Scot Under the Covers

by Suzanne Enoch

  “I’m nae a fine man. I’m a rugged man. I know my way about a tavern, and a woman. I dunnae like the way everyone talks behind their lacy fans or their hands here, trying to be fancy and looking down their damned beaks at anyone who willnae play their game.”

  “That’s what I’m telling ye. Play yer game. Then at least if ye dunnae find a lass, it willnae be because ye didnae try. Could be even Francesca might excuse ye, then.”

  “I bloody well hope so.” Still grumbling, Coll clapped Aden on the shoulder, his way of showing appreciation, before he stalked off toward a group of young females.

  Aden might have spent a moment reflecting that a miracle had occurred, except that the hawk-faced Captain Robert Vale appeared from the direction of the gaming room. If he didn’t care about the consequences, it would have been fucking tempting to go punch the man in the face until his nose took on a more flattering shape. But he did care about the consequences, because they affected Miranda. And so he watched.

  When Matthew made his appearance from some nondescript hallway, Aden was fairly certain Eloise’s betrothed had been in the gaming room as well, and didn’t want his family to find him out. Harris could pretend whatever he pleased, but this damned wagering needed to stop. If it didn’t, Aden would have to stop the wedding, and that would upend everything—including his own plans.

  He liberated a glass of wine from a passing footman, then slipped into the crowd to arrive beside Matthew Harris. “There ye are,” he said with a nod. “I’ve a question for ye.”

  “What is it? I’m on my way to claim Eloise for the country dance.”

  “Yer sister,” Aden went on, matching Matthew’s pace. “She’s a fine lass.”

  He could practically feel the abrupt tension roll down his companion’s spine in response to what should have been a mildly interesting comment. Matthew had already proved willing—reluctantly or not—to use his sister to protect his own reputation. Whatever he said next would play very heavily into how Aden proceeded from there.

  “Mia?” Matthew returned. “She has a beau, I think.”

  “Some naval captain,” Aden said dismissively. “I reckon I’m willing to take my chances. What do ye think, though? She’s a stubborn woman, and I’d appreciate it if ye’d put in a good word for me.”

  “I … try to stay away from Miranda’s business,” her brother put in, his words clipped and clearly chosen very carefully. “And she dislikes wagering, so I’m not certain I could honestly vouch for you.”

  “She dislikes wagering, but I hear ye still make the odd bet, aye?”

  Matthew Harris’s face grayed. “No, I don’t. Not for some time.”

  “Ah. So the rumors I’ve been hearing are all lies, then? That ye and this Captain Vale play deep, and ye’ve gotten in over yer head?”

  “I—You cannot—” Coming to an ungraceful stop, Matthew clamped his mouth shut. “You aren’t from here, so I’ll overlook the … insult to my character, but here in London we generally do not barge into other people’s private affairs.”

  Hm. He hadn’t lied about it, at least. Not yet, anyway. Aden nodded. “I’ll give ye my apology, then. And ye’re right; I’m nae from here. I’m from the Highlands, from clan Ross. That’s a place where family and honor mean everything. Where if a lad needs help, he says so, and his clan does whatever needs doing. Even if it gets bloody.” He caught Matthew’s gaze and held it. “Eloise says ye’re to be her husband. That makes ye my bràthair—my brother. So if ye need someaught, ye tell me.”

  “That’s very nice, Aden, but I assure you that I don’t—”

  “I told ye a truth. Now ye nod to show ye understand what I said,” Aden interrupted. “We dunnae lie to each other, so when ye decide ye want to say someaught to me, ye make damned certain it’s the truth. Aye?”

  The younger man swallowed, then gave a stiff nod. “Aye.”

  “Good. Now go dance with my sister. Ye ken where to find me if ye’ve a need to chat. And I do expect that we will be chatting.”

  There. Aden watched as Matthew hesitated again, then hurried away into the crowd. He’d put the lad on notice, but hopefully hadn’t said enough that young Mr. Harris would feel the need to wag his tongue to Captain Vale. Or he wouldn’t feel the need, yet. After tonight that might just change.

