Scot Under the Covers

by Suzanne Enoch

  “I still don’t understand why you require me for any of this,” Miranda ventured. “Lord George is your cousin. You have a pathway toward respectability, though I’ve yet to see anyone so much as look askance at you.”

  “How many people greeted you as we drove here?” he asked, sitting back to light a cheroot.

  Miranda feigned a cough at the acrid smoke he blew into the air. “I don’t recall. Half a dozen or so?”

  “Seven,” he corrected. “Which is seven more than greeted me.”

  “That hardly signifies. You’re a stranger here. Once George has introduced you about, the—”

  “Two points, Miranda. First, George Humphries is an amusing, bombastic fellow whom no one takes too seriously. While his initial introductions and living at his residence have proven helpful, I don’t wish to be paired in people’s minds with a fool for a moment longer than necessary. Second,” he went on, taking another pungent puff of his cheroot, “he isn’t my cousin.”

  Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. If Millie’s stunned expression mirrored hers, they both looked like gawping fish drowning in the air. Clamping her jaw shut again, she sent a quick glance forward at the driver’s perch. Tom was Lord George’s usual driver, but he didn’t so much as flinch at the revelation of this stunning bit of information. “How—”

  “A debt considerably less significant than that of your brother.” Vale’s mouth curved into that brief, humorless smile again. “I didn’t decide on this course of action on a whim, Miranda. I found George Humphries first. He gained me entry into your very elite circle. At the moment that is a façade. Marrying you ensures that I remain here. A marriage renders the façade real.”

  She wanted to fling open the low door of the barouche and run. In an odd sense she’d hoped he’d somehow become infatuated with her personally. If he liked her—and wanted her to like him—she could perhaps reason with him, convince him to leave Matthew and her alone. This, though … this water was far above her head, and she already felt like she was drowning.

  “Mention me to your parents this evening,” he went on coolly, as if he hadn’t just flipped everything on its head once again. “Mention that you enjoy my company, and that I’m looking for an appropriate residence in the immediate area, one suitable for raising a family. Ask your father if he has any ideas—and if he might be willing to assist me in making connections, as I am newly returned to London and he’s no doubt aware of Lord George’s frivolity and will understand my reluctance to rely on my cousin. Emphasize that you would be quite happy to have me nearby, and would detest the idea of me having to rejoin His Majesty’s Navy and sail away to parts unknown.”

  “I will not bring my parents into this mess. I’m here in this barouche in order to avoid precisely that.”

  “You will do it, unless you’d rather inform them that the Harris family owes me fifty thousand pounds. I know your family is comfortable, but not drowning in wealth. What the lot of you are is well connected. That is your value to me.” Vale blew out another smoky breath. “If you do something to devalue yourself, I’ll still have fifty thousand pounds to collect. If you were considering doing something so foolish, that is.”

  Ruining herself was precisely what Aden MacTaggert had suggested. He’d even volunteered to assist her with that particular task, in a way that had made her insides feel jangly. Did all men think a woman’s best course to avoid an unwanted suitor was to be ruined and left forever unmarried?

  It made for an interesting line of thought—but one she didn’t have time for at the moment. It was more significant that she now had some proof that Captain Vale and Aden MacTaggert thought in similar ways, and as long as Aden remained helpful, she would consider that an advantage. She’d guessed a card trick. How much assistance did that earn her? How much difficulty would he be willing to face before he decided he’d done enough? What, in short, was in this for him?

  Her, of course, but though he’d said he liked her, that might only have been because she’d made a point of saying she didn’t like him. That had been stupid—though she hadn’t known at the time that her brother had been in the midst of selling her to cover his debts. No, it had been stupid because he wasn’t just a gambler. She’d judged one of the parts of him, and had decided that nothing else mattered. And in a few short days she’d already begun to realize that she had been both narrow-minded and shortsighted.

  “I have no intention of ruining myself, Captain, and certainly not to spite someone else. Even you.”

