Caught by the Scot

by Karen Hawkins

  “I doubt it.” Her voice snapped like a cannon shot.

  Thea was in rare form this morning—but then she was every morning. Everyone in her family knew that one never, ever addressed anything more than a calm “good morning” to Thea before she’d had her morning tea and toast.

  Lance plowed on, unaware he was sailing straight into a storm. “You’re upset. I understand that, but you are not thinking clearly.”

  Conner winced. Och, lad, you’re poking Neptune with his own trident this morning, aren’t you? You’re brave, I’ll give you that.

  Apparently Thea’s expression must have expressed just that, for the squire added in a breathless, rather pleading voice, “Even on a romantic venture such as this, we must not be blind to the proprieties. You need a chaperone.”

  Conner stifled a laugh. That was one of the many suggestions he’d made last night to the receptive, if tipsy, squire. It hadn’t taken much—just a couple of comments about people’s perception of Thea traveling alone for days on end with a single man, followed by Conner’s instant reassurance that he knew her so well that he would never make such a scandalous assumption.

  “Good God, Lance, I’m seven and twenty! I haven’t had a chaperone since I was eighteen. And I’m observing the proprieties on my own, thank you very much. I had the landlady send a maid to sleep on a cot in my room. I told you I’d done that.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts! I didn’t sleep a wink, for the girl snored as if she were sawing logs all night long. I don’t need you, nor anyone else, doing anything more.”

  Och, Lance, that’s a shot over the bow. I’d stand down if I were you.

  But Lance continued as if Thea hadn’t given him fair warning, saying in a stubborn tone, “If our trip is to be elongated and our marriage delayed, we need more than the services of the occasional chambermaid to protect your reputation.”

  “Lance, we are eloping. It’s the nature of an elopement that one recklessly throws the proprieties to the wind, and embarks on adventure for the sake of it!”

  “Good God, no!” The poor man couldn’t have sounded more horrified. “Theodora, if at any time you thought my actions were colored by any sort of impropriety, I hope you’d tell me so that I may correct them immediately!”

  “For the love of heaven, Lance! I—” She bit off the end of the sentence and took a deep breath. “When we first spoke of eloping, you said it was an exciting leap. If it wasn’t a leap over the stifling bounds of propriety, then of what?”

  “A leap toward marriage, of course.”

  “Oh.”

  Conner took hope in the disappointed note in Thea’s voice. Like all women, she’d been hoping for a touch of romance. Which I didn’t consider either, he realized with a grimace. But now I know better.

  “Theodora, I would never be disrespectful or put your reputation in harm’s way. Never.”

  There was a long silence, and then another deep sigh. “That’s very honorable of you. But I wish you’d asked me first. I’ll admit I wouldn’t mind having a lady’s maid, but I do not see the need of a chaperone.”

  “I’m sorry. This elopement had been far more complicated than I anticipated. It’s a wonder you don’t demand I return you home.”

  Conner leaned closer to the window, unable to still a flash of hope.

  To his disappointment, Thea gave a gurgle of laughter. “Oh Lance, you cannot be pouting.”

  “I’m not pouting! I am disappointed, but who would blame me? I hate seeing you upset.”

  “You’re very kind.” Her voice was calmer now, and warmer, too. “I’m sorry if I took your head off. I don’t do well in the morning.”

  “I’m shocked to hear that, for you look beautiful in that blue gown.”

  Conner rolled his eyes. Good God, man. She will not fall for such a blatant maneuver as—

  “That’s far too kind of you.”

  Dammit, Thea. Conner’s earlier humor had fled.

  “It’s true,” Lance persisted. “You are a lovely woman, Theodora. I’ve thought so since the moment I laid eyes upon you.”

  Conner had to give the man credit; he was a fount of compliments.

  Thea sighed. “I still wish you’d spoken to me beforehand.”

  “I’ll do so next time, I promise. Just don’t give up on us.”

  “Of course I’m not giving up on us.”

  “Then you’ll still marry me?”

  “I don’t make promises lightly. When I say I’m going to do something, I do it.”

  “Theodora, you dear!”

