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

be.” Her brows rose. “Perhaps we’ll have time to look in at Aspreys before we leave town.”
    Studying her eyes, he realized she was teasing him; he couldn’t remember when last anyone had. He grunted and handed back the letter. “Address it, and I’ll have Mulley arrange delivery.” Crossing to the bell-pull, he tugged it.
    She folded the sheet, then reached for a pen. “And how do you see this delivery being effected? I’d wager someone from the family will be watching the door in Dover Street.”
    â€œSo I would expect. I’ll have Mulley give it to one of the street-sweepers in Piccadilly. The lad will deliver it, Mulley will watch to make sure it gets into your parents’ butler’s hands, then Mulley will vanish. There won’t be any way to trace the letter back here.”
    Finished with inscribing the address, she blotted the letter, waved it, then handed it to him. “Excellent.”
    Mentally rolling his eyes, he took the letter and went to the door. When Mulley arrived, he explained how he wanted the note delivered and handed it over. Shutting the door, he turned, and discovered she’d shifted to sit in one of the armchairs facing the desk.
    Elbow on the chair’s arm, delicately rounded chin propped in that hand, she was gazing out at the tangle beyond the windows.
    Rounding the desk, his gaze on her, he reclaimed his chair.
    She turned her head and met his eyes. “So with that taken care of, we should consider how we’re to reach your castle. Where is it, exactly?”
    â€œWest and a little south of Inverness.” He hesitated, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a map. “Here.” Spreading the map on the desk, he showed her. “However, until my men return and we know what sort of net your family has placed around London, we can’t make any definite plans.”
    Sinking back into the armchair, she compressed her lips slightly, something he’d noticed she did when thinking. Then she lifted her gaze to his face. “I agree we’ll need to wait until they pull back from actively searching every coach, but even once they do, they’ll have the people at the posting houses watching for me. Whatever route we decide to take, however we decide to travel, we’ll need to devise some way around that.”
    From that unarguable conclusion, to his silent surprise they embarked on a freewheeling discussion, first listing, then evaluating all the possible routes and modes of transportation between London and Inverness. Of course, she led, but before long he found himself engaging in an energetic back-and-forth exchange the likes of which he’d never imagined having with any woman, let alone her—his kidnapped angel-cum-savior-cum-bride-to-be.
    As a man who valued control, he disliked surprises, but with her, they just kept coming.
    L ady Celia Cynster walked into the library of St. Ives House in Grosvenor Square waving Angelica’s missive. “She’s written, thank God!”
    Celia was followed into the room by her husband, Martin, her daughters Heather and Eliza, and their fiancés, Breckenridge and Jeremy Carling. Celia’s elder son, Rupert, better known as Gabriel, and his wife, Alathea, currently residing in the Dover Street house, brought up the rear.
    They’d sent word ahead, so they weren’t surprised by the gathering awaiting them in the library. In addition to Devil and Honoria, Vane Cynster and his wife, Patience, were there, as were Martin’s older brothers, Arthur and George, and their respective wives, Louise and Horatia, along with Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives.
    Celia swept around the room, touching cheeks and receiving supporting hugs, then she handed Devil the folded note. “It arrived just as we were finishing breakfast.”
    Devil glanced at Gabriel. “Who delivered it?”
    â€œA street urchin. By the time Abercrombie registered it