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

by Tara Kingston

  In those heady days when she and MacAllister had been so young, Rose had often wondered if any situation might leave him at a loss for words. He’d been articulate and unfailingly passionate in his expression. Indeed, she could not remember a time when he’d been left speechless.

  But that changed in a heartbeat when she uttered a simple word. Me.

  MacAllister’s brow furrowed. Clearing his throat, he seemed to struggle for a response.

  “Rose, what are you telling us?” When the words came, there was a hesitation in his voice, as though he dreaded confirming what he suspected.

  “Precisely what I said.” She swallowed against a rush of pain. “I was to be the payment for my father’s debt.”

  “Good heavens,” Jennie Colton murmured as her husband slowly shook his head, a look of disgust on his features.

  MacAllister came to his feet and stalked across the floor. Tension radiated from his body. “The filthy bastard.”

  Rose stared down at her hands, reliving the bitter moments in her mind. “I did not know what Father had done—not until…until Merrick left him for dead. With his last breath, Father confessed the truth—he hadn’t been able to go through with the foul bargain he’d made, but it was too late.”

  “How did you escape?” Jennie Colton’s tone was filled with compassion.

  “Before he was killed, Father sent me to live with my aunt. She had a modest home in a village near Edinburgh. At the time, I believed he intended me to continue my music studies in the city. When my brother, Angus, found Father in our home, he knew it was a matter of time before Merrick tracked me to Aunt Helen’s house, so he rushed to protect me.”

  Jennie nodded. “And then you staged your own death.”

  “There wasn’t a choice. I had to leave.” A fresh wave of grief swelled in Rose’s chest. “I was desperate to get away, and yet, I longed for everything—and everyone—I left behind.”

  “Your aunt lied to me, Rose.” MacAllister’s flat tone could not disguise his pain. “She claimed you’d been swept away by the river. It was as if you’d simply vanished.”

  “I do regret the deception, but there was no time to consider another way—it was a matter of life and death.”

  “When did you leave for America?” Colton asked.

  “After the carriage accident…after my brother was killed, Aunt Helen knew she could not protect me. She implored me to take one of the horses and take shelter with my uncle—my mother’s brother, who lived a simple, quiet life in the countryside. After a time, there was talk in his village that someone was asking questions, trying to find me. We decided then that I had to leave Scotland.”

  “Do you believe Merrick intended to force you into marriage…or some other…arrangement?” Jennie continued her gentle questioning.

  “No. I thought he wanted to kill me.” She pulled in a slow breath, as if that might dull the ache of the horrible memories. “Father was desperate that Angus protect me. Before he died, he pleaded with Angus to keep me out of Merrick’s hands at all costs.”

  Matthew Colton appeared to take it all in. “Merrick was known for a certain…shall we say…interest in the dark arts. Do you believe the arrangement with your father was connected to Merrick’s obsession with the occult?”

  The photograph Portia had provided her flashed in her thoughts. The image had captured her father involved in some sort of ceremony—a ritual, perhaps. Had he participated in some sort of occult circle? Was that why he’d defied her mother—why he’d forcefully held Rose down while a man she didn’t know had inflicted the symbol on her young body? After she’d been marked, Father had soothed her tears. But that show of comfort had done little to soften the terror and betrayal of that awful night.

  MacAllister turned to Colton. “Good God, what are you implying?”

  “I believe the bastard’s motives for pursuing Miss Fleming may defy conventional thinking.”

  “Indeed.” Jennie Colton twisted her lace-gloved fingers. “Cyril Merrick was an extremely wealthy man, and he enjoyed considerable favor with members of the queen’s inner circle—that is, until his interest in the arcane arts came to light.”

  MacAllister’s eyes lit with recognition. “For a time, he was connected with the spiritualist Neil Trask.”

  “I will never forget the agency’s investigation of the man.” Jennie frowned. “A harrowing case, indeed.”

