Scot Under the Covers

by Suzanne Enoch

  A large shadow passed by the window panels at one side of the front door and stopped. He was here. Miranda’s hands clenched before she was aware of it, and she forced her fingers to uncurl as Billings pulled open the front door to admit Captain Vale. They exchanged a word or two, and the butler turned to approach the library.

  “Now,” Aden said quietly, pushing away from the wall and reaching past her to pull the door wide. “If I’d any idea I was being scandalous,” he went on in a normal tone, “I’d nae have announced the book I was after in front of my mother this morning. Ye should have told me ye were being sarcastic, Miranda.”

  She rushed her thoughts to catch up to him, taking a second to note how unusual it was for her to be behind in a conversation with anyone. “I didn’t think you would actually turn up asking to read it,” she returned aloud, flashing him a smile as they headed toward the front of the house.

  “Ye mean ye didnae think I could read.” Glancing ahead of them, he slowed. “Och, someone’s let a vulture loose inside the house. Ye, butler. Get me a broom.”

  Because she was looking directly at him, she saw Captain Vale’s raptor eyes narrow just a little. And just for a moment, she wanted to utter an unladylike snort. A villain who horrified her, and now, for a few seconds, she felt like laughing at him. Thank God or the devil or whoever had delivered Aden MacTaggert to her.

  “Aden, this is Captain Robert Vale. Captain, my almost brother-in-law, Aden MacTaggert.”

  Aden inclined his head just a little. Regally, almost. With him in his kilt and semi-civilized clothing, it somehow suited him. “Vale.”

  “MacTaggert,” the captain returned. “I’ve an engagement with Miranda.”

  “This is what’s dragging ye off to luncheon, lass?” Aden drawled, his brogue growing even thicker. “I’ll nae understand ye Sassenach, I reckon.” Before she could conjure a retort to that, Aden leaned down and kissed her on one cheek. “Thank ye for the book, Miranda. I’ll nae let my dog chew on it.”

  Her cheek felt scalded, and it took all of her will not to touch her fingers to the place where he’d brushed his lips. “Thank you for that,” she managed, hoping it at least sounded like she was referring to his assurances about Brògan, and not about that surprising kiss.

  He smiled at her. “I’ll be by to return it to ye soon enough.” With a last, dismissive look at Captain Vale, he patted the butler on the shoulder and headed past them out the open front door.

  She watched after him for a moment. When she belatedly returned her attention to the captain, Vale had his bird-of-prey gaze fixed on her. Even though his expression hadn’t altered, she had the definite feeling that he was most displeased. And that made her exceedingly pleased.

  “Who was that?” he asked in his level monotone.

  “I introduced you. Aden MacTaggert. One of Eloise MacTaggert’s brothers.”

  “The Scottish ones.”

  “Yes.” That seemed a rather obvious observation for him to make. Perhaps Aden had managed to rattle him a little. Even if he hadn’t, she didn’t feel the same angry hopelessness with which Vale had left her yesterday. She wasn’t entirely alone in this any longer. She had an ally of sorts, and a plan of sorts. Yes, she definitely liked Aden more than she had yesterday, and by a rather large margin.

  * * *

  Aden stopped Loki just short of the corner. Edging the chestnut in between a stopped coach and a cart brimming with coal, he dismounted to stand in the shadows. At six-foot-one and wearing a kilt he wasn’t precisely invisible in the middle of Mayfair, but at least he wasn’t obvious.

  Less than a minute after he found his hiding place, Captain Vale and Miranda in her bonny green-and-gray gown topped by a jaunty green bonnet, her maid trailing behind her, left the house for the waiting barouche. That vehicle boasted a yellow-and-white coat of arms in the shape of owls and what looked like a spade. After only a few weeks in London, Vale likely didn’t have a coat of arms or a barouche, so the birds and shovel would belong to his cousin Lord George Humphries.

