When a Lady Kisses a Scot (Her Majesty's Most Secret Service)

by Tara Kingston

  “Rose, tell me what’s going on.”

  “I should not have come here. I should have stayed away.” She moved to the window and stared out into the night. “You see—everyone who knows the truth dies.”

  Chapter Six

  Mac crossed the room and pulled back the curtains. Through a thick cloud cover, the moon teased its presence. Memories flooded over him. When he was a younger man, utterly taken with Rose’s beauty and contagious laugh, he’d lead her into the secluded spaces of her family’s garden where they’d share their hopes and visions of a future together—a future he’d foolishly cast aside.

  A fist dug into his gut. Twisted. Blasted regret served no purpose. But it wasn’t possible to banish the truth of what he’d lost all those years ago. He’d have better luck convincing the queen to dance the cancan in her knickers.

  Rose turned to him, keeping her silence. Not that she needed to say a word. With those beautiful, expressive eyes, she had not been able to hide her feelings from him.

  Even now, after so many years had passed, she couldn’t hide anything from him.

  She was in danger, and she was frightened.

  In his youth, he’d lost himself in her eyes. Now, he felt that pull anew. Her enigmatic gaze drew him in.

  “Tell me the truth, Rose.” Mac brushed a fingertip over the back of her hand. Her skin was like velvet, smooth and warm and somehow decadent to touch. “I can help you. But you have to trust me. Why was Brock following you?”

  Her forehead furrowed. “Brock? The big rotter with dark, unkempt hair?”

  He nodded. “He was pursuing you. Why?”

  “I do not know the man.” She pressed her lips together into a seam. “But he was following me. In truth, he’s the reason I kissed you.”

  “Perhaps I owe the bloke a debt.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have done that. But I could think of no better way to hide in plain sight.”

  He resisted the urge to smile. “Never let it be said kissing a beautiful woman is a burden to bear.”

  She fidgeted with her hands, just as she’d always done when nervous. “Devil take it, I hadn’t expected to see you here. I’m surprised you’re not off in some exotic place, chasing down a story.”

  “One does not need to leave this city to scrape up fodder for an exposé.”

  “Quite so,” she said. “Well, I do owe you a debt. When dispatching those blackguards, you were most impressive.”

  “I credit the element of surprise. They expected a defenseless woman. The blighters didn’t anticipate you’d have help.”

  Her mouth pulled taut as a tightrope walker’s line. “For the record, I was not defenseless.”

  His gaze flickered to the velveteen bag. “Ah, the gun in your reticule. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  Her slender shoulders lifted and fell. “You’ve lost none of your inclination to observe every detail.”

  “But you didn’t put it to use.”

  Her chin hiked a fraction of an inch. “Any reasonable person would employ deadly force only as a last resort.”

  “In the future, do not hesitate to pull the trigger.” The thought of what they might’ve done to her was like a blow to the solar plexus. “I’ll ask you—again—why were they trying to abduct you?”

  “Perhaps you might have pummeled the answer to your question out of them?”

  “To my regret, there was no time. The Yardmen took them into custody.”

  “Which leads me to ask you a question—how were you able to get away so quickly?”

  “Suffice it to say I have useful acquaintances.”

  “Do you now? In that case, perhaps they can find out the truth about those men.”

  Mrs. Manfred entered, bearing a silver tray. “I am sorry to interrupt, but I’ve brought the miss some tea and a bite to eat.”

  “Thank you,” Rose said, a genuine smile brightening her weary features. “As it turns out, I’ve regained my appetite.”

  “We told you not to worry, miss.” Mrs. Manfred shot MacAllister a pointed glance. “He has tricks up his sleeve, he does.”

  So, despite her cool manner, Rose had been concerned about him. She’d betrayed nothing of the sort to his face. It wasn’t like her to disguise her feelings. She’d always been open and honest.

  Of course, the years had changed them both. She was likely a very different woman than the fetching girl he’d known. She’d been so young then. Trusting. Without a trace of reserve. Now, she’d learned to shield herself.

  She took a biscuit from the tray. A look of pleasure spread over her features as she bit into it. Her soft pink tongue darted out, licking her coral-tinged lips.

