Gilmont wasn’t deceived one whit. Undoubtedly, their patriot was missing part of a finger or toe. He wouldn’t slack off again.

“When should Nheshal expect the next shipment?” Gilmont asked, his mood only marginally improved.

“Twenty-four to thirty days.”

“Are you going to make an example of our soldier to the others?”

“I will if you want me to.” Danny unhooked his fingers and dropped both arms to his lap. “Our surgeon assures me that our operating theatre will be fully functional by early next week.”

“What is being done about the remains afterwards?” Gilmont bent a hard look at his prodigy. They couldn’t have odors alerting the neighbors.

“I’ve use of a commercial incinerator at a salvage yard in East Dulwich. I’ve paid the owner handsomely for no questions asked.”

Elise went down the castle steps, the wind tossing her long hair about her face. She tucked a strand behind her ear. For the last half hour, she had stared out the windows, her eyes on the drive. Knots twisted inside her stomach as Harry’s Land Rover came to a halt. Her hands trembled, and she tucked them inside her jacket pockets.

Harry climbed out and approached the bottom of the stairs, his face lighting with a smile.

Elise took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I need your help,” she said without a proper greeting.

“You’re asking me for help?” His mouth quirked.

Elise wet her lips and nodded, too nervous to enjoy his humor. “My parents are hosting their annual Jumpers Dinner and Ball. Mother has threatened to ask the Duke of Southerland’s son to escort me.”

“And I take it that you want me to save you from this duke’s son?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it saving, but you’d be doing me a huge favor.” She stopped three steps above him, her back ramrod straight.

A flash of mischief flitted across his face. “Have you forgotten that your parents all but threw me out of Torwoodlee Castle the last time I showed up at one of their bashes?”

Elise’s stomach plunged to her toes. He was going to make her beg—same old Harry.

While the Roxbury Jump Race was not Royal Ascot, its large following had become a favorite among the horsey set for those willing to battle Scotland’s weather. Elise’s mother insisted that she could not attend unaccompanied.

“That’s ancient history. And my mother’s patriotism borders on the obsessive. She’ll take one look at your uniform and drill you with questions about our latest overseas campaigns.”

“What’s wrong with the duke’s son?”

If Harry wanted her to beg, Elise would. She was that desperate. “He has roaming hands and foul breath. And he brays like a donkey when he laughs.”