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

by Tara Kingston

  Item by item was auctioned off with great success. One bidder offered a tidy sum for a song to be dedicated to his wife by Ruth Delacroix, a request the contralto was happy to oblige. Another bidder requested a personalized birthday serenade by an ingénue on the night’s bill. In response, Daisy Benson took the stage, bringing a smile and a blush to the old gentleman’s face with her sweet yet bawdy song.

  When Mr. Drake announced the last item for auction, tickets for two in his private box for a performance of Henry V, bidding was brisk, the donations generous.

  “I’ll top every bid in this place, with one condition.” A man spoke out from the crowd.

  Rose’s heart stuttered. Dear God, is that MacAllister?

  Cornelius Drake knew a theatrical opportunity when he saw one. He tipped his top hat to the man in the audience.

  “And what might that condition be, good sir?”

  The bidder rose to his feet. “If Miss York will serenade the audience with a song that means a great deal to me…to us…I will bid five hundred dollars.”

  A gasp rose from the crowd.

  A sudden thrill of anticipation rippled through Rose’s veins.

  In her heart, she knew which song MacAllister would request.

  Mr. Drake turned to her. “Miss York, what do you say to this most generous offer?”

  Stepping to the front of the stage, she peered into the audience. The sight of MacAllister’s face made her knees quake ever so slightly.

  Odd, how suddenly shy she felt—she, who’d spent years sauntering about this stage. She met his gaze. “Which song would you like to hear?”

  “I believe you already know the answer to that.”

  She drew in a calming breath. “Yes, I believe I do.”

  “You are agreeable to the gentleman’s offer?” Cornelius Drake inquired with a dramatic flair.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Very much so.”

  “In that case, we have a bargain.” MacAllister strode into the aisle. “Please close out the bidding, Mr. Drake.”

  “So, what say you, good people—is there anyone willing to exceed the gentleman’s bid?” Drake called out to the audience.

  A stony silence met his question.

  “You have your answer,” MacAllister said, walking slowly toward the stage. All eyes were on him.

  Drake smiled. “Once, twice…sold to the gentleman for five hundred dollars.”

  “And worth every penny,” MacAllister said.

  The orchestra leader turned to her. “Which song have you chosen, Miss York?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fields, but I do not require accompaniment.”

  “Very well,” the orchestra leader said, surprise showing on his creased face.

  A quiet joy filled her as she began to sing. The melody and lyrics of the ballad she’d written for MacAllister all those years ago came to her as readily as if she’d sung the words only yesterday. With each note of the melody, her heart swelled with love. She could not tear her eyes away from the man she adored.

  As she sang the final words of the ballad, she drank in the love in MacAllister’s eyes. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks.

  “Well done,” Mr. Drake said as she took a little bow to thunderous applause. “Well done, indeed.”

  “And now, Mr. Drake,” MacAllister said, “Miss York will need to take a few moments’ leave from her duties. I trust you will carry on in her stead.”

  The actor cleared his throat. “Well…um…” He glanced at Rose as she dabbed away the tear stains on her face. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

  She eased away to the side of the stage. MacAllister waited in the wings.

  “You’re here,” she said, swiping away a stray tear. “I suppose that’s not the most brilliant of observations, is it?”

  “I told you I would choose you.” MacAllister brushed away another tear with the pad of his finger. “Now, the question is—will you still have me?”

  Standing on her tiptoes, she twined her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the yearning in her heart. “Darling, what took you so long?”

  “These weeks without you have been a bloody eternity.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “The blasted investigation is still proceeding. It’s in the best of hands. And there was another matter I had to attend to—I got what I was after.”

  “Did you now?”

  “Yes,” he said without elaboration, tracing the curve of her face with his thumb. “Every time I see you, you are even more beautiful than before.”

  The heat in his eyes stirred a fresh wave of longing. “I suppose it has something to do with absence—as I recall, it does tend to make the heart grow fonder.”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “It’s not that, Rose. You’re happy here. And sure of yourself. All in all, you’re rather intoxicating to a man.”

  “I don’t give a fig about a man.” She drank in his dark gaze. “Only you.”

  Reaching into his vest pocket, he concealed an object against his palm. “I have something for you.”

  He dangled a length of gold chain between his fingers.

  Her heart soared. “My mother’s locket…oh, MacAllister, you don’t know what this means to me.”

