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

by Tara Kingston

  “Tell me who is chasing you.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know?”

  “Last night, I observed criminals of the worst sort attempt to abduct you. You might not know the identity of the men who attacked you, but I’d wager you know who’s behind it. Who have you been hiding from all these years?”

  “I cannot be sure.” Glancing down, she veiled her eyes with her lashes.

  “Those blackguards dared to invade my home. I deserve to know the nature of the threat we are dealing with.”

  “We are not dealing with a threat. This is my battle to fight. Soon I’ll be on my way, and you can resume your orderly life—exactly as it was.”

  “You, of all people, should know that isn’t possible.”

  “But there is no alternative. I have my path, and you have yours.”

  “Balderdash.” Casting aside his restraint, he took her hands in his. He pulled her close. The subtle essence of rose water perfuming her creamy skin filled his senses. “Look at me, Rose. It is you, isn’t it? This isn’t some cruel hoax?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you this was all a lie?”

  “I might have…” He drank in every detail of her expression, losing himself in those beautiful eyes that betrayed emotions she tried to conceal. He framed her face in his hands. “Until you did this…”

  Gently, he brushed his mouth over hers. She might’ve pulled away. She might’ve turned and stormed off, or called him a cad and delivered a sound slap.

  But she did none of those things.

  With a little sigh, she leaned in to him. Her body molded to his, and her arms curled around his back. Savoring the sensation of her touch, he stilled. How many nights had he dreamed of this, dreamed of her?

  Her tempting little tongue darted out to caress his lips, to mingle with his own as he savored the taste of her sweetness. The tips of her fingers caressed his back, kindling an inner fire despite the layers of clothing separating his skin from hers. With another throaty sigh, she deepened the kiss.

  His hands skimmed her middle, feeling the tiny shivers of her response. My touch still stirs her. An absurd pleasure filled him.

  Forcing himself to gain control over his desire, he pressed a tender kiss to her lips. And then, he eased away.

  Eyes wide, she gazed up at him. Her lips parted, as if to beckon him to kiss her once again. Had the magnetic pull between them stunned her as much as it had crashed over him? The hunger between them had never truly died. Years apart could not extinguish that bone-deep longing.

  Her tongue darted out again, moistening her lips. MacAllister swallowed against a fresh surge of hunger. For her kiss. For her touch. She veiled her expressive gaze with her smoky lashes. Had she sensed the effect she had on him?

  A teasing smile curved her mouth. She’d always known how to draw him in without saying a word. Time had not changed a bloody thing, had it?

  He threaded his fingers through her hair. The long, wavy tresses were like strands of silk against his fingertips. The corners of her mouth tipped up, and she regarded him with thoughtful eyes that seemed to see to the depths of his soul.

  “You can deny me the truth of why you’re running, the truth of whom you’re running from,” he whispered against her mouth. “But you cannot deny who you are.”

  “You certainly do know how to test your theory.”

  “The taste of your mouth is indelibly etched in my brain, Rose. The feel of your skin against mine is etched on my soul. There is no forgetting some truths.”

  “You should not have brought your test to an end…truth be told, I rather enjoyed it.”

  “I’d intended to prove a point. Evidently, I succeeded.”

  “Indeed.” Her eyes flashed with temptation. “Of course, you might well drive the point home, so to speak. We might both find the experiment enjoyable.”

  He drank her in, reconciling the bold words she’d spoken with the memory of the shy beauty he’d first encountered on a holiday visit to her family home. He’d been on his own that Christmas, with his mother and father embarking on a tour of the Continent with his sister in tow. When he’d first laid eyes on her, she’d been up to her elbows in flour, assisting the cook in the kitchen. Even with white smudges on her face and her hair pulled back into a messy semblance of a chignon, she’d been lovely. Keen intelligence had shone in her eyes, while her smile reflected such genuine joy for living, even a born cynic like him had been drawn to her.

  “Have you developed a taste for scoundrels?” He kept his tone light and dispassionate, even as the desire to kiss her again waged a silent battle against his restraint.

