he’d taken a chair opposite. His expression was full of speculation, but he kept any further thoughts to himself.
    She sat up straight again, determined not to appear weak and emotional. “Thank you for your assistance in this, Your Grace, but I should return below.”
    “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ve too much on your mind now to bother with your duties. Why don’t you spend what is left of the day with George? I’m sure he’d enjoy that very much.”
    “I’d much rather be gainfully employed, given the circumstances. I don’t want to leave you in the lurch with the wedding so close at hand. I’d like to do what I can before I leave.”
    “Leave?” several voices said at once, Oliver’s the loudest.
    Beth nodded but wondered why he cared enough to comment. It wasn’t as if he would be here to miss her or George. It wasn’t as if he missed anyone. She wiped away the tears pooling in her eyes. “I’ll not let Henry take George away without a fight, and if he will