  Vale flicked the remains of his cheroot onto the street. “You do appear to have a logical bent that I didn’t expect. Matthew said you kept a level head, but he hasn’t precisely proven an exceptional judge of character. Or of the odds.”

  No, Matthew had horribly misjudged several things, and she was the one paying the price. For every escape she imagined, Vale had already anticipated and countered it. Once again, her thoughts trotted down the path to the Highlander who’d unexpectedly given her the tiniest bit of hope, and a few other things to ponder. Aden’s involvement might well be the one thing Captain Vale didn’t know about and hadn’t anticipated. She intended to keep it that way.

  The carriage rolled to a halt outside Harris House. Thank goodness. She’d survived her first outing with this awful man, and she had two days to prepare for their next encounter. Just the idea of that next meeting made her heart shudder, but she hid her reaction as she stood and stepped to the ground.

  “I’ll meet you at the Darlington ball,” he said, descending behind her. “Turn around and offer me both of your hands.”

  She would rather have offered him both of her fists, but any brief satisfaction punching him might give her would be drowned out by the ruin that would likely befall her entire family. Miranda turned around and held out her hands to him.

  He closed his fingers around hers, favoring her with his unsettling smile once more. “You will save me two dances. One of them will be a waltz.” His grip tightened just short of the point of pain before he released her. “Now smile as you walk into the house. Tell your parents how unexpectedly interesting you find me, and whatever else convinces them that you’re looking forward to seeing me again.”

  “I will,” she said, though she wasn’t certain whether it was worse to have to recite the lies he’d provided, or to have to make up her own.

  Once safely inside the house she just resisted the urge to wrench the door out of Billings’s grip and slam it shut, followed by dragging all the house’s furniture into the foyer and piling it against the entrance. But even here she had to keep up the ruse that she found Captain Vale interesting. If she couldn’t manage that, her parents would become suspicious. Once that happened, protecting them—and herself—would become much more problematic.

  “I hope you had a pleasant afternoon, Miss Harris. You have a note from Lady Eloise,” the butler said, lifting a salver from the hall table.

  Willing her fingers not to shake, Miranda took the missive from the tray and unfolded it. The handwriting inside looked nothing like Eloise’s looping, round hand. Neat, spare, and precise, it said only, “Go for a walk this afternoon at five o’clock. A.MT.”

  Aden MacTaggert. Her hard heartbeat eased into a steadier rhythm. Aden hadn’t simply been paying lip service when he’d said he would help her. She’d half trusted him, and half thought he was merely looking to amuse himself. Instead, he’d already figured out how they would next meet, and without arousing Vale’s or anyone else’s suspicions. And she would damned well go out and meet him. Because as much as she disliked the idea of it all, Matthew owed that money. It wouldn’t take much of a nudge from Vale to induce her brother to report on all her comings and goings.

  “Good news, I hope?” Millie said, as the maid trailed her upstairs.

  “Yes. Good news.” One man, at least, seemed to be on her side, even if it was because he fancied her. Miranda paused on the steps. Was that the only reason he’d decided to help? He certainly hadn’t given her a s
traight answer when she’d asked.

  He didn’t seem the sort of man who followed a lady about, holding her parasol or fetching her punch. But if encouraging him would help ensure his assistance, she’d be a fool to keep snapping at him. Hmm. Leading a man—any man—on made her feel dirty, whatever the reason. Could she do it, though? Would she be leading him on if part of her enjoyed the way he kept her on her toes, or the way other women eyed her jealously when she waltzed with him?

  But then Uncle John had charmed Aunt Beatrice into marriage, and Matthew had charmed Eloise into accepting his proposal. Charm and attraction might be influencing her reaction to Aden MacTaggert, but as long as she knew it, as long as she kept that firmly in mind, no one would be leading her astray. Dragging her, yes, but she wouldn’t be going of her own volition.

  For now she would settle for deciding that Aden wasn’t as intolerable as she’d first believed, and that she’d won his silly wager so he owed her some assistance. Yes. That would do. Until it didn’t.

