The body was placed onto the seat of a large carriage, and Hamish climbed in with Aster. Ewan and Alick sat up top with the driver. She curled into Hamish’s larger body as the carriage swayed gently and they set off for Kensington.
Now that everything had played out, a calm washed over her body. It was over. Now she would be able to grieve for her father.
Hamish stroked her face. “I love you, Aster.”
He tilted her head and brushed his lips against hers, a gentle tease, reminding her of another night. She sighed and parted her teeth when he pulled her closer, a soft moan breaking from her throat as her body responded, demanding more. The kiss deepened as he stroked her mouth and she mimicked his actions, eager to learn all he had to teach her. She could spend a lifetime kissing him and learning all the nuances of this dance that heated her blood.
“Unbelievable,” a muffled voice said. “That you would take advantage of my grieving sister in her time of despair.”
Hamish paused and broke off their kiss. He sighed, but his gaze remained focused on Aster and not the source of the disembodied voice. “You’re dead.”
“Exactly.” The blanket was folded back and Quinn sat up. “Goes to show what one man will do, over another man’s dead body.”
“I prefer you dead and quiet, if you don’t mind, so I can go back to kissing the woman I love,” Hamish growled.
Aster suppressed a giggle. Part of it was relief that Quinn was unhurt, but part was hearing Hamish saying he loved her. Another thing he could spend a lifetime doing, when he wasn’t kissing her or making her cry out his name in passion.
Quinn ignored his captain. “Well played, Aster, by the way. Your screaming distracted Forge and let me get the pig’s bladder of blood from my pocket.”
The carriage gave a bump as it rolled to a halt, and voices came from outside. Hamish pointed at Quinn. “Play dead. We are not yet done.”
The younger man rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket back over his head.
Alick and Ewan carried him inside while Hamish held Aster close. He didn’t know if anyone was watching, but if Forge had eyes on the street, he wanted them to see the charade played out to its natural conclusion.
They laid Quinn on the floor of the parlour, and Alick prodded him with the toe of his boot. Margaret clapped her hands together as Quinn sat up and tossed aside the blanket.
“So it worked then?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.
“Yes. Dammed uncomfortable though. I thought I danced at the end of a noose all night.” Quinn’s hand went to his ruined cravat. Then he frowned and stared at Aunt Maggie. “But I thought you knew it worked?”
“Oh, we never tested it.” She dismissed his concern and moved to the sideboard to pour drinks for everybody.
Quinn blanched as he took a seat on the chaise. “Never tested it? I think I need a rather large drink.”
Aster could stand it no longer. “How did you survive having your throat slit? My screams were no act; I only realised it was a ruse when you squeezed my hand under the blanket.”
“Help the lad out of the contraption, so the lass can see. Your vervain idea was a grand one, but I would never trust a French vampyre to do what we expected. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a back-up plan, just in case.” Margaret waved her hand at Alick.
Quinn unwound his sliced and bloody cravat to reveal a strange collar underneath. Alick undid its buttons, which ran down the back of Quinn’s neck.
Aunt Maggie handed out drinks while she narrated the part she had played. “Many years ago, my William became paranoid that his support for Scotland’s independence would result in some English assassin trying to permanently silence him. At the time, we had an old set of armour standing in the hall. That old knight wore a particularly fine piece of chain mail.”
Quinn pulled the item free. It was an enormous collar that went high up his neck and down over his shoulders, and appeared to be made of canvas.
Aunt Maggie gestured to the strange item of clothing. “I made William a neck protector, with the chain mail sewn between two layers of canvas. Wolves are very difficult to kill, but a slit throat will end most things. We always thought the chain mail would stop a knife blade.”
Quinn still looked pale. “Why didn’t you tell me beforehand it was untested?”
Alick slapped him on the back. “Too late to dwell on that now.”
Aster took her drink, but her gaze stayed fixed on Hamish. “I recognised the man you killed. He stood in Sir John’s office, with two others, the last day I saw him. His features were indistinct until a sliver of light touched him.”
Her heart tightened. She hadn’t asked Hamish how her father had died. Her mind baulked at knowing the graphic detail. His loss was hard enough to bear.
Hamish moved to stand behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “One has paid for the part he played; that leaves three to settle this debt. Odd thing though, I don’t think he ran up the stairs but rather stepped out of the shadows.”
“Another Unnatural?” Ewan raised a dark brow.
“Possibly.” Hamish’s hand tightened on her shoulder.
“Do you think they will look for me?” She raised a hand to touch his.
He squeezed her fingers. “Forge has his list and thinks he has killed Albert Simmons, Sir John’s secretary. There is no reason for him to pursue you, Aster. You are safe.”
When his gaze met hers, his simmered with unspoken promises and made warmth blossom through her body. Perhaps they could finish their conversation now.