  According to Miranda the man had left the naval service, but today he’d worn a crisp blue uniform together with one of those tall, fan-shaped hats that would have him breaking his neck in a stiff breeze. The naval uniform was there because it looked impressive. Because it meshed well with whatever plan Vale had concocted.

  Vale looked fit and fairly tall for a Sassenach, even if Aden would have preferred him to be a short, twisted hunchback. His walk was just a drumbeat short of a march, his shoulders and back straight enough that he could well have a broomstick shoved up his arse. What he did have up there was another question entirely, because while Aden could understand what Vale had done, and how he’d done it, the why still had no answers.

  For that he needed to rely on Miranda, at least for now. If she did as he had suggested and got Vale to chat about himself, it would provide at least a starting point for some additional digging. Whether he should be doing that or not was a slightly stickier dilemma. Because while gamblers didn’t have a secret club as Miranda had implied, there were some rules. One man did not go after another’s target, or interfere in someone else’s game. A man who did that could find himself uninvited from a table or a club at best, and with a knife through his innards at worst.

  He knew all that—and he still fell in behind the barouche as Miranda Harris and Captain Vale drove off for their luncheon. Since he’d set Miranda on a particular course of action, if something went wrong he had an obligation to make certain she stayed safe. Or that was what he told himself as he trotted down the street, anyway.

  Because he didn’t believe in deluding himself, he also had to acknowledge that he in part felt indebted to Vale. The greedy bastard had given Miranda a reason to call on Aden, and had given Aden a reason to be in her presence. How that might end he had no idea, but he intended to find out.

  Miranda had perfected the art of conversational repartee and brought it to the very edge of the precipice. She’d sharpened her tongue to a razor point, and slashed and cut with the skill of a champion fencer. She not only knew how to navigate Mayfair, she shone among the glittery aristocracy. Aden could likely learn a thing or two from her. At the same time, he could conjure a thing or two he wanted to teach her.

  That served to remind him that he hadn’t shared a bed with a lass since before he and Coll had left London to shadow Niall and his Amy on their flight north to Gretna Green. And while the young widow Alice Hardy had been enthusiastic enough in bed, he couldn’t think of any man who, before he’d even caught his breath, wanted to be subjected to questions over whether he preferred white or red roses at a wedding. Saint Andrew, he’d barely paused long enough to collect his boots before he’d fled.

  But then there was Miranda Harris, who, however desperate the situation, remained levelheaded and circumspect. It made her initial assessment of his character sting a wee bit more than it would have otherwise, because he’d known from the first minute they’d met that she wasn’t a lass who spent her days cooing over roses. He admired her—perhaps because she’d bothered not to flutter her eyelashes at him. The fact that she had eyes the color of dark, sweet chocolate and a mouth that seemed to miss its smile didn’t hurt, either.

  The fancy barouche turned the corner ahead of him, and he shook himself. Waiting until a pair of riders and a trio of wagons passed him, Aden sent Loki up the street after Miranda and the captain. If they knew what he was up to, both of his brothers would be laughing at him right now. A lass had declared her dislike of his character, and because he didn’t like that, he’d jumped at the first opportunity to charge to her rescue and thereby prove her wrong.

  Actually, that made for a fair explanation. It would save him from having to confess that he had fallen for her at first insult, and that all this was an excuse to become better acquainted with the lass before he made an idiot of himself by declaring his infatuation when she did, in fact, dislike him.

  The barouche turned south now toward Bond Street, and he k
need Loki into a trot so he wouldn’t lose sight of the vehicle. He’d spent the last few weeks—in between shadowing Niall and Amy on their flight to Gretna Green and now avoiding Alice Hardy—learning the streets of London. Going out at night as he tended to, knowing where he was and where he was headed could mean the difference between arriving back at Oswell House and being dead in an alley somewhere. Parts of London were proving more bloody dangerous than even the wildest bits of the Highlands.

  Vale seemed to be staying in Mayfair, which made sense. The captain was after respectability; he would want to be seen by his would-be peers while he wore his dashing uniform and had Miranda Harris on his arm. That fact also provided her with a measure of safety, since Vale would have to behave like a gentleman in public. Still, punching and yelling weren’t the only ways to hurt or frighten or injure a lass.