  * * *

  Aden fed an apple to Loki, leaning a hip against the chestnut’s haunch as he munched on another fruit himself. Miranda hadn’t responded to his note, not that she could do so without stirring up trouble. Pretending to be Eloise had seemed the least suspicious way to communicate with her, even if it did leave her no simple way to answer. He therefore might well be lurking down the street from Harris House for no good reason, but at least he’d thought to bring snacks.

  But then his reason for lurking emerged from Harris House, and he forgot what he’d been thinking about. She and her omnipresent yellow-haired maid walked down the short drive, pausing there as Miranda looked up and down the street. Aden straightened, his pulse speeding in a combination of anticipation and lust. When she spied him, she gave a subtle wave of her fingers and turned in his direction. The streets of Mayfair stood fairly empty at the moment, since most of the bluebloods would be home now dressing for dinner or the theater or whichever distraction they’d planned for the evening. That all made the two of them more obvious to anyone who might be passing by, but as long as Matthew didn’t leave the house to follow his sister, it remained the best option.

  “Aden,” Miranda said, as she reached him.

  “Miranda.” He handed Loki’s reins to the startled-looking maid. “Dunnae fret; he’s a well-behaved lad.”

  “I—”

  “We cannae stand here chatting,” he pushed, falling in beside Miranda. He wanted to touch her, so he offered the lass his arm—which any gentleman would do. Her gloved hand sliding around his forearm felt somehow significant, but then she was a proper lass and more than likely wouldn’t slight him in public. “I followed ye to luncheon, but I left once I saw ye settled into a chair at the Kings Hotel.”

  “You followed me?”

  Aden shrugged. “Ye said the vulture wants respectability, but there’s more than one way for him to gain yer cooperation, I reckon.”

  She nodded. “I had my reticule in my lap for the entire ride so I could beat him with it and flee if necessary. Thank you.”

  “Ye dunnae owe me thanks, lass. I lost a wager to ye.” He hadn’t done a damned thing other than trot his horse after Vale’s carriage. And insult the man to his face, hopefully giving the captain something to think about for a moment other than Miranda. No heroics, ill conceived or not, had been necessary.

  “Several people are aware of my present circumstance. You—and Millie—are the only ones who seem concerned.” Her mouth quirked. “And I believe you mentioned you weren’t aiding me because you lost that wager.”

  Aden studied the brief humor in her eyes. A remarkable lass, she was. “I did say that, aye.” Whether that made him an idiot or not, he couldn’t yet guess. “I can make ye one promise, Miranda: I’ll nae stand aside and allow ye to pay for someone else’s mistakes.” He wanted to declare himself, to inform her that he’d found his English bride, but at this point she’d only laugh at him. Aside from that, she already had one villain trying to force her into something. He didn’t wish to be another.

  It had also struck him that the most interesting lass with whom he’d crossed paths in London might well be the one who could ensure that he was able to return to the Highlands without a Sassenach bride. He’d hold on to that for later, because he never let go of a good playing card even if he meant never to use it. If she’d been a three-eyed gargoyle, aye, he might—likely would—have been tempted, but she was a two-eyed bonny lass with a sharp wit, and he liked her. “Like” seemed a simple word for the vast tangle of questions hovering around her and poking at him, but he’d make use of it for now.

  “And that is why I thank you,” she said, clearly unaware of what he was thinking.

  Aden shook himself. He could have his mental dilemmas over entanglements and duty to family, but she was in the middle of a field of thorns. Very real ones. “Save yer appreciation; I’ve nae done a thing yet. Were ye able to get any information out of Captain Vale, then?”

  “Yes. The last thing I learned may be the most important, and in all honesty, I discovered it completely by accident. Lord George Humphries is not Captain Vale’s cousin. They are not related at all.”

  He scowled, noting the satisfaction on her face at flummoxing him. And she’d done a damned fine job of it. “The hell ye say.”

  “He told me straight to my face. Lord George is in debt to him, as well, and that is how he chose to collect. By fashioning himself into Lord George Humphries’s cousin and staying at Baromy House with him.”

