When a Scot Loves a Lady fc-1

by Katharine Ashe

  It was for the best.

  “They follow you.”

  He slid the reins into place. “You mean Wyn and Constance. Of course they do. I half raised both of them.”

  “Even Seton has listened to you on occasion despite his cavalier attitude toward the Club and uncertain loyalty to the crown. Every single one of your quarries has returned home without complaint. People lead where you tell them to go, Leam. The kingdom needs you.”

  Yes, people did what he wished, like his brother who walked into a duel with his closest friend because Leam arranged it. He set his foot in the stirrup and mounted.

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Would you be interested if I told you Lady Katherine would not be bothered again for information if you agree to their offer?”

  Leam’s head swung around.

  “They want you to resume your previous role and head the unit in France,” Gray said.

  “You are using her to convince me of this?”

  “Not entirely. Her assistance with Chamberlayne would be helpful. Possibly essential. They have no doubt she could continue to be useful after that, with her social connections and natural ability.

  Unwed she has no husband to hinder her.” His brow drew down. “Leam, I am sorry to be the messenger. I truly am. In this case, I am telling you what I have been told to convey. They are willing to give her up for your promise.”

  Leam fought for breath. How could he have allowed this? He had been blind to everything to which he should have paid the closest attention. Again.

  “Colin, I must find David Cox.” He had claimed to be with Lloyd’s, London’s premier insurance company. He’d searched there first, but apparently Cox had not worked for Lloyd’s in years. Yet another reason to suspect him—whoever he was.

  “When this matter is concluded,” Gray said, “we can help with that.”

  He scowled. “The director and ministers and their network of informants are a pack of idiots and amateurs. Why do they imagine I would wish to ally myself with them?”

  “To make certain they never invite Lady Katherine to assist them again.”

  Leam’s chest ached. He shook his head. “I was truly a fool to go to you for help protecting her.

  You told them precisely how to entrap me.”

  “I didn’t like it any more than you. But I was instructed to do what I must.”

  “Answer me this: If I agree, how would I be assured of her protection if I am across the Channel or in the north?”

  “You would have the director’s promise. The prince regent’s if you wish. Say the word and I vow to you the government will forget Katherine Savege ever existed.”

  Leam gripped the reins with frigid fingers. He had promised his son. He had promised himself.

  “I have no heart for it, Colin,” he uttered to his old friend. “I would make a poor spy.”

  “You never had any heart for it, Leam. That is what makes you the perfect spy.” The viscount’s face wore the same expression of confident sobriety it had five years ago when, over brandy on a chance meeting at their club, he had first spoken to Leam of the Falcon Club. A new secret organization, Gray had said, with a task Leam seemed particularly suited for at the moment. They needed a Scot, and it would allow him to leave England. To leave it all behind.

  But now he did not wish to leave. For the first time in years he wished to remain, and in the company of a woman he mustn’t have.

  So be it.

  “I must launch my sister into society this spring.” It was the least he could do for her. Married to a suitable man, Fiona might take Jamie into her home when Leam must be away. The boy mustn’t remain alone at Alvamoor with Isobel’s bitterness to blight his youth.

  He lifted his head and met Gray’s gaze. “Tell them that I am theirs to do with as they wish. But if anyone importunes Lady Katherine again, I will make you pay for it personally, Colin.”

  “Of course.”

  Leam turned his mount’s head and rode away.

  Kitty waited for her mother to rise. The dowager remained abed. At eleven she went to her mother’s room and knocked. A maid answered.

  “She hasn’t been in today, milady.”

  Kitty maintained her poise. “Well, that is curious. Perhaps she stayed at my brother’s last evening.

  Lord and Lady Savege hope we will all move into the new house down the street before the baby comes, of course.”

  “Course, mum.” But the maid didn’t believe it either.

  She would not have even a day, an hour to decide what to tell her mother. Unlike her daughter, the dowager countess would not give herself to a man or risk being discovered consorting with a gentleman without the promise of marriage. Lord Chamberlayne, it seemed, was set to be a member of the family. What would Lord Gray have to say to that? And how could Kitty withhold it from her beloved mother?

  She could not.

  She went to the parlor and pulled the rope bell, then sat at her writing table and drew out a sheet of paper and ink.

  “Milady?” the footman said from the doorway.

  “I am not at home to callers this afternoon, John. If my mother should come home, please alert me to it immediately.”

  He bowed and closed the door.

  She wrote, not what Lord Gray wished to read. She could not do what they asked of her. If they sought information about Lord Chamberlayne, they must find it through another source. She would not tell her mother anything, but she would not betray her either. And she was not a spy. She must leave that to others better qualified. If Lord Chamberlayne were guilty of fomenting rebellion among Highlanders, the government would bring him to justice by some other means. She must believe that.

  But her conscience pricked alongside her anxiety for her mother.

  When the ink dried, she sealed the letter and addressed it. She stood, swiping the tears from her cheeks, and went to the door.

  “John,” she called, and went onto the landing. But the footman was not walking up the steps. Leam was.

  Chapter 19

  He halted, his hand tight around the banister.