  Once Miranda partnered with some pretty lad from her large circle of friends, Aden made himself go pluck a wallflower and coax her onto the floor. Captain Vale hadn’t noticed his presence yet tonight, but when he did so Aden meant to give him a great deal to think about. That meant doing things a bit different than he generally did them. Subtlety had its place, but it wasn’t here, and it wasn’t tonight.

  “Give me yer name, lass,” he said with a smile, taking the hand of the thin, pale young lady he’d selected.

  “Regina,” she answered, her high-pitched voice a near whisper. “Regina Halston.”

  “Good evening to ye then, Miss Halston. I’m Aden MacTaggert.” Inclining his head, he moved them into position in one of the circles of other guests.

  “Yes, I know. You danced with my cousin earlier this Season. She talks of almost no one else.”

  That caught his attention. “Who might yer cousin be?”

  “Alice Hardy. I daresay seeing us together now will make her quite jealous.” Regina gave a brief, painfully tepid smile. “I know she’s a widow and we should be generous-minded, but she hogs all of the attention she can manage. She even says the two of you are practically betrothed.”

  Bloody hell. “I reckon she can think what she likes, and I’ll do the same. We may nae agree on all the points, though.”

  The music began, and he bowed as she curtsied before they all joined hands and twirled about in their circle. Miranda did the same halfway across the room in another group, with Eloise and Matthew in yet another cluster of dancers. When he spied Coll also there, in the company of a wee blond lass, he nearly lost his footing and fell onto the floor. The two of them together looked like a giant and a bairn’s doll, but at least his older brother was making an attempt to socialize.

  He tried to keep his attention on what he was doing, but every time he took Regina’s fingers or twirled her about it wasn’t her hand he wanted to be holding, her cheeks turning a fine rose that he wanted to see. Someone had said once that the best lies were those based on the truth. If so, telling Matthew he found Miranda to be a fine lass had to be the best yarn in the history of knitting. He wanted her. He craved her. Just bloody talking to her aroused him. And if telling her to embrace the darker side of things hadn’t been purely for her own benefit, he could only hope he would be forgiven.

  Away from the polished dance floor stood Captain Vale, his gaze shifting between Miranda and the elderly Duke of Dunhurst, who sat close by the fire in the company of half a dozen other high-ranking lords. Those were the men by whom Vale wanted to be accepted, the men from whom he wanted recognition and undoubtedly admiration. And the captain didn’t dare approach them now, because they would ignore him. No, he needed Miranda Harris first, needed her politically minded father to make introductions on behalf of his new son-in-law, needed her smile and her charm and her reputation to wrap around him so he could steal it for himself.

  It was likely a nice dream for a falcon-faced man with no sense of humor and no prospects of his own, but Aden meant to see that it never came to fruition. Not for anything. Not even if Miranda decided she didn’t want either of them. This all would have been easier if he’d fallen for a stupid, malleable woman—but if she’d been stupid and malleable, he wouldn’t be imagining a lifetime of waking up beside her.

  The moment the dance ended he escorted a blushing Regina Halston back to her tittering friends, sent a quick glance about for her troublesome cousin, then headed directly for where his brother Niall and his bride, Amy, stood feeding each other bits of cheese.

  “The two of ye are sweeter than a lump of sugar, ye ken,” he grumbled, and caught his younger brother by the shoulder. “If ye can ma
nage it, ask a dance of Miranda Harris tonight,” he whispered.

  Niall’s light-green eyes widened. “Is that who ye’ve been circling?” he returned in the same tone. “Ye—”

  “I dunnae want a conversation,” Aden cut in, already moving on to find Coll. “Do it.”

  “Aye. But we’re having a chat later.”

  Coll had maneuvered himself into a large circle of lasses currently asking him to say their names in his so-called charming brogue. “Mary,” he drawled, emphasizing the “r” sound.

  Good God. At least Coll had found a way to be less intimidating to the females of London. “Coll, ask a dance of Miranda Harris tonight,” he muttered, leaning in to keep his voice low.