  Silence answered this, and for a wild moment, Conner wondered if the two of them were embracing. The image burned like hot tar, and he scowled fiercely and started toward the window. He’d think of a reason to explain banging on it later; he had an embrace to stop, b’God! But then he heard Thea’s cool laugh and she said in a calm voice, “I’m hardly a dear; I’m merely being practical.”

  “So you see why a chaperone is necessary. It’ll answer the calls of propriety.” He hesitated, and then said in a less enthusiastic tone, “Plus, if you decide at any time that you’ve changed your mind and no longer wish to go through with our marriage, then you will go home with your name unsullied. It is because of that, more than Mr. Douglas’s suggestion, that I was determined to find a proper—”

  “Wait. Conner put you up to this?”

  Conner winced. He’d hoped Lance had been too tipsy to remember exactly who said what. The man has a stronger head for drink than I gave him credit for.

  “No! Not at all. Getting a chaperone was entirely my idea.”

  “But apparently Conner said something that made you think of it. What did he say?”

  “It was nothing. We were talking last night and I can’t remember how it came up, but he mentioned quite innocently how glad he was there were so few people at this inn, as they might assume things if they saw you traveling alone with me.”

  “That arse!”

  “Theodora!” Lance couldn’t have sounded more shocked if she’d announced she’d killed her own brother with a dinner knife and had found the experience invigorating.

  “I’m sorry. But I should have known he was behind this.”

  True, Conner decided. She should have known he wouldn’t sit idly by while she ran off with the wrong man.

  “Theodora, you greatly mistake. Mr. Douglas wasn’t behind anything. In fact, he never mentioned hiring a chaperone. That was my idea.”

  Thea gave a very unladylike snort, and Conner choked back a laugh as he imagined the squire’s shocked expression. Oh, how I wish I could see that.

  He moved closer to the window, his elbow bumping the shutter. He froze in place. Had they heard that? Surely not. It was a small noise and—

  “Lance, you’re right. I do need a chaperone.”

  Conner frowned.

  “Theodora!” Lance couldn’t have sounded more pleased. “You don’t mind, then?”

  “No, I’m flattered you went to such trouble. In fact, I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  Blast it. Conner scowled. This was not what he’d hoped for.

  “You’ll like Miss Simmons,” Lance was saying. “I visited her this morning before you came down for breakfast, and thought her delightful. She’s the youngest sister of the local vicar, and until recently was a governess, but was let go when her charge came of age for her season in London. Miss Simmons is pleasant without being forward, kind, and very eager to be of use. I was quite impressed with her.”

  “Wonderful. I will thank Conner for his fortuitous suggestion, although I daresay he was three sheets to the wind when he offered his assistance. He frequently is.”

  What?

  There was a surprised hesitation, and then Lance said in a cautious voice, “He didn’t seem drunk.”

  “Was there whisky in the room?”

  “We both had a glass or so, but he didn’t seem unduly affected.”

  “He’s good at hiding it,” Thea ann
ounced. “Did you know he is also afraid of heights?”

  Conner stiffened. Perhaps when he was younger, but not now. Hell, he climbed the rigging without even thinking about it.

  “Strawberries make him break out in a horrible rash, too. And he cannot abide mice. He screams like a little girl every time he sees one.”

  Ah. He gave a reluctant smile. So you know I’m here, and will tell faradiddles as punishment for my manipulation of your squire. Fair enough.

  Thea wasn’t finished. “He wears only silk waistcoats, even when at sea, and he reads all of Miss Compton’s racy novels. In fact, he wept when the heroine died in The Evil Duke.”

  His smile left him. She’d gone too far with that one, for it was the one truth she’d spoken, something only she knew, and an embarrassing moment for him although he’d been quite young at the time.

  The jangling of an approaching coach pulled Conner’s attention from the couple inside the inn. He pushed himself away from the rock wall and sauntered toward the gate, crossing in front of the window. As he did so, he glanced into the parlor. As he’d hoped, although the squire’s back was turned, Thea faced the window.

  Unable to resist, Conner stopped and made a bow so elaborate, it wouldn’t have been out of place in the French court.