  “You have been crying.”

  “What are you doing here? Go away.” She did not plan the words. Apparently they surprised him as much as her; his eyes widened.

  “Go back inside the parlor.” He advanced up the steps.

  “Stop giving me orders. You have no right to.”

  “I damned well do.” He came to her and grasped her arm.

  “No you don’t. And stop cursing at me too. You are a cretin after all.”

  “I am not cursing at you. Not precisely.” He snatched the missive from her hand. “You should not have written this.”

  “I did not—”

  “Milady?” The footman peered up at her from the foyer below.

  “I am fine, John. Who admitted Lord Blackwood?”

  “The door was wide open,” the earl snapped.

  “And you sauntered in uninvited? Disinvited, in point of fact. I told you not to come here again.”

  “Your servants should be horsewhipped for leaving you vulnerable to intruders.”

  “We are moving the household down the street. There is a great deal of coming and going. Anyway I thought Mr. Grimm was taking care of the intruders.”

  “Go into the parlor,” he ground out.

  “John, please see that the front door is properly closed,” she called down. “I will not require tea.

  Lord Blackwood will not be remaining long.” She pulled from his hold and went into the parlor and across the chamber, away from him. He shut the door, then moved to the door adjoining the drawing room and closed that as well.

  Kitty shook her head. “What are you doing? Don’t. Open them up at once.” When he came toward her she thrust out her palm. “Stop. Do not come any closer.”

  But he did, not allowing her the distance she needed from his body, his strength and intensity. He set the letter on the table, his brow severe.

  “
What did you write?” he demanded.

  “You will read it eventually. Why don’t you just wait to find out when Lord Gray gives it to you?

  It will heighten the anticipation to be frustrated now, don’t you think? That tactic worked so nicely for us in Shropshire, after all.”

  He grasped her shoulders, bringing them close, and God help her, she welcomed even so unloverlike a touch.

  His gaze scanned her face, his eyes peculiarly bright. “Kitty, this is no game.”

  “How can you say that to me? To me?”

  “I cannot allow you to be hurt.”

  “I understand that. But you must at least be relieved that your enemy chose to threaten me rather than one of your innocent family members. After all, I consorted with a villain for years. I am well able to—”

  “You take my breath away,” he whispered.

  She gaped, and melted. He seemed to drink in her features with his dark eyes. He lifted a hand and curved it around her cheek. Then his other hand. He sank his fingers into her hair and his grip tightened.

  “I will not allow him to come close to you again.” His voice was hard, hinting at violence.

  “Who—who are we talking about? The shooter, Lord Gray, or—”

  “You speak and I hear nothing else. You move and I cannot look away,” he said roughly. “It seems I cannot resist you.” He bent and brushed his lips across the corner of her mouth. She sucked in air, trembling toward him.

  “But you are trying to resist?” she barely managed.

  “I am failing.” His hands holding her were warm, certain.

  “Tell me that you did not know of their suspicions of Lord Chamberlayne before, in Shropshire.

  Tell me so that I can believe you. Please, Leam.”

  “I knew of your glance and your smile, your words and the touch of your hand, and nothing else.

  Your very existence mesmerizes me, Kitty Savege. It has since the moment I first saw you three years ago. Is that sufficient to convince you?”

  “P-perha—” He captured her lips, openmouthed. She wound her arms about his neck and let him pull her close, closer until their bodies met everywhere and the relief of touching him again filled her. His palms moved down her back, then over her behind, grabbing her up. She let herself touch him, to revel in the strong planes of his face, his shoulders and hard arms, and the pleasure of it. She could lose herself in his kiss and never wish to be found again. She was on the verge of allowing that to happen.

  She already had. She was lost.

  He sought her jaw with his mouth, the tender place beneath her ear.

  “I have not ceased thinking of you,” he uttered. “Not an hour has gone by that I have not recalled the music of your voice, the perfume of your skin, or the pleasure of being inside you.”

  “You left Willows Hall abruptly. I thought you despised me for wanting you. Yet now you say this.

  And you kiss me. I cannot think.”

  “You did not tell me the truth, did you?” His mouth pressed against her hair, his voice low. “It was only Poole, wasn’t it? Why did you wish me to believe otherwise?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I wanted you to be certain of my inability to conceive. What did it matter if I’d had one or a hundred lovers?”

  “What did he do to you, Kitty?”

  “What drove me to seek revenge on him? Nothing,” she whispered. “He did nothing.” She had done it to herself, nursing her hurt into vengeance. She understood that now.

  His breathing seemed uneven. “He must have.”

  “You needn’t worry, Leam. I will not come after you when we are through with one another. One man’s ruination suffices for me this lifetime.”

  “Kitty, do not speak such words. Do not.” His big hands bracketed her hips and slid up her waist, in command of her body as though it were his to do with as he wished. He spoke against her cheek. “I do not wish to be through with one another.”

  “Not yet. But—” His mouth found hers. She twined her fingers in his hair and let him kiss her as though they never would be through with one another.

  He drew away, his hand again circling her face, thumb caressing her lips as he had done before.