  “Aye, if ye’re sincere about her. Nae, if ye’re playing another game,” the viscount rumbled.

  Aden stopped his retreat. It was a game, but not one he was playing with Miranda. “I’m sincere,” he said.

  “I’ve a few more questions before I believe ye, but I’ll do as ye ask.”

  So now he’d backed himself into an interrogation with both brothers. If that was the price for their assistance tonight, he’d pay it. The next dance, though, was the first waltz. And however little he’d dared tell Miranda about it, thanks to Vale’s arrogance in claiming both waltzes this evening, he had a plan.

  Keeping his attention split between Vale and Miranda, he maneuvered around the edges of the room until only a small crowd stood between him and her. Saint Andrew she was lovely, in a deep-blue gown that glittered in the candlelight and bordered the deep neckline and short, puffy sleeves in matching blue lace. It was deceptively simple—the strategically scattered glass beads sewn throughout the gown were wee and likely very expensive, the effect subtle and eye-catching all at the same time.

  Vale approached, and, snatching up a glass of something from someone who was looking elsewhere, Aden moved in just ahead of him. “Miranda,” he drawled, inclining his head, knowing Vale would see her face, the abrupt flush to her cheeks, “I’ve been looking for ye.”

  “Mr. MacTaggert,” she returned, dipping a shallow curtsy and pretending they were barely acquainted as her eyes demanded to know if this was the plan he’d been concocting. “I hadn’t thought to see you here tonight.”

  “Och, yer brother and my sister cannae be parted. Someone has to keep an eye on them. I’m happy to have the excuse to set eyes on ye again, though. Will ye waltz with me, bonny lass?”

  “I—”

  “She’s spoken for,” the vulture’s flat voice announced from behind him.

  Aden turned around. At second glance his assessment of Captain Robert Vale didn’t alter; the man had the countenance of a raptor, deep-set brown-amber eyes, and a straight, thin-lipped mouth currently showing just the slightest hint of closed-mouth annoyance. Since like any proficient gambler he would have read every second of the expression on Miranda’s face, the frown would be for good reason.

  “Ye again, Vane?” Aden asked, deepening his brogue just a wee bit. That was him, a mannerless, overbearing Highlander. “I thought ye’d have flown off to roost by now.”

  “Captain Robert Vale,” Vale returned, pointing out that he had a position of responsibility in the world and should therefore be respected. “This is my waltz.”

  Aden turned his back on the man. “That so, lass? Ye gave the first waltz to Vale, here?”

  Miranda’s eyes narrowed just a little as he silently urged her to play along. “Yes, I’m afraid so, Aden. He asked first.”

  Good lass. “He,” not the captain or Robert, while he, the interloper, received the honor of having his given name used. “Fair is fair then, I reckon,” he returned. “I’ve nae a mind to go the entire evening with nae a dance, though, so save me a spot, if ye dunnae—”

  The music for the waltz began, thankfully before he ran out of nonsense to prattle on about. He shot a glance at the orchestra for effect, then hesitated a second before he moved out of Vale’s way. For the moment this was up to Miranda—and to a lesser extent, her damned brother.

  * * *

  If that was the totality of Aden’s plan to be rid of Captain Vale, he’d failed rather spectacularly. Attempting to claim a dance? As Vale put her hand over his forearm and led her into the center of the ballroom floor, Miranda risked a glance at Aden.

  Generally, he made an appearance and then vanished into the nearest gaming room until required again. Tonight, however, he remained at the edge of the dance floor, a thoughtful expression on his lean face and his gaze on … her. He wasn’t being at all subtle, or clever, and she had no idea what to make of it.

  “I told you to be rid of him,” Vale said stiffly, facing her and placing one cool hand on her hip.

  She hated when he touched her. Stifling a shudder, she put her free hand on his shoulder. “I couldn’t very well tell him we would never suit when he hasn’t suggested that we would.” Just because Aden had mentioned a few things she might choose to say about him, it didn’t mean she meant to simply volunteer everything. As the Highlander had pointed out previously, if she made things too easy, the captain would become suspicious.