  Thea’s gaze narrowed, a flash of disapproval crossing her face. With an obviously deliberate move, she turned her shoulder to him and continued speaking with the squire, no doubt heaping more character flaws on Conner’s hapless head.

  Grinning, Conner reached the gate just as his coach appeared, splashing through puddles as it turned from the road into the yard.

  MacLeish was handling the reins, with Spencer and Ferguson perched beside him on the high seat. They brightened on seeing Conner.

  The coach clattered to a halt, and Ferguson and Spencer hopped down, the younger man calling for a postboy to hold the team.

  Spencer grinned. “Here we are, Cap’n! Fresh as the wind and ready to see you married.” He peered past Conner. “Where’s Miss Cumberbatch-Snowe? Is she ready to return home?”

  “Sadly, ’tis nae going to be as easy as that.” Conner glanced at the sun. “You’re late. I expected you an hour ago.”

  “We had word from the ship. After we left yesterday, Lady Winstead refused to evacuate your quarters. She caused quite a ruckus, she did.”

  “She’s still there?”

  “Och, nae, Cap’n,” Spencer said fervently. “But apparently ’twas an unruly scene.”

  MacLeish, a great bear of a man with thick curly brown hair and a full beard, nodded solemnly. “She threatened to burn the ship, she did.”

  “They said ’twas ugly, as she’d decided you’d sent her home as you’d found a more pleasant companion to replace her.”

  Ferguson nodded. “From what we were told, she threw a tantrum fit for any three-year-auld.”

  “I’m sorry the men had to deal with such,” Conner said, faintly surprised. He hadn’t thought Charlotte would care that he’d decided their liaison was over. She was married, for God’s sake, and should be concerned about a scandal, which would hurt her far more than it would hurt him.

  Ferguson grinned. “Aye. MacDougal threatened to tie her to the mast whilst he sent for her husband.”

  “That clipped her sails,” Spencer added with glee.

  “Guid.” Conner wished he’d never wasted his time with the woman. “I hope you found a decent bunk last night.”

  “Ferguson refuses to call it an ‘inn,’ though ’twas warm and dry. We cannae ask for more than that.”

  “Dry?” The First Mate looked offended.

  “Parts of it were until it rained,” Spencer said. He cocked a brow at Conner. “ ’Tis fortunate you sent the postboy yesterday to let us know you wished us to hold until you sent word, for we were almost here when we met him.”

  “I worried as much. I’m glad you waited.”

  “I’m nae sure why that helped. Did you nae find her ladyship?”

  “Aye. She’s here, but so is her beau.”

  “Beau?” Ferguson looked intrigued. “You dinnae talk her oot of that little obstacle, eh?”

  “Nae yet. I fear it will take more effort than I’d first envisioned.”

  MacLeish, who’d been following the conversation closely, crossed his arms over his broad chest, his expression one of lively interest. “What’s toward, Cap’n? Spencer said we’re on a mission of the heart.”

  “So we are, and I’ve a plan, but ’twill require patience. For now, take the coach and the horses to the stables.”

  MacLeish looked surprised. “You dinnae wish to leave now?”

  “Nae. The horses will need to rest first.”

  “But we only drove a few miles here and the coach was nearly empty. The horses are plenty fresh enough to—”

  “MacLeish!” Spencer said sharply. “The cap’n is scheming, he is.”

  “Aye, we’re on a quest,” Conner agreed. “And the prize is grand.” Grander, perhaps, than he’d admitted to himself when he’d first begun.

  He’d need his men’s help. The more they knew, the more he could count on them to assist him. Most men of fashion surrounded themselves with servants who were often far more snooty and class-aware than their masters, and who refused to cross the line in the sand society drew between servants and masters. But life on a ship was more egalitarian and it served Conner well to have his crew about him, whether they were on land or sea, especially now, when he had a treasure in sight. “We’ve an adventure to plot, men. And ’twill take all of us to accomplish it.”

  “You can count on us, Cap’n,” Ferguson said solemnly, as if taking a vow.

  “Aye,” MacLeish agreed.