“Good,” Margaret said. “Now we can arrange this wedding. We need a good celebration.”
“We still don’t know how parliament will vote,” Aster said.
Aunt Maggie grinned. “Yes we do. The Unnatural Act passed this evening while you lot were having all the fun. My pups have the full rights of any Englishman and are subject to the same laws.”
Quinn let out a whoop.
“Well?” Margaret looked from one to the other with her sharp gaze.
“I would, but there is one slight impediment,” Aster said.
Hamish narrowed his gaze, a frown pulled at his brows. Aster thought of Lady Merton and her callous refusal of his suit. She was nothing like that woman. She turned to Hamish, and a smile played over her lips. She put all the love she felt for him into her open gaze, so he knew he would never be refused. “Hamish has not yet asked that particular question.”
Ewan and Alick laughed. Margaret moved quickly, her arm a blur as she smacked Hamish in the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper. He ducked, but far too late to avoid the blow.
“Ow.” He rubbed his head, but looked sheepish.
“What are you waiting for, you wet whelp?” his aunt asked, brandishing the newspaper.
He took the hint and knelt before Aster. Ewan reached over her shoulder and first plucked Hamish’s tumbler from his hand, then took Aster’s. Then Hamish clasped both her hands in his.
Hamish’s serious gaze never left hers. “Aster Simmons, would you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?”
Joy exploded through her chest, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. “Yes.”
“Just a minute,” Quinn said, standing up from the chaise. “You might be our captain, but I am her brother and you have to ask me first.”
“You’re dead, so keep quiet,” Hamish growled.
Alick dropped a large hand on Quinn’s shoulder and pushed him back down.
Hamish drew Aster into his arms and kissed her. She had already given him her body, and now she surrendered her heart and soul in one breath-stealing kiss that made her knees buckle. She was vaguely aware of cries of delight from behind as Margaret called for champagne.
29
Hamish
* * *
When Hamish had ridden for Lowestoft, he’d left Ewan with instructions to apply for a special license so he could wed Aster at short notice. Part of him wanted to be prepared in case the House voted in their favour and
he could snatch her away from London to keep her safe. While he was away, his men also had Sir John buried.
The morning after the dance they made a sombre trip to the cemetery to allow Aster to lay flowers on her father’s grave. She set a posy of purple asters on the ground, and Hamish held her while she shed silent tears. The recently turned earth sprouted a simple wooden marker, but Hamish had commissioned a stone, which would be ready soon. In life, Sir John had been unable to acknowledge Aster as his daughter, but Hamish had remedied that in his death. The headstone would proclaim him beloved father of Aster and husband of Lilly. Her parents may not have been married in law, but they were wed in their hearts, and he hoped Heaven didn’t quibble over the semantics.
From there they journeyed to a small chapel and used the special license to marry.
“What will your family say?” Aster had asked him.
He only had one reply. “They will love you as I do.”
Quinn insisted on giving Aster away in his role as brother, a position it seemed he would not relinquish. Now that he had a sister, he might give her away, but he would not give her up. Margaret stood with Aster, and Hamish had Ewan and Alick at his back. Even Dougal was not forgotten. The little terrier sat at his mistress’s feet, a plain gold band threaded through a ribbon on his collar.
The reverend said the words, but all Hamish heard was that she was finally his, forever, and he dared even death to try and part them. He draped the veil over her hair and placed a finger under her chin. “My wife, my star,” he whispered before taking her mouth.
He didn’t care that the others stood around them. Napoleon himself could take a seat and damn well wait until he had drunk his fill of his witty, intelligent, and passionate bride.
Finally Margaret had enough, and clapped him on the shoulder. He raised his head to meet her amused gaze. “Let’s go back to the house for celebratory drinks, then you can spirit the lass away. Although from the look in your eye, Aster may need a substantial meal to fortify her for the evening to come.”
Alick burst out laughing, Ewan chuckled, and Quinn looked horrified. And Aster—well, she just wet her lips.
They turned to walk back down the aisle, as husband and wife, wolf and his soul mate, but one last surprise shimmered before them. Two shapes coalesced between the rows of pews. One looked remarkably similar to Aster, but a few years older. Hamish recognised the other—Sir John. The spectral couple had linked arms and beamed at Aster.
“Mother,” Aster gasped. She held out a hand to her dead mother. The ghost stretched her arm and for one moment, their fingers connected. Then the shades wavered and returned to their eternal peace. Together.
“Thank you,” Aster said, turning to Hamish. Tears glistened in her eyes, their hue more purple today.
“It was Aunt Maggie’s idea. She has a friend who is a shade seer of some talent and she asked if they would come forward for a moment,” Hamish kissed away a tear that rolled down his bride’s cheek.