  “I must see to a matter now.” His gaze moved across her features, then to her eyes. “Promise me you will not do what Gray has asked of you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it does not become your soul to muddle in such pretense. Leave it to those whose souls are already blackened.” He touched his lips to hers gently, tenderly, then more fully. “I must go,” he whispered against her mouth, then released her and stepped back. He took a deep breath.

  “Will you return?” Kitty bit her lip, but the words had already tripped out.

  He smiled. “Is the ban on my entrance into this house lifted, then?”

  She wanted to ask him if it should be. If he returned, did it mean that he was returning with sincere intentions?

  “Perhaps we should leave it open to interpretation,” she said instead.

  He nodded, bowed, and went out. This time when Kitty sank down upon a chair, jelly-legged and weak, she did not cry. She hoped.

  London never quieted, not even in the drenching cold of a February rain. Leam worked his way through carriages and carts and pedestrians, through puddles and across sparkling roads rising with the stench of a city awash in busy commerce, intent upon his destination.

  On a neat block he gave his horse into the keeping of a boy. For a moment he stared at the narrow town house before him, nothing of particular note about its plain brown façade and black iron rail. Its resident might not even be at home now. The knocker, however, was up; the man was at least in town.

  Leam was as impetuous as ever. His presence here proved it. His brief call on Kitty the day before proved it even more surely. She wanted him and he needed to be with her. If that meant tackling his demons, he would do so.

  First he must find David Cox. In the sennight Leam had been back in town, Cox had not contacted him. Leam and his solicitor had both visited Lloyd’s, looking for information on the insurance agent, but none knew anything of him after his departure for America five years earlier.

  He would not be defeated. He did not pause to regret his haste in paying this particular call. But his gut was tight as he went to the door and knocked. A servant answered, narrow-faced and pale. He assessed Leam’s bedraggled appearance before lifting his brows.

  “May I help you, monsieur?”

  Leam handed him a calling card. “Fesh me yer master.”

  The manservant’s nostrils flared. He nodded, ushered him into the foyer, and took his coat and hat.

  “Swith awa, man.” Leam gestured impatiently. “A dinna hae aw day.” He could gladly wait forever to have this conversation, but the time had come, and he had purpose now he’d never had before.

  “Je vous en prie, my lord,” the manservant said with stiff disapproval. “If you will wait in the parlor.”

  Leam went into the chamber and to the window, and stared into the gray day at the neat row of elegant buildings across the street. By God, he wanted out of town houses. Out of London. Out of England. She would never have him anyway. Not for long, at least. For all the passion and warmth beneath her society hauteur, she had been made for this world. The world he had lied to for years.

  A footstep at the threshold turned his head. Nearly as tall as Leam, with a slash of straight black hair falling across his brow, penetrating green eyes, and a Gallic elegance to his clothing and air, Felix Vaucoeur was a handsome man.

  “I saw your card,” he said without any trace of accent, his English as fluid as Leam’s when he wished it, “but did not quite believe it.”

  “Your manservant is an impertinent snob, Vaucoeur. Do you pay him to frighten away callers?”

  The comte moved to the sideboard and took up a carafe of dark liquid.

  “Rather late to be paying me a call finally, Blackwood.” He poured out two glasses, then turned
and came across the chamber. He handed one to Leam and met his gaze. “And hypocritical.”

  Leam studied the man who had killed his brother. In nearly six years their paths had not crossed.

  To protect both Leam and James from scandal, their uncle, the Duke of Read, had seen to it that Vaucoeur received a pardon, and the duel was put about as a hunting accident. Vaucoeur had gone into the countryside to avoid gossip, where he remained until the war ended and he returned for a time to his estate on the Continent. But the English half of Vaucoeur’s blood had always been stronger, despite his French title.

  Leam set his glass on a table. “You haven’t any idea why I am here.”

  “Ah.” The comte turned and went back to the sideboard.

  “I need your help.”

  Vaucoeur paused in lifting the carafe.

  “I am looking for a man who claims to have served with you and my brother on the Peninsula,” Leam said. “David Cox. Fair, good-looking. Says he is in insurance now. Do you remember such a fellow?”

  “Why not inquire at the War Office?”

  “I’ve more interest in him than his address.”

  Vaucoeur’s eyes narrowed. “What business is that of mine?”

  “I don’t know that it’s any. Cox has been following me, and he has threatened those close to me. I must make certain it hasn’t anything to do with my brother before I pursue other avenues.”

  “You imagine I might have had something to do with him, this tradesman who claims to have known James. A good-looking fellow, one of our regiment mates.” Vaucoeur set down his glass with a quiet click. “What?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What business might I have had with this Mr. Cox that could have involved your brother?”

  For a long stretch of silence they stared at each other.

  “Why did you allow me to goad you into it?” Leam finally uttered. “Even so, I exaggerate. I barely had to nudge you to challenge him.”

  Vaucoeur spoke slowly. “He violated my sister.”

  “He violated a great many men’s sisters,” Leam replied. “But he was in love with you.”

  “That was his misfortune.” The reply came too swiftly, too smoothly, practiced, as though he had been waiting to say the words for almost six years.