  Good God. He was watching her like a lad in the throes of infatuation. He tore his gaze away.

  By hellfire, what has come over me?

  He shifted his attention to his housekeeper, who at that moment was pouring tea into a china cup. “Mrs. Manfred, when you are finished here, please prepare a room for our guest.”

  “I’ve already seen to it,” she replied.

  Rose stopped nibbling the biscuit. “Thank you, but I’ve already arranged accommodations.”

  “I won’t hear of it,” he said. “The risks are too great for you to spend this night alone.”

  “Perhaps I did not make myself clear.” Rose’s eyes flashed. “I do not intend to bring trouble to your doorstep. I’ve caused enough disruption.”

  Mrs. Manfred gave her head a little shake. “’Twill be no trouble, miss. And I’m quite sure the room will meet your standards.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Manfred. I do appreciate your kindness. But regardless of the comfort of my accommodations, I wish nothing more than to be alone.”

  “After what happened tonight, I will not stand by and allow you to take such a chance. You will be safe here,” Mac countered.

  “Allow me, Mr. Campbell?” Daggers flashed in her gaze. “You’ve no say over what I do.”

  “Miss, it might not be my place, but it is very late,” Mrs. Manfred spoke up. “Heaven knows what manner of criminal is roaming freely at this hour. The city is a dangerous place after dark. I couldn’t rest for worrying over ye if ye left us now.”

  Appearing to consider the housekeeper’s words, Rose glanced down at her hands as Daniel bounded into the room.

  “Mr. Campbell, I take it ye’re not expecting another guest,” he said.

  “Most definitely not.”

  “Well, sir, we’ve got a problem on our hands. I’ve spotted men on the grounds, approaching the house.”

  Mac unholstered the Webley revolver he wore beneath his jacket. “How many?”

  “Two in the front. Maybe more at the back,” Daniel said. “I saw one of the rotters from the theater, the one drivin’ off in the carriage with the emblem on the door.”

  “Good enough.” Mac handed Daniel the pistol he’d worn strapped to his calf. “Use this if you see the need.”

  Damnation, this was not going to be pleasant. The bastards who’d come after Rose were desperate to finish up their task.

  He shot Mrs. Manfred a pleading look. “Do see to Miss Fleming’s comfort. As you can see, I’ve some business I must attend to.”

  “See to my comfort?” Fire blazing in her eyes, Rose planted her fists on her hips. “I’ve no intention of standing idly by while you deal with the threat that followed me to your home.”

  God above, she was beautiful when her eyes flashed like that.

  “Rose, we are prepared to handle the situation.”

  “As am I.” She retrieved her pistol from her reticule. “How might I assist?”

  He’d expected her to brandish a derringer. Rather, she carried a six-shooter, a compact and efficient weapon. “I presume you know what you’re doing with that.”

  Her mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Of course. A lady should always know how to act in her own defense.”

  He knew that determined look in her eyes all too well. There’d be no convincing h
er to retreat from the danger. But perhaps if he wove another ingredient into the mix, she’d be willing to stay out of sight. She’d always been protective. Surely that had not changed.

  “In that case, I’ll ask you to provide a line of defense in the event the men get past us.”

  He glanced at Mrs. Manfred. “Please show Miss Fleming to my study—I trust she’ll employ her weapon against anyone who threatens you.”

  The housekeeper gave a small nod. “Come with me, dear. I must confess I will feel more secure knowing that pistol of yours is at the ready.”

  He looked to Rose. “I trust you’ll look out for Mrs. Manfred’s safety.”

  Her throat appeared to tighten. “MacAllister, this should not be your battle to fight.”

  “Believe me, Rose—I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  …

  Positioned behind a sturdy oak desk in MacAllister’s study, Rose clutched the gun in her hands. She was a good shot, accurate to twenty feet. As her pulse pounded in her ears, she strained to hear what was taking place beyond the room. The very idea of holing up in this room, waiting behind a sturdy door, while MacAllister and Daniel engaged in a battle that wasn’t truly theirs pricked like a thorn beneath her skin. If something happened to either man, she’d carry the regret until the end of her days.