  “Trask? I don’t recall ever hearing that name,” Rose spoke up. “But Father spoke of Merrick frequently. At some point, they were partners in a venture. I was very young at the time.”

  Flickers of memory invaded her thoughts. A gray-haired man with a sharp instrument—a needle of sorts—sticking her again and again as her father and a strange woman restrained her. The vile artist had used her skin as his canvas. Long buried pain welled in her throat, but she choked it back.

  “Something’s wrong, Rose—I can see it in your eyes.” MacAllister’s concern broke through the veil of misery.

  She met his question-filled gaze. “As you can imagine, this is all a bit overwhelming.” Not a lie, but not the full truth. She dared not tell them about the falcon tattoo. It wouldn’t do to reveal her secrets.

  “I know this must be difficult for you,” Jennie Colton said.

  “I do understand your intention to help me. And now, at least Merrick is no longer a threat.”

  MacAllister slowly shook his head. “We cannot assume his death has eliminated the danger. The events of last night proved quite the opposite.”

  “Miss Fleming, why were you at the theater last night?” Jennie asked.

  Rose glanced down to the lace at her cuffs. “It seemed a safe haven.”

  “I sense you are withholding some information that might be of use in our investigation,” Jennie said. “Call it reporter’s instinct, but I suspect there’s something you need to tell us, something that might well impact the direction of our inquiries.”

  “If you must know, I was meeting someone there. I believed there would be safety in numbers.”

  A tiny ridge formed between MacAllister’s strong brows. “Who were you meeting, Rose?”

  She could not chance turning the danger against Portia. “I met with an old family acquaintance.”

  MacAllister read her expression, as he’d always been able to do. “You prefer not to reveal their name?”

  She slanted the Coltons a glance. “I feel that would be the wisest course.”

  “Quite understandable, Miss Fleming,” Jennie Colton said. “At this point, you don’t know who to believe, who to trust. We’ve all been in that position. In time, I do hope we will gain your confidence.”

  “There is one thing you have not told me—a rather important piece of this puzzle, in fact,” MacAllister said. “For years, you’ve concealed your identity—adopting an alias, tinting your hair. You knew you would be in danger if Merrick confirmed you were still alive. And yet, you returned from America. Why?”

  “I’d have thought you might have figured out that detail for yourself, MacAllister.”

  He pinned her with his gaze. When he looked at her that way, it seemed he could see through to the truth, regardless of what evasion she attempted.

  “Tell me, Rose—why are you here? Why now?”

  If only he wouldn’t look at her like that, she could focus her thoughts. She could think of something besides how desperately she longed to return to another time, another place—before Cyril Merrick had destroyed her family.

  “I received a letter from my aunt,” she said. “Aunt Helen had corresponded with me from time to time, always taking care to post her letters while she was traveling away from Scotland. But this one was different—she’d cast aside the usual precautions.”

  “She needed your assistance,” MacAllister said.

  The thought of her aunt’s fear was a rusty dagger to the heart. “For years, Merrick had left her in peace. The passage of time and her unwavering lies had convinced him I was gone forever. But a fe
w months ago, something changed. Someone had discovered the truth. Merrick threatened her, the blackhearted devil. Aunt Helen was ill and frail, and she was terrified of what the men who worked for him might do. One of the men he sent after her…he nearly killed her pet dog when it barked at him. She was living in terror. I had to help her.”

  “You put yourself at risk,” he said, his voice low and raw.

  “What choice did I have? She needed me.” Rose brushed a wayward curl away from her face. “I did not intend to take undue chances. My uncle was to transport Aunt Helen to the port at Leith. I’d planned to arrive on a steamer and see her safely onto the ship, at which time we would return to America.”

  Understanding filled MacAllister’s gaze. “She didn’t make it.”

  Blinking against the bitter sting of tears she was determined not to spill, Rose gave her head a miserable shake. “When Uncle Jack came for her, she was beyond his help. The local authorities claimed her heart must’ve simply given out, but we knew the truth. She’d been badly beaten. Even if Merrick’s hired thugs had not dealt a death blow, they’d murdered her as surely as if they had.”