  “Perhaps I’ve always had a fondness for rogues. Especially those who use a noble path to justify breaking hearts.” Her tones were coated with honey, but she could not conceal the steel in her eyes.

  Her words hit their mark, but damned if he’d let her see it. “As long as you’re under my roof, I intend to treat you as a lady.”

  One arched brow quirked. “I suppose that would make you a gentleman, at least in theory. It is a role you’ve cultivated.”

  “I do not consider it a role.”

  “Ah, MacAllister—wouldn’t you agree that in this life, we are all playing a part?”

  He twisted a silky strand of her hair around his index finger. “If that is the case, what role have you assumed?”

  She held his gaze, seeming to ponder his question. “At the moment, I cannot say I’ve decided, but I can assure you this—I will not portray the damsel in distress. There’d be no fun in that, would there?”

  “No…that wouldn’t suit you at all.” He traced the curve of her face with his finger. “No more than I would play the valiant knight.”

  Behind them, Mrs. Manfred’s purposeful clearing of her throat announced they were not alone.

  “Mr. Campbell, you have visitors. Mr. and Mrs. Colton indicated it was a matter of some urgency.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “And there is my cue,” Rose said. “As I’ve told you, I intend to depart this morning. I’ll leave you to your guests now. If you would be so kind as to dispatch your driver to transport me to the Trevalyn Hotel.”

  He shook his head. “This is not a social call. It is imperative that you speak with the Coltons. They are connected with the Home Office.”

  Her mouth thinned to a seam. “I assure you my situation is of no interest to the Crown.”

  He met her questioning gaze. “It is now, Rose.”

  Chapter Nine

  The slender woman pacing over the carpet in front of MacAllister’s desk was strangely familiar to Rose. Dressed in an elegant burgundy ensemble, a small black hat cocked at a jaunty angle on her upswept coppery brown hair, the visitor was pretty, in a no-nonsense way. Where had Rose seen her face before?

  “MacAllister, I’m so very glad you weren’t harmed in the unfortunate incident last night.” Shifting her gaze to Rose, the woman’s expression softened. “I understand you had quite a dreadful experience.”

  “I cannot say it has been pleasant,” Rose said.

  The tall, dark-haired man at the woman’s side took in the scene with what seemed a well-trained skill for observation. His deep brown eyes appeared to take in every detail, and Rose had no doubt he was assessing her in some way. What did he know about her return from America?

  Turning to Rose, MacAllister introduced his associates, Matthew and Jennie Quinn Colton. “I would like you to meet an old…acquaintance of mine, Rose Fleming.”

  Rose met Jennie Colton’s warm gaze. “Have we met? Somehow, I sense a connection.”

  A tiny furrow formed between the woman’s brows. “I do not believe that is the case.”

  “You might be familiar with Mrs. Colton’s work. Her exposés have been published in the American papers,” MacAllister said, his voice bearing a touch of pride. “She writes under the byline J.Q. Knight.”

  “Of course—that’s it,” Rose said. “Mrs. Colton, you�
��ve certainly given Nellie Bly some competition.”

  “Thank you. I consider that quite a compliment.” Jennie Colton smiled. “Miss Bly is a remarkable investigative journalist. I do hope to one day make her acquaintance.”

  “I would say the same of you.” Rose returned her smile. “I’ve read your riveting exposés on crime in London.”

  “I suppose you could say my husband and I have a passion for bringing criminals to justice.” Her gaze darted to Matthew Colton. “We’re here today to determine how we might be of assistance to you in just such a matter.”

  Rose swallowed against a fresh wave of apprehension. She could not trust these people with the truth, no matter their connection to MacAllister. “I appreciate your kind offer, but I will proceed with my hired investigator.”

  “I must advise against that course of action.” Jennie Colton pinned Rose with her gaze. “I understand you’ve adopted an alias in America—Lily York.”

  She pulled in a sharp breath. “How did you find out?”