  The hint of fright in Mrs. Manfred’s voice had convinced Rose to retreat to this chamber, but now, the silver-haired woman relaxed in a chair at Rose’s side, observing the scene with a curious lack of alarm. Had the housekeeper feigned fear to convince Rose to go along with MacAllister’s directive?

  “It won’t be long now,” the housekeeper said softly. “Mr. Campbell will take care of the problem without delay.”

  “You certainly do have faith in him.”

  “He’s a good man. I trust him. Don’t you, dear?”

  Rose looked to the door, her fingers tightening around the grips of the gun. “I have faith in one person.”

  “And who might that be, miss?”

  “Myself.”

  The bitter truth in her response slammed into her. For what seemed a lifetime, she’d been on her own—alone in a country an ocean away from the land of her birth, living a lie, never letting down her guard. Trust was out of the question. She would always be vulnerable, like a mouse who’d crept away from the safety of its hole only to be spotted by a ravenous cat.

  Mrs. Manfred’s gaze drifted from Rose to the weapon in her hand.

  “Ye told Mr. Campbell ye know how to use that gun. How good are ye?”

  “I can hit a whisky bottle at fifty paces.”

  Mrs. Manfred nodded. “But have ye ever shot a man?”

  “I have not.”

  Rose glanced down to the revolver. She’d had a few close calls back in New York, but her bodyguard, a sharp-witted giant of a man who was fiercely loyal to Rose, had always eliminated the threats before she’d been forced to take matters into her own hands. Whether a drunk dared to put his hands on her or a thief attempted to make off with the money in her safe, Seth had solved the problem.

  Pity she hadn’t brought him along on the journey. She hadn’t feared scandal. Her bodyguard displayed no interest in her as a woman, and she was well past caring what others thought about her morals. But she’d needed someone she trusted implicitly to stay behind and keep a watch over her place. The Painted Lily Tavern was all she had left in the world. She would not have chanced its security to anyone but Seth.

  “Ye really think ye could do it, miss?” Mrs. Manfred pressed. “Ye think ye could kill a man?”

  “If that man threatens us, I will not hesitate to pull this trigger.”

  Mrs. Manfred’s attention shot to the door. Her gaze settled on the brass latch as it rattled.

  Someone was there—someone who was not pleased to find the door bolted.

  The housekeeper whispered, “I certainly do hope ye’re right.”

  Chapter Seven

  The latch jangled as the force of the intruder’s motions shook the door on its hinges. Rose held her revolver at the ready. Resting her finger against the trigger, she prayed she wouldn’t have to use it.

  Mrs. Manfred kneeled behind the desk, her spine ramrod straight as she peered over the top. She betrayed no trace of fear. Rather, a look of resolution gleamed in her pale eyes as she murmured a low prayer.

  A sudden quiet fell over the room. Just as quickly as it had started, the rattling stopped.

  A violent crack rang out.

  The door splintered.

  A hulking man kicked aside what remained of the oak panel. His gaze settled on the pistol in Rose’s hand.

  His mouth twisted with cruel amusement.

  Rose steadied her trembling hand. One tug of the trigger, and she’d bring him down. “Who are you?” The quiver in her voice sounded foreign to her own ears.

  “I willna hurt you.” The ugly gleam in his eyes contradicted his words.

  “Don’t come any closer.” She kept her gun sighted on the man’s burly chest. “Leave this place.”

  “Come with me. Ye willna come to harm. Ye have my word.”

  “Go. Or I will shoot you.”

  “Ye dinna have it in ye, lass.”

  Behind him, MacAllister stepped into the doorway. With a smooth, stealthy movement, he whipped a cudgel in his right hand.

  The bludgeon slammed into the back of the brute’s head with a heavy thud. The man gasped. His jaw hung slack, and he stared at her, eyes wide, yet uncomprehending.

  His head pitched forward. He crumpled in a heap on the carpet. MacAllister maneuvered around the intruder and prodded him with the toe of his boot.