  Up front the lie was so outrageous that he had to wonder why Vale would attempt it. Proficient gamblers could be surprisingly cautious lads. On the other hand, who would question the truth of it once Lord George declared it to be so? It did turn a tangle of misinformation he’d gathered about Lord George’s cousin into something that made more sense—in that nothing made sense, because none of it was true. “So, he’s used Lord George Humphries to open the door, and means to use ye to keep himself in Society. At some point later on if anybody asks him about being cousins, he can say the lot of ye must have misunderstood him or someaught.”

  She nodded. “That’s what he said. The first part, anyway.” She sighed, and he tried not to lower his gaze to her very distracting bosom. “I do find it rather unsettling that you seem to understand him so well,” she went on. “You have said you’re not alike, after all.”

  “If ye mean to keep pounding at me for enjoying a hand of cards here and there,” he retorted, “I reckon I could be elsewhere, chasing down a less testy lass for me to marry in the next four months.”

  “If you mean to tell me you only play a hand of cards now and again, I’m going to call you a liar. Both of us are here precisely because you are reputed to be a formidable opponent at the gaming tables.”

  A dim lass would have been easy to manage, he reflected, but a dim lass wouldn’t have caught his attention. Unmarried young ladies had been pelting him with handkerchiefs and fluttering eyelashes and glimpses of ankles for weeks now. This one clubbed him over the head with her wit, and he was panting after her like a buck after a doe.

  “Aye,” he agreed after a moment, “but only one of us dislikes my reputation.”

  “I dislike your reputation out of principle, and your choice of hobby or distraction or whatever it is because it affects other people’s lives,” she returned. “You are harder to quantify.”

  “Well, thank Saint Andrew for that, anyway.” Aden tucked her in closer against his side. “I’m carrying yer secret with me, ye ken, whether ye like me or nae. So ye decide either to trust me with it, or to go look elsewhere for a man who’ll agree to partner with ye.”

  “‘Partner,’” she repeated. “I like that. But what, pray tell, do you get from this partnership? There must be something you want.”

  You. “Aye. Ye…” He searched for something to say that wouldn’t start her panicking that she had two inveterate gamblers hunting her down. “Ye ken the ways of London Society. Coll and I had a
good laugh when some fool set out three forks and two knives for dinner one night, and then we used them all for a venison pie with some odd sort of white sauce and wee sliced potatoes, and we’d nae forks left for cake. Help me navigate this sea of nonsense, and I’ll call us even.”

  Miranda lifted one curved eyebrow. “That’s what you want in return? Lessons on the order of forks?”

  If that was all he wanted, he wouldn’t be standing there, imagining kissing her. Imagining her in his bed, and him inside her. “Nae, but I reckon that’ll do. For now.”

  For a moment she walked silently beside him. “Considering that aiding you will help keep Vale away from me, I would be a fool not to agree.”

  “Ye’re nae a fool, so shake my hand. Partners.”

  Stopping, he freed his arm from hers and stuck out his hand. Her gaze on his fingers, she nodded as if to herself and closed her smaller hand around his. Even through the gloves her fingers were warm, her grip firm. Aye, she was a practical lass. Practicality said she needed to accept his help, and therefore she’d done so. Wondering abruptly if that practicality was why she flirted and didn’t slap him for his less-than-proper suggestions, he decided it didn’t signify. It was likely his own well-honed sense of self-preservation stepping in. He’d keep his eyes open anyway, because he generally wasn’t a fool, either.

  Aden glanced up and down the street, to find it temporarily empty. Before he could decide he was being an idiot, that no amount of stealth or practical experience would be able to extricate him from this, he leaned down and touched his mouth to hers.

  She had soft lips and tasted faintly of tea, and something … undefinable shuddered through him. He allowed himself a long moment of heaven, less gentle than he could have been, and less thorough than he wanted to be, before he straightened again. Even the devil must have missed harp music now and again—and he’d just heard it loud and clear. “That’s how we seal a bargain in the Highlands,” he drawled with a nonchalance he didn’t feel.