  “We make it our business to know who we’re dealing with.” Her eyes narrowed, seeming to size her up. “I sense you’ve quite a story to tell.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not inclined to discuss my story with anyone. I certainly do not wish to find my name in the papers.”

  “Allow me to assure you, we have no intention of covering any aspect of your case in the paper.”

  “Mrs. Colton, I do not wish to offend, but at this point, I cannot say I fully trust anyone.” The admission felt like a thorn beneath Rose’s skin. “If you do not plan to write about it, why are you concerned with what’s happened?”

  “Your case has drawn the interest of the Home Office.” Matthew Colton spoke in a smooth baritone.

  “The Home Office? That’s absurd. I’ve done nothing of concern to the British government.”

  “You are not the only one whose safety is threatened by the man who is pursuing you,” Colton explained. “We suspect a connection between your arrival from America and the murder of a high-ranking government official.” Colton shifted his attention. “Mac, I presume you are aware of Sir Louis Bradenmyre’s death?”

  MacAllister nodded. “The man was killed in an accident at his Scottish estate.”

  “While I am not at liberty to discuss the most disturbing details, the press is close to breaking the story, so there is no sense withholding the facts. Bradenmyre’s death was not an accident. He was murdered.”

  MacAllister kneaded the back of his neck as if it ached. “Bloody hell.”

  Jennie Colton pointed her gaze at Rose. “Our investigator noted you arrived by steamship three days before Bradenmyre was killed.”

  Investigator? Good heavens, had she been followed the entire time?

  “I’d no idea my movements were being tracked,” Rose said.

  “You have not been the subject of surveillance,” Jennie Colton said, her cool manner unnerving. “It was a simple matter to obtain the passenger manifests of recent ship arrivals.”

  “I see.” Rose gathered her thoughts. “In any case, there is no connection between my arrival and the death of a man whose name I did not even know.”

  “We believe the timing of Bradenmyre’s death and your return to Scotland was far from a coincidence,” Matthew Colton explained.

  Rose gulped a breath. “Surely you do not believe I had something to do with a murder.”

  “Of course not,” Jennie Colton said. “But we suspect one of the men who came after you tonight is his murderer.”

  Dear Lord. Rose willed her legs not to tremble. Had her return to Scotland triggered a horrible chain of events? “Arthur Brock left a trail of blood in his wake,” Matthew Colton said. “Fortunately, you enabled the Yardmen to take him into custody.”

  MacAllister appeared as shocked as she was. “I acted out of necessity. It was not a well-thought-out plan.”

  “Your quick response likely saved Miss Fleming’s life.” Jennie Colton pressed a gentle hand to Rose’s shoulder. “You must tell us what you know about the man who was chasing you—every detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”

  Misery welled in Rose’s throat. This all seemed too much. It was far too incredible. How could her return to Scotland be connected to the death of a peer she didn’t even know?

  She swallowed against the scalding lump in the back of her throat. “Tell me why I should believe anything you say.”

  MacAllister knelt by the chair, clasping her hand in his. “Rose, do you trust me?”

  She met his deep brown gaze, searching his eyes. By all rights, he should be a stranger to her, little more than a memory from her past. But the warmth of his touch infused her with strength she had not known she possessed.

  “I can’t explain why, but I do.” She turned to the Coltons. “But I don’t know these people—who are you, really, Mr. and Mrs. Colton? What is your connection to the Home Office?”

  “The Colton Agency has been tasked with certain investigations of interest to the Crown. Inquiries that require, shall we say, a more unorthodox approach than the Yard would employ.” Jennie Colton rested her hand against her husband’s forearm. “We approach each case with the utmost in discretion. Believe me when I say we want to help you.”

  Rose hesitated. She had no idea who in London was secretly working for Merrick. “I want to trust you, Mrs. Colton. Truly, I do.”

  “Tell us this much,” Matthew Colton said. “One question, and you need not reveal anything beyond that truth.”

  “I will consider it,” Rose said.