  “Good God, how low could the bastard possibly go?” A muscle in MacAllister’s jaw clenched.

  Misery rippled through her. “For years, I’d vowed Merrick would be brought to justice. After Aunt Helen contacted me, I instructed my solicitor to hire an investigator. The evidence the detective uncovered led me to London.”

  And back to you.

  “At this point, it is imperative that we see to your safety,” Matthew Colton said.

  “Thank you, but my protection is not your responsibility. I intend to hire a bodyguard straightaway. Perhaps you might refer me to a man who can be trusted.” With some effort, Rose kept her tone matter-of-fact.

  “Miss Fleming—may I address you as Rose?” Jennie Colton’s light tone did not match the expression in her eyes.

  “Of course.”

  “Please, call me Jennie.” Mrs. Colton paused. “We are fully prepared to provide security. Our operatives are highly skilled professionals, dedicated and highly discreet.”

  “I’d rather have some say in my protection. I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Of course, I see your reasoning,” Jennie said. “But I strongly urge you to accept our assistance. You’ve no time to arrange for a private bodyguard, much less assess the individual’s integrity. And Rose, there is something you need to know—a development we should have informed you about from the outset.”

  Rose tightly leashed her emotions. There’d be time for fear later. But for now, she had to hold herself together. “What’s happened?”

  “One of the men who attacked you outside the theater—the constable—was killed last night,” Jennie said.

  “Damnation,” MacAllister said under his breath. “Henshaw is dead?”

  Colton nodded. “The guard discovered his body shortly before sunrise.”

  Rose’s mind raced. “Might he have taken his own life?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Jennie said. “It was quite a brutal death. All signs point to someone with ready access to the cell—someone who could come and go undetected.”

  As the floor seemed to tilt beneath Rose’s feet, MacAllister moved nearer. Close enough to touch. Close enough to catch the crisp aroma of his shaving soap. He pressed a gentle, steadying hand over her arm. “You are in danger. It’s imperative that you be protected by the most trustworthy of agents.”

  “Indeed,” Jennie agreed. “If Merrick did set a plan in motion before his death, his associates evidently intend to carry it out.”

  “I don’t feel right about this. If any harm came to you…” Rose stumbled on the words. “I refuse to put any of you at risk.”

  MacAllister slowly shook his head. “We know how to protect ourselves. And you.”

  “I’m sorry, but I need time to think,” Rose protested.

  He swept a rebellious curl that had come loose behind her ear. “We can keep you safe. Trust us, Rose.”

  “What do you propose?” Her question was coherent, her voice calm. A miracle, that.

  “I suggest we dispatch a female agent to accompany you,” Jennie said. “She will be at your side whenever you venture out and close by when you’re in the residence.”

  “Miss Pearson would be an excellent choice,” MacAllister suggested.

  “Ah, you’ve read my mind,” Jennie said, smiling. “The two of you have always worked well together.”

  “The two of us?” MacAllister’s brows lifted in surprise.

  “We assume you are willing to accept the assignment,” Colton said. “After all, there is a certain established familiarity between Rose and yourself.”

  MacAllister turned to Rose. “What do you say?”

  “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

  “Acceptable is not good enough. I require your full trust.”

  “I doubt I could put my full trust in any man—or any woman, for that matter.” She glanced away, unwilling to meet his gaze. “And what of you? This is so very sudden. I hadn’t intended to complicate your life, much less to lead you into a dangerous situation neither of us can control.”

  “No one could have anticipated the events of the last twenty-four hours.” MacAllister’s tone compelled her to look at him, to take in his words. “But if you believe I could be aware you are in danger yet return to my blasted orderly existence, you don’t know me at all.”

  “In truth, I do not know you.” Rose forced out the words. “And you…you think you know me, but you are remembering a woman who died, in spirit, if not in body—many years ago.”