  “Ah, but I do, my darling. I know how you cherish it.” He framed her face in his hands and kissed her. “I can’t give you riches like the blokes and dandies in this place could. But I can give you love that will never die.”

  “Is that your promise?”

  He nodded solemnly. “If you trust me with your heart, you will have a man who adores you until his last breath.”

  “I do trust you,” she murmured. Tears of joy brimmed in her eyes. “I love you. More with every beat of my heart.”

  “In that case,” he said, smiling as he removed a velveteen pouch from his vest pocket. He took the ring from within and placed it on her finger. “Rose, my love, will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Oh, MacAllister, I’ll be yours until the end of time.”

  Epilogue

  Christmas Eve, 1895—The Scottish Highlands

  Christmas had always been Rose’s favorite time of the year. And her first Christmas with MacAllister in Scotland was no exception. They’d left Manhattan on a luxurious steamship the day after Thanksgiving, and since their arrival at the Campbell family home, the days and nights before the holiday had been among the most joyous she’d ever experienced. She’d always adored the sounds and smells and tastes of Christmas in New York. But the quiet peace of the Highlands offered a joy all its own. The country air was crisp and clean, and she relished the aroma of fresh-cut greenery decorating their home. The taste of fresh baked gingerbread. The companionship and warmth of friends and family.

  In the year since she and MacAllister had spoken their vows, their family had grown with the adoption of a daughter, a darling girl of nine with freckles over the bridge of her nose and strawberry blond hair. Orphaned at the age of six, Angela had stolen their hearts at first sight. Indeed, the shy child could coax a smile from her father’s serious face more readily than anyone, including Rose. On her first trip to the Highlands, their city-born daughter had taken to the rugged land with an enthusiasm that surprised both her parents.

  Now, gathered before the roaring blaze in the stone fireplace of the cozy country home, Angela sketched intently in her notebook while Rose conversed with their guests, Sophie and Gavin Stanwyck. Drinking a toast to good friends and good fortune, they celebrated the blessings that had been bestowed upon them during the past year.

  “I’m so very pleased you could join us for Christmas,” Rose said.

  “The timing was perfect. We’d recently returned to London from an expedition and were looking forward to an old-fashioned Christmas.” Sophie held her young daughter’s hand as they drank in the warmth of the fire. “Minnie will be quite the seasoned traveler by the time she’s five. She so enjoys going to new places.”

  “I like to ride the train. And to watch the sea whe
n we are on the ship.” The cherubic blonde wiggled away and made a dash for a book lying on the side table. “Papa, read this. Please. It’s about Santa Claus.”

  Gavin beamed with pride. “Can you tell us the title, Minnie?”

  “The…Night…” She glanced up at him. “Be…fore…Christmas.”

  “Well done, Minnie,” he said as she hopped onto her father’s knee.

  “I would like a cup of cocoa. Please.” The child gazed up at her father with fawn-like brown eyes.

  He smiled down at her. The child had wrapped the archaeologist around her chubby little finger. “Perhaps that might be arranged later in the evening.”

  “Yes, Papa.” The beseeching look on the girl’s round face made it clear she had not yet abandoned her quest.

  Looking up from her sketch book, Angela smiled. “Mama, Papa, would you like to see my drawing?” She proudly displayed the portrait she’d drawn of Minnie in her adorable red velvet dress.

  “It’s lovely,” Rose said as the others concurred. Of course, it was natural for a mother to be proud of her child. But she was convinced Angela possessed a true gift for capturing the essence of her subjects with her pastels and pencils.

  “It’s wonderful,” Sophie said with genuine enthusiasm. “The portrait looks so very much like our little imp.”

  “Thank you,” Angela said with a grin. “I shall draw your portrait next.”

  Sophie smiled. “I look forward to seeing it.”

  MacAllister strode into the room, offering their guests a hearty greeting. With his soft woolen kilt casually wrapped around his hips and the rabbit fur sporran draped in front, he was a Highlander through and through. Her gaze skimmed his powerfully muscled legs. He was utterly magnificent.

  He paused to glance over Angela’s shoulder at her latest creation. His smile warmed Rose’s heart. “Angela displays a natural talent. We foresee study in Paris or Italy in her future.”

  Angela beamed with joy. Their child had blossomed in the year since she’d become a part of their family.

  Rose touched her hand to her middle, cradling the rounded bump. By the beginning of the summer, she and MacAllister would have another child to love. Her heart overflowed at the thought.

  “Your home and your family are simply beautiful,” Sophie said. “Gavin and I are so pleased to be able to share this time with you.”