  “Guid!” Conner gestured for his men to move closer. “As you know, I had planned on asking Miss Cumberbatch-Snowe to wife yesterday, but when I arrived at her home, she’d mistakenly eloped with Squire Fox.”

  “Hold there, Cap’n!” Ferguson scratched his chin. “Mistakenly eloped? How does that happen?”

  “It dinnae matter. What matters is that I’ve now met the mon and he is nae her equal. ’Tis to her benefit, and mine as weel, that she wed me instead of this squire.”

  “Och, a squire.” Ferguson spat the word as if it tasted of rotted wood and vinegar. “Who’d wed a lowly squire when she could have a cap’n?”

  “Did you explain that to her, sir?” Spencer scrunched his nose. “Mayhap she dinnae understand that you outrank this mon.”

  “I’d mention the fortune you stand to inherit, too,” MacLeish added. “You know how women are when it comes to gold.”

  “She has her own funds and is nae impressed with mine. Nor does she care if I’m captain or cabin boy.”

  “Pardon me.” MacLeish flushed when Conner looked his way, and then said hesitantly, “Forgive me, Cap’n, and I may be oot here, but since the miss is on her way to wed another mon, perhaps ’twould be best to find another woman to wife?”

  Spencer gaped. “MacLeish, do you wish the cap’n to give oop withoot a fight?”

  “The cap’n’s honor is at stake!” Ferguson added in a fierce tone.

  Spencer added, “They’ve been friends for years. ’Tis a prodigious match for them both.”

  “She’s fortunate the cap’n has picked her, she is,” Ferguson agreed.

  MacLeish had been looking from one of his shipmates to the other as if he were watching them play a vigorous game of tennis, but now he eyed Conner with a confused look. “But . . . she’s eloping with another mon.”

  “Aye,” Conner said shortly.

  “Would nae that remove her from the ‘Available to Wed’ column, and instead place her in the ‘If Only I Had Asked Sooner’ column?”

  “If I dinnae care aboot her future, it would,” Conner said curtly. “What I’ve seen of this squire tells me they will nae last a month.”

  Ferguson leaned forward, the breeze lifting his hair. “Is this squire an upstart, then?”

  “I would
nae say that,” Conner admitted.

  “He must be a rummy fool,” Spencer offered.

  “Nae exactly.”

  “A curmudgeon given to yelling and such?” MacLeish offered.

  “Or an auld mon, aged and decrepit?” Ferguson threw in for good measure.

  “Nae, nae, and nae. He’s pleasant-spoken and young.”

  MacLeish’s thick brows lowered. “He has some bad habits, then? He gambles, or womanizes?”

  “Nae. He’s thoroughly decent. All taken, he’s a guid enough mon.”

  Everyone stared at him.

  Conner said sternly, “But he’s the wrong mon for Miss Cumberbatch-Snowe.”

  Everyone but MacLeish looked convinced. He asked in a cautious voice, “Did you mention this to the lass?”

  “Aye,” Conner said grimly. “I asked her to wed me, instead, which was an error, for the timing was ill and she was nae in the mood to hear me oot.”

  “I can see that,” Ferguson agreed. “What with her being on an elopement with another mon and all.”

  “I will nae let that deter me,” Conner said firmly. “I’m nae courting her. I’m saving her.”

  Spencer’s eyes widened. After a stunned moment, he said in a fervent tone, “Why, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Aye,” Ferguson agreed. “ ’Tis like one of them famous poems where the hero rides into the wedding, yanks the heroine o’er his saddle, and they gallop off, happy ever after.”

  It was exactly like that, Conner decided. “I’ve a plan to fix this and win the lady. But first, we must slow things doon a bit. So, heave to, lubbers, and put the coach and horses away. We will delay our trip until tomorrow.”

  “And after that?” Spencer asked.

  “After that, we will see. MacLeish, how long would it take to drive to Gretna Green from here?”

  “If we drive at a goodly but comfortable pace, stopping at night, and changing the horses at least once—” MacLeish squinted into the distance. “Two days, mayhap three.”

  “I want a week. You must drive slowly. We’ll say the coach is heavy and the horses must rest often.”

  Ferguson rubbed his hands together. “We’re flying under a false flag, are we?”