  Carrying a length of sturdy cord, Daniel eyed the gun in Rose’s hand. “The chap’s lucky we got to him before ye shot him dead.”

  “Make sure he’s bound tightly,” MacAllister instructed, then crossed the room to assist Mrs. Manfred to her feet. “We’ve secured two others, but keep your weapon at the ready. There’s no way to tell if there are more.”

  “Well done, Mr. Campbell,” the housekeeper said, glancing at the unconscious intruder. “There’s not even any blood to clean out of yer fine carpet.”

  A wry smile played on MacAllister’s mouth. “That is one advantage I had not considered. Would you be so kind as to ring up the agency and inform them there’s been an incident?”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Manfred said. “High priority, is it not?”

  “Highest level. You know the code. Insist on speaking with Colton himself.”

  “At this hour? Won’t that rouse the man from his sleep?”

  “That is not a concern.”

  The housekeeper’s lips thinned as if she dreaded the task. “I’ll see to it, sir.”

  Turning on her heel, she left the room, her heels tapping a brisk rhythm against the polished wood floor.

  As MacAllister turned back to Rose, her heart stuttered. The heat and intelligence in the depths of his gaze seemed to penetrate her defenses, as if to seek the inner truths she tried to hide from him.

  He took her hand between his warm, strong fingers. So steady, even now, after his home had been invaded by violent intruders. He might’ve been killed. But he showed no trace of shock. No hint of fear.

  Gently, he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “Now, my dear Miss Fleming, you need to tell me all about your unpleasant new acquaintances.”

  …

  As Mac reached for Rose’s hand, he half expected her to pull away, but she seemed to welcome his reassuring touch. Despite the way she’d squared her shoulders against the intruder’s threat and faced the prospect of dealing with the rotter on her own terms, she could not hide the fear in her eyes.

  Thank God he’d gotten to them in time. Rose would have pulled the trigger. He’d little doubt of that. But would a bullet have brought the bastard down?

  Even if she’d stopped the man in his tracks, the aftermath of the violence would’ve taken a toll on her.

  God only knew it too
k a toll on him.

  The use of force was a necessary evil. Even so, he preferred to employ his training in the martial arts whenever possible. Practically speaking, keeping a criminal alive had its advantages. Dead men told no tales, but a thug facing the hangman might well reveal a good deal of useful information when presented with the prospect of saving his own neck.

  Of course, there was another consideration. He wanted to be able to sleep when he laid his head down at night. As an operative of the Colton Agency, he’d been tasked with cases of high priority to the Crown. In the course of an investigation, he’d been forced to kill. A child’s life had been at stake, and there’d been no other option. He’d been fully justified in pulling the trigger.

  But that hadn’t stopped the nightmares from plaguing him. Only time had dimmed the viciousness of the memory.

  Now, he preferred to neutralize a threat with his cudgel, blackthorn stick, or his nunchucks. Ordinary enough in appearance, the blunt weapons could render a man unconscious.

  Tonight he’d been able to protect Rose. If she’d locked herself behind the door of a hotel room, vulnerable to these bastards with nothing but a flimsy lock and a pistol for security, the men would likely have gotten to her. God only knows what they’d planned.

  But even now, she regarded him with eyes that spoke more than words. Whatever her secret, she wasn’t ready to confide in him.

  Fixing her gaze on the intruder, her shoulders sagged, just a bit. “Most impressive, if I do say so.”

  “Seeing these bastards end up in custody of the Yardmen is getting to be a habit.” He gently squeezed her hand. “Later, after we’ve rid this place of the vermin, you are going to tell me what in blazes is going on.”

  “I don’t have the answers you want.”

  “Then we will begin with the answers you do have.”

  MacAllister fought the urge to draw her near and offer her comfort. But this was a time for hard truths, not tenderness. Gentle caresses would not protect her. He had to find out what they were up against. He had to anticipate the enemy he might be forced to combat.

  Releasing her hand, he joined Daniel at the intruder’s side. Hogtied and gagged, the ruffian was not about to give them any trouble. With any luck, Colton would dispatch his operatives within the hour. After security was in place, Rose could get some much needed sleep. He’d save his questions for the morning.