  When the barouche stopped in front of the Kings Hotel, he frowned. An establishment that large featured a great many places where a lass could find herself in trouble not of her own making, and it was too fancy for a tall, broad-shouldered Scotsman in scuffed boots and a work kilt. He wouldn’t have minded the coincidence of them all dining at the same establishment, but getting booted out on his arse wouldn’t help his plans.

  Even so, he wasn’t about to leave until he knew for certain that she was safely dining and not being dragged into some room upstairs. Dismounting, he led Loki up the street, slowing to look through the first of a quartet of windows spanning the ground floor of the three-story building. Tables and well-dressed diners, but no Miranda.

  “No gawking at your betters,” the doorman said as Aden drew even with him. “Move along.”

  Aden stopped, looking over the man’s head as the door behind him opened. There she was, seated toward the back of the room across the table from the captain. He could only see her profile, but her back was straight and her hands folded in her lap. Attentive and unwilling to risk Vale touching her. To Aden her posture shouted suspicion and discomfort, but no doubt the captain expected that from her. Hopefully the only thing Vale hadn’t anticipated was that the Highlands barbarian he’d just met was more than a potential romantic rival, and that someone else was advising her on the direction of her conversation.

  It took more effort than it should have to turn his attention to her dining companion. Now that the captain wasn’t eyeing him in return, Aden took a good look at the short brown hair and long, hooked nose—in profile the man even more resembled a damned vulture. No wonder Vale had reckoned he needed to resort to threats and blackmail to get a lass like Miranda.

  “Did you not hear me? Move along. You’ll get no handouts here.”

  Aden blinked, returning his gaze to the black-, yellow-, and red-liveried doorman. “Do I look like a man who’s missed a meal, Sassenach?” he asked, taking a step closer. Loki at his shoulder snorted.

  The doorman’s jaw jumped, but he kept his chin up. “What you look like is someone not attired to dine at the Kings Hotel, or to take rooms here.”

  An argument might have been amusing, but he didn’t want to be attracting the attention of the diners inside for no good reason. Aden put a smile on his face. “I cannae argue with that, wee man. Good day to ye.” With a nod he tugged on Loki’s reins and continued up the street.

  Once he was clear of the windows he swung back into the saddle. He couldn’t do much here without throwing the little bit of strategy he’d conjured into chaos, but if Captain Vale was as proficient a gambler as he seemed, men at the tables hereabouts would either have played against him or at least know of him.

  The problem with that was that Vale had a lord for a cousin, one who was more than likely a member of all the best gentlemen’s clubs. Aden had a lord for a brother, but Coll wasn’t a member of any London club. Nor was he likely to become a member even if they would have him.

  Matthew Harris had several memberships, but he seemed a poor choice for a sponsor, especially under the circumstances. Aden blew out his breath. There were other places he’d found, other, less savory men with whom he could talk. They would do for a start.

  Sooner rather than later he would have to have a conversation with Matthew, though. The lad was worse than a fool to put his own sister in harm’s way. If there was any chance of his poor behavior continuing, he and Eloise needed to be parted. At this moment Matthew was an enemy in the middle of MacTaggert territory, but Aden had the feeling that the lad would also be necessary to solving this disaster.

  All that was aside from the fact that stopping Eloise and Matthew’s wedding remained the simplest way to get him and Coll back to the Highlands without Sassenach brides. That was a topic for later. First, he needed to figure out a way to rescue this lass, and to convince her that he wasn’t a villain simply because he enjoyed playing cards.

  He did have a reason not to speak up—Miranda would never trust him with anything again, and for good reason. But he worried about Eloise. His sister, the youngest MacTaggert, had been less than a year old when she and their mother had left the Highlands. Seventeen years later they had her back in their lives, and the idea of risking their newfound relationship didn’t sit well with him at all. Neither, though, did he intend to allow her to marry a man who was proving to be both reckless and a poor judge of character—not to mention a poor gambler.