“Did you see that they were together? At least death reunited them.” She smiled and leaned into his side as they headed out to the waiting carriage.
Margaret provided a wedding spread and even a grand cake, which took pride of place on the table. There were tears in Aster’s eyes as she hugged his aunt and whispered her thanks.
“Nonsense, lass. It was no bother. I love having the boys back in my house, and now I will have a little feminine companionship to whip them into shape.” Aunt Maggie winked. Then she handed Aster a rolled-up newspaper tied with ribbon. “You might be needing that.”
Quinn paled. It appeared he had some familiarity with the newspaper.
Aster smiled, tucked the roll under her arm and took her champagne. “Are we to stay here?”
Hamish had not thought of long-term accommodation. His mind was definitely on the short term, and how soon he could lure her upstairs to bed. Preferably without the rolled paper as a weapon. “If that is all right with you. The house is large enough, but I can find us our own for when we are in London, if you prefer.”
“Oh no, I love it here. In fact, I was hoping Aunt Maggie would teach me how to use the cannon. I do think I could do with some practical defence tips.” Laughter sparkled in her violet eyes.
Margaret beamed. “We’ll turn you into a Highland lass yet.”
Hamish thought he would need to find a better use for Aster’s mind before Aunt Maggie remembered the old blunderbuss and decided his bride should learn how to shoot. He assumed the War Office would want her to continue her cryptography work, so long as he could be assured of her continued safety. Plus with the Unnatural Act, there would be more work determining how to monitor the newest citizens of England.
“What now?” Ewan asked.
“Lord Bathurst has agreed to extend our leave in London and give time to try and find what the conspirators are planning, and to discover the depth of the duke’s involvement. To start, we shall see what information we can ferret out about each person involved, and hope to piece together the entire puzzle.” He took Aster’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “Which is a job you men can begin while I take my wife away from here for a few days. We will be at the cottage in Lowestoft.” He couldn’t help but stare at her while imagining her naked form, wet and hot in the tub under the moonlight while the ocean crashed below them. She seemed to be of a similar mind, for heat raced up from under her collar, and she coughed.
Alick dropped the newspaper on the table. “Well, our list just got one name shorter.”
The page lay open at a cartoon. A rotund elderly man lay slumped over a bed, while a half-naked and buxom lass clutching a riding crop proclaimed, He didn’t last the ride. The figures were notated as Sir Phillip Dunne and Ianthe Wynn.
“Phillip Dunne just died with his boots on,” Alick said.
The list had contained a strange assortment of names. One appeared to be a nobleman from Prussia, a nation that had just declared for England. Two were wealthy merchants, one of whom imported expensive items for the ton. Then they had a duke, a viscount, a knight, and lastly, Callum Forge.
Phillip Dunne was the knight, and was a well-known solicitor. From what little Hamish knew about the deceased man, he had a reputation for smoothing out the legal problems of the upper echelon and included the Regent among his clients. While his work didn’t increase his social standing, it made him wealthy. Presumably how he managed to support a rather beautiful mistress, according to the newspaper.
Alick tapped on a figure peering around the doorframe of the caricature. “And look who is waiting in the wings.”
Septimus Fletcher, Viscount Hoth. Underneath his character was the question, Is it my turn, now?
Hamish blew out a whistle. “The viscount is also on our list. His family owns the largest private bank in London. And our courtesan seems to be in the middle of our two traitors.”
“Makes one wonder what this woman knows, does it not? She must hear some fascinating pillow talk,” Ewan said.
“Find out,” Hamish said. “See if you can gain her confidence.”
“My equestrienne,” Quinn murmured, his gaze on the figure at the centre of the caricature.
Aster glanced at her brother. “Your equestrienne?”
Quinn smiled. “I watch her ride out on Rotten Row every day, on a rather magnificent grey stallion. Apart from the excellence of her seat, she is not just an ordinary courtesan. She is a Cyprian, a woman of the demi-monde who becomes a long-term mistress. They are faithful to their patrons, and I doubt she will talk easily.”
Ewan raised his glass to the newlyweds. “Sounds exactly like the sort of campaign I like. You two go off on your honeymoon, and Quinn and I will lay siege to this recently bereaved Cyprian. Alick can scurry about in the dark corners asking questions, as he likes to do.”
“One more thing. Society now knows the Highland Wolves are Unnaturals, so be on your best behaviour or you will answer to Aster and her newspaper,” Hamish said. Then he toasted his mate.
* * *
THE END
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About the Author
Tilly drinks entirely too much coffee, likes to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and wishes she could talk to Jane Austen. Sometimes she imagines a world where the Bennet sisters lived near the Hellmouth. Or that might be a fanciful imagining brought on by too much caffeine.
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Secrets to Reveal Page 28