  “Very good.” He leaned an elbow against the fireplace mantel, his manner far more casual than his expression. “We expect the truth, nothing less—none of those rotters who pursued you would have had cause to go after you on their own. Who sent those men after you?”

  She glanced away from his penetrating gaze. “You must understand, I cannot be sure.”

  “Who is it, Rose?” Jennie Colton pressed.

  “At one point, the man was involved in business of some sort with my father—his name is Cyril Merrick.”

  Jennie Colton’s brow furrowed. “Merrick, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  Matthew Colton frowned. “Do you take us for fools, Miss Fleming?”

  “I don’t understand,” Rose said. “Why would you ask me such a question?”

  Colton studied her for a long moment. “This is no time for deception. You might at least have more carefully fabricated your response.”

  “Fabricated?” The word came out on a gasp.

  “Colton, there’s no need for accusations.” MacAllister cut the man off before he questioned her again.

  “You must tell me—why in heaven would you believe I’m lying?”

  MacAllister cocked his head, studying her. “You truly don’t know, do you?”

  Her pulse hammered in her ears. “What in the devil are you talking about?”

  “Cyril Merrick is dead,” Jennie Colton said. “He perished in a fire at his country estate.”

  The world seemed to spin around her. Dead. “Dear God.” Merrick’s evil had haunted even her dreams. Had her nightmare finally ended?

  “You’re quite sure of that?” Rose asked.

  “Yes.” Jennie Colton nodded. “His body was found in the rubble. The identification…well, it took some time.”

  “I cannot explain what has happened, but I was not lying. Merrick is…was…a villain of the worst sort. He sent those men after me. I feel it in my bones.”

  MacAllister’s expression was grim. “It is possible, but unlikely. You see, Rose—the man died before you returned from America.”

  …

  Seeing the shock in Rose’s eyes, Mac knew the truth had hit her hard. Cyril Merrick was dead. Someone else had likely engineered the attacks—someone very much alive and intent on abducting her. Could Merrick have known she intended to return before she’d boarded the ship in New York? Had he somehow played a role in the threat against her from
beyond the grave? Damnable shame there was little Mac could say to ease her fears.

  “Please, have a seat.” Mac bid the others to sit in the plush chairs by the fireplace. He settled into a chair at Rose’s side. She’d gone pale as a swan’s wing.

  “What do you know about Merrick?” Mac leaned closer, taking in Rose’s reaction, the subtle tightening of her mouth at the very mention of the man’s name. What had he done to inspire such fear and revulsion?

  “If I tell you the true nature of our connection, you will not believe me. I’ve no desire to be accused of deception.”

  “Please, do speak freely,” Jennie said. “We need to know why you believe Merrick intended to harm you.”

  “Many years ago, Merrick insisted my father owed him a debt. When Father refused to provide the payment, the cold-hearted jackal had him killed.”

  “You’re sure of that?” Matthew Colton pressed.

  “I have no doubt. After my father was killed, Merrick came to collect his debt. We fled our home to escape him.”

  “We?” Jennie asked.

  “Shortly before our father’s death, my brother returned home from university. When Angus realized what Merrick intended to do, he insisted on taking me far from Scotland, out of the man’s reach. But there was an accident.” Emotion tinged her soft tones. “My brother was killed…trying to protect me. After his death, I did what I had to do.”

  “Merrick believed you had the money your father owed?” Mac questioned.

  A look of grim sadness fell over Rose’s face. “What my father had promised…the debt could not be satisfied with money.”

  Colton’s mouth hardened. “What was the nature of your father’s debt to Merrick?”

  “The nature of my father’s debt…” A single tear trickled down Rose’s cheek. An unfamiliar bitterness flavored her tone. “That’s a civilized way of putting it, I suppose.”

  Mac pressed his hand over hers, steadying her fingers’ slight trembling. “Rose, what did your father promise Cyril Merrick?”

  She pulled in a breath and let it out on an audible sigh. Hiking her chin, she met his eyes.

  “Me.”

  Chapter Ten