  Eloise would not be put in the same perilous position as Miranda. That was a fact, as unalterable as the Highlands. As was the fact that he wasn’t going to allow any harm—any further harm—to come to Miranda Harris. Every conversation he had with her impressed him more, left him more convinced that he’d found his English lass. It didn’t matter that she had another man trying to force her into marriage; there were several ways around that, only a few of them bloody.

  The one thing that could alter his plan was both simple and supremely complicated—did she like him in return? Once he had that bit answered he could decipher whether it was him or his offer of assistance that had lured her in, and whether that made him a hero or a fool.

  Chapter Six

  Aden’s suggestion that she pretend reluctant curiosity seemed to be working like a charm, though Miranda remained uncertain whether she could believe anything Captain Vale told her. A man didn’t suddenly decide to become ruthless and heartless, and it seemed that a milder sin like lying would come first and that he therefore would be proficient at it.

  Something had sent him down this path, but she refused to feel any sympathy. If he were simply an injured party, then yes, she could empathize. But he had already made it clear that he meant to injure her, and that made him an enemy.

  “What is the next soiree you attend?” Vale asked, finishing off his tea and sugared biscuit. At least he hadn’t mastered the art of reading minds, however much he might prefer to give that impression.

  He had selected a very respectable establishment for luncheon, she had to admit, but then he was looking to acquire a respectable reputation—by stealing hers. “I would have to consult my appointment book,” she returned.

  “Then I will accompany you back inside Harris House and you will tell me there.”

  She cocked her head at him, half hoping he could see just how perturbed he made her. “If you were more pleasant and less threatening, you might find your pathway less full of ruts.”

  “There are no ruts, my dear. There is only you digging in your heels. You know you have no recourse, so flail about if you choose to do so. You’ll lose.”

  If this was the end of their more pleasant, informative conversation, she had no further reason to prolong the encounter. “The Darlington ball, then, day after tomorrow,” she stated. “Bully.”

  “Speaking of bullies,” he said smoothly, “tell me more about Aden MacTaggert.”

  A chill went down her fingers. “He likes to read, and he called on me this morning because I mentioned a book he hadn’t yet read.”

  “Where did you mention this book to him?”

  “At the Gaines soiree. I was being sarcastic when he asked i
f I knew of any books about English life, but I don’t think he realized it at the time.” There. She wondered if Aden had realized all those little seeds of information he’d planted in their earlier conversation would be so useful to her. She hoped so, because that made him exceedingly clever in addition to handsome and … aggravating. Miranda pulled the ties of her reticule back over her wrist. “You’re becoming intolerable, so please see me home.”

  “Smile when you speak to me. We’re falling in love, after all.”

  She would sooner fall in love with a toad, but she smiled anyway. For every smile he ordered her to show, she would find a way to stab him in his nonexistent heart. Perhaps she was mad to put any faith at all in Aden MacTaggert and his so-called assistance, but at this moment she clung to the idea of having a partner in this, of not being so very alone and on her own.

  Since Aden had said he needed information, she’d gotten as much as she could for him. Now, though, if this encounter continued much longer she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t begin either vomiting or, worse, punching this vulture in his beak of a nose. Miranda deepened her smile at that pleasant thought. “Take me home, please.”

  Captain Vale smiled back at her, the expression going nowhere near his amber-brown eyes. “As you wish.” Standing, he walked around behind her to hold her chair. “I do hope you’ll permit me to call on you again,” he said, loudly enough for the diners at the neighboring tables to hear.

  She nodded, trying not to flinch at how … vulnerable she felt with him behind her. “I would not object to that, Captain,” she forced out, motioning to Millie where the maid sat over by the kitchen.

  Outside he summoned his borrowed barouche, making a show of pulling open the low door and handing her inside. Once she’d settled herself, he sat beside her, leaving Millie to clamber in on her own and take the rear-facing seat. “Back to Harris House, Tom,” Vale instructed the driver.