  “As are we,” MacAllister said warmly.

  Gavin turned to him. “I understand Pulitzer was willing to pay you a small fortune to get you on as editor, but you declined his offer.”

  “Sitting in an office while reporters are on the scene of the action isn’t the life for me.”

  “I’m intrigued by your new venture with that chap who’s taking on Pulitzer,” Sophie said. “The concept of a periodical with in-depth coverage of the news and investigations is quite exciting.”

  “Publication will begin in the spring. After we return to Manhattan in a few weeks, I’d like to discuss contracting you to write an exposé.”

  “A marvelous idea.” Sophie’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Perhaps I will chronicle our latest expedition in the Nile Valley.”

  “I’m positive this venture will be a smashing success,” Rose said as MacAllister’s sister, Daphne, joined them.

  Taking a seat in a plump upholstered chair by the fire, Daphne greeted each in turn. After the death of her husband three years earlier, the young widow had returned to her family home. She’d warmly welcomed Rose into the fold, and now, her joy at having her brother and his family home for the holidays brightened her grief-dulled amber eyes.

  “It’s wonderful to have you all here,” Daphne said, sipping a cup of tea. “At times, this old house is too quiet for my tastes. The sound of good conversation and laughter is delightful.”

  “I would like to spend every Christmas Eve here,” Angela proclaimed, drawing a swell of agreement from her family and the Stanwycks. “I so enjoyed helping you decorate the gingerbread house, Aunt Daphne.”

  “It’s nearly too beautiful to eat,” Daphne said with a smile. “But I suspect I shall soon give in to temptation.”

  Hours later, after they’d shared a sumptuous Christmas Eve feast and enjoyed hot cocoa and pecan tarts by the fire, the children had been tucked into their beds, and the adults were ready to take their own rest.

  “This has been a splendid day,” Rose said, resting her head against her husband’s shoulder as they lay in their bed, relaxed and content.

  “I cannot remember a more enjoyable Christmas Eve.” MacAllister drew her to his body, kissing her with a delicious tenderness.

  She nestled closer, perfectly filling the space between his arm and shoulder. It was as if their bodies had been meant for each other.

  “I love you,” she said as he also spoke the words.

  “Rose, my love, every night when you’re in my arms, and every day when I can look upon your beautiful face and know you’re mine—my life grows richer. Your love is more precious to me than all the gold and silver in the world.”

  She gently skimmed her fingertips over the contours of his jaw, over the fresh stubble that tickled the sensitive pads, lingering over the lips that drove her mad with longing.

  “Oh, MacAllister, I adore you so very much. Your love is the most treasured gift I have ever received.”

  “I love you, my sweet Rose. Always. And forever more.”

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  Acknowledgments

  As always, much love to my husband for encouraging me to follow my heart.

  Many thanks to my terrific critique partner, Kathleen Bittner Roth. I’m so very grateful for your honesty, friendship, and encouragement.

  Thank you to my editor, Erin Molta. You always help me find the heart of the story!

  Thank you to my copy editor, Nancy Cantor, for your keen eye and skill.

  To Liz Pelletier, the Entangled staff, and fellow Entangled authors—thank you so much for your dedication to the romance genre.

  Special thanks to my friends and family who’ve encouraged me to write through the years. You all mean the world to me.

  Last, but not least, a very sincere thank-you to my readers. I hope you will stay in touch on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or through my website at www.tarakingston.com.

  About the Author

  Award-winning author Tara Kingston writes historical romance laced with a touch of intrigue. The mother of two sons, Tara grew up in a military family and now lives her own happily-ever-after with her real-life hero and a pair of deceptively innocent-looking shelter kitties in a cozy Victorian. A former librarian, Tara first fell in love with the romance genre when she discovered her mom’s old-school Gothic paperbacks. When she’s not writing, reading, or burning dinner, Tara enjoys movie nights, cycling, hiking, DIY projects, and cheering on her favorite football team.

  Please connect with Tara on Facebook, BookBub, Instagram, and at her webpage, www.tarakingston.com. If you’d like updates on Tara’s new releases, historical romance news, and contests, please sign up for Tara’s newsletter.

  Don’t miss the Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service series…

  When a Lady Deceives

  When a Lady Dares

  When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord

  Also by Tara Kingston…

  The Highlander Who Loved Me

  Lady Evelyn’s Highland Protector

  Tempting the Highland Spy

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