  “Rose, I’m not a fool. I’m well aware the past has changed us. But I’ve never misled you. Not then. Not now.” The raw honesty in his voice stormed her defenses. “I will protect you with every ounce of strength I possess. On that, you have my word.”

  She studied him. He had not lied to her, not even when doing so might have spared her heartache. He’d always been so very blunt, so very honest—to a fault, her brother had said on more than one occasion.

  “I am not a damsel in distress for you to save. I have funds at my disposal. I am entirely capable of hiring my own security.”

  “That will take time,” he said. “Time we don’t have.”

  Her pulse roared in her ears. “You must understand…if something were to happen to you, I could not live with myself.”

  “I harbor no illusions that I am playing the part of a chivalrous defender. I know what I’m doing. The gentleman in me died a long time ago. When I fight, I fight dirty.” His mouth hiked at one corner, though it was far from a smile. “I can protect you. And myself. But I need you to trust me.”

  If only she didn’t believe every word he said. Somehow, doubting him would be easier—far easier to erect barriers around her soul.

  Oh, MacAllister, who is going to protect my heart from you?

  She went to the window and looked out into the courtyard, steeling herself. She had to face reality. Her attempts to conceal her identity had been useless. Merrick or someone connected with him had known the truth—had known she was still alive—before she’d even boarded the steamship in New York. A trap had been set for her, with Aunt Helen as the bait, and she’d nearly been ensnared. Alone in London, without her trusted bodyguard at her side, whoever pursued her would soon succeed in their quest.

  Of all the men on this side of the Atlantic, MacAllister was the one she could trust. Every instinct insisted he was telling her the truth—he would not betray her. Now she had to allow the wounds of the past to heal. After all, she was a woman of the world, not an infatuated schoolgirl. She’d learned how to guard her emotions. And she would not forget those bitter lessons. Not for any man. Especially not the Scot who’d inflicted a scar on her heart.

  “Very well,” she said. “I will look upon this as a partnership. We all have good reason to seek the truth—Mrs. Colton, you and your husband seek to solve a murder, while I will do
whatever it takes to bring my aunt’s killers to the gallows. I can only pray my trust is not misguided.”

  Chapter Eleven

  MacAllister Campbell had long prided himself on his logical approach to situations. Even as a lad at school, he’d been reasonable, approaching any problem as a question of weighing possible solutions against their downsides and choosing the most advantageous route.

  But now, seeing the distress in Rose’s eyes, he cast his good sense aside. He’d agreed to serve as her bodyguard, to assist her in her quest to bring Merrick’s thugs to justice. Blast it, he’d thrown his good sense to the wind, hadn’t he?

  Not that that was anything new. The first time he’d laid eyes on Rose, he’d nearly abandoned his commitment to logic. He was finishing up his university studies, certainly in no position to take a wife. But by thunder, how he’d wanted her. In his bed. In his arms. In his heart. For the rest of his days.

  But he’d craved a life that would take him far from home, an existence brimming with the adventure and danger that got a young man’s blood pumping. Witnessing events that held the power to shape history. Bringing the truth and emotions of the moment to readers far removed from the actual scene.

  When the opportunity came to seek his fortune in London, he’d seized it. Even then, he’d longed for Rose. In time, after he could support her in the manner she deserved, he would marry her. Or so he’d told himself. Despite the doubt in her eyes, she’d promised to wait for him. Through her tears, she’d whispered she would never take another into her heart. She would always be his.

  With the arrogance of youth, he’d convinced himself he could have it all.

  Damned shame he’d been wrong.

  Not long after he’d left for London, he’d lost her.

  Forever.

  Or so he’d thought.

  She’d fled Scotland because she’d been frightened. And rightly so. Merrick was an evil bastard, capable of God only knew what.

  But by hellfire, why had she allowed him to twist in the wind? A few words on a scrap of paper would have eased his misery.

  And yet, through it all, she’d kept her silence.