Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 03] Read Online Free PDF Page A

besides, Stickley was a genius at nurturing and growing the single trust left in their hands. Under Stickley’s paternal supervision, the fifteen thousand pounds originally left by Sir Hamish Pickering had grown to nearly thirty thousand.
    Some of which Wolfe would like to get his hands on.
    Now.
    The safe wasn’t hidden, for it was a great iron box large enough to hold every one of those thirty thousand pounds—at least, Wolfe assumed it did. He didn’t bother his head with petty little details of the actual money. That was Stickley’s job.
    It was also Stickley’s job to parcel out Wolfe’s retainer in equal portions on a monthly basis. This month, the gold had lasted only three days. He’d then coaxed a bit extra out of Stickley, whose prim mouth had pursed at such irresponsibility, but that had only lasted another week.
    Now he was down far more than that. He owed people, dangerous people—the sort of people who ran dark, dirty betting establishments full of dark, dirty customers. The thought of his fate if he didn’t repay them spurred him to lift the tools he brought to bash the safe into submission instead of using the numerical combination.
    He caught himself after a moment of disappointing exertion, for banging on the safe would do no good. He wasn’t prepared to stage a robbery just yet. Right now all he wanted was enough to placate his debtors until he could get the rest of the money out of Stickley.
    The trouble was, he couldn’t remember the combination. He thought it had something to do with his father’s birthday, which he couldn’t remember either. He tentatively spun the dial for a few moments, but nothing came to mind but the memory of his father’s disappointed eyes.
    Leaving the safe itself for a moment, he went to his own desk, which faced Stickley’s as if they actually worked together, and threw himself down onto his large richly padded chair. Tossing the tools down at his feet, he rubbed his face hard.
    He’d given up drink for the moment, all the better to stay one step ahead of his pursuers, but his head pounded and he felt shaky and ill. He wanted nothing more than a fistful of whiskey or six, but he didn’t dare. Nightmares of waking up dead haunted him.
    Idly, he began to search his desk. There wasn’t much in there but dried-up inkwells and quills left over from his father’s time, although he did find a penny stuck in the back of a drawer. Tucking it into his waistcoat pocket, he then poised his elbows on the desk and stared across at Stickley’s empty chair.
    How he hated Stickley. From boyhood they’d been thrown together, expectations heavy on their shoulders. Stickley, adroit sycophant that he was, had studied hard and well. Wolfe had chafed at being forced into a profession, for wasn’t there money enough to live a gentleman’s life?
    The Pickering trust—a great wad of money left by an uneducated Scotsman who’d overstepped himself, meant for some title-grubbing female descendant. Had there ever been a bigger waste of beautiful piles of gold in the history of mankind? Wolfe’s fingers tingled with greed.
    He rose and walked slowly over to Stickley’s side of the great double desk. Stickley was annoying andfussy, but he was no fool. He wouldn’t leave the safe combination lying about in his desk, would he?
    What the hell? It wasn’t as though Wolfe had anywhere else to be. His rooms were being watched, he was sure. Besides, he hadn’t paid his landlord in weeks. He wasn’t even sure his things weren’t tossed in the street at this very moment.
    So, out of idle curiosity, he pulled open the top drawer of Stickley’s desk.
    Precise piles of foolscap were divided by neat lines of pencils and rows of fresh ink bottles. Sickening.
    The next drawer held stacks of stationery and envelopes—as if Stickley had anyone to write to!
    The third and last drawer held one leather folder tied with cord. Interesting.
    Wolfe pulled the folder out and seated himself in