  “And yet he seems to think you would suit, or he wouldn’t be dogging your heels. I told you to do something about him. The fact that you haven’t turned him away does not put me in a jolly mood.”

  “While I don’t give a single damn about your mood, Captain,” she returned, picking her words carefully as she spoke, “that is one of the MacTaggert brothers. Eloise’s brothers. My soon-to-be in-laws.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Avoiding him, or speaking cruelly to him for no reason, would come back to me, and to my parents. He’s practically family.”

  Vale lifted an overhanging brow. “He’s also a gambler, you know. You dislike gambling. And gamblers.”

  For a moment it felt odd to have someone else quoting her own strictures to her, but she knew Matthew had already told Captain Vale about his own gambling misfortunes, and about those of Uncle John Temple. If Vale’s plan was simply to remind her that she disliked gamblers, though, it seemed like a fairly pitiful one. The larger question she wanted answered was how Aden had known this conversation would come up in the first place. It was off-putting, almost. And yet it also provided proof that she’d sought out the perfect man to assist her.

  “I said, ‘you dislike gamblers,’” the captain repeated. “What is your response?”

  Don’t give up your information too easily, she repeated to herself. “How am I supposed to respond? You’re correct. I dislike gamblers.”

  “Aden MacTaggert is a gambler.”

  She shook her head. “You are a gambler. Aden MacTaggert was a gambler,” she corrected, sending up a silent prayer that Aden knew what he was about. Vale thought himself the smartest, cleverest man in the room, and yet Aden had guessed very nearly the exact words of his conversation. Twice. “He’s given it up.”

  They waltzed in silence for a moment. “For you, I assume?”

  “What do you care?”

  “I don’t. But several weeks ago, your brother said you had no serious suitors, which causes me to ask when, precisely, he declared himself?”

  “Well, I’m sorry if your spy was so occupied with his own betrothal that he missed me smiling at someone, but unless you’ve had a change of heart and my happiness matters to you, I don’t imagine it signifies.”

  “It does not.”

  “Then don’t speak of it again.”

  The lying exhausted her. She never would have thought prevaricating took so much effort. At the same time, it felt … powerful. Robert Vale played by his own rules, so why the devil couldn’t she do the same? Especially if it tipped the odds ever so slightly against him. But the horrible man continued to gaze at her, so she kept her expression angry rather than smug.

  She had little enough reason to feel smug, anyway. If she’d sent Vale in the correct direction, she’d perhaps given herself and Aden the very slightest chance of getting in a blow. Tha
t didn’t mean she’d won the war, or the battle.

  “You will turn him away,” Vale said again, sending a glance in Aden’s direction.

  “I asked you n—”

  “You and I will marry for love. At least as far as everyone else is concerned. Another suitor, some interloping Highlander or not, puts the lie to that story. I won’t have it.”

  Oh, he wouldn’t have it, would he? More than anything she wanted to step on his toe, shove him to the floor, and tell him that she would have it. Miranda took a deep breath. “I will say something to him.”

  “Before the end of the evening.”

  “Clearly you know nothing about how people behave in polite Society,” she pointed out, just barely keeping her expression neutral when a muscle in his cheek jumped. Hah. She’d delivered a blow. Finally. “No one turns away a suitor in public. Much less at a grand ball. Not unless he’s committed murder or something.”

  It was mostly nonsense, of course, but she had to think that Vale wouldn’t know that. He needed her to join Society, so he hadn’t been in Society until now. At least that had become her theory. She hoped she was correct.

  “You tried to keep something from me. I don’t like that. Do not do it again.”

  Miranda lowered her head. She needed to watch her tongue; Vale was not Aden, and he wouldn’t respond with humor or mere exasperation. Vale could hurt her—and her family—if he chose to do so. “I won’t apologize,” she hedged. The balance between pushing as hard as she could and still being compliant was becoming untenable, but she had no other option at this moment but surrender.

  “Smile while you’re sulking, then.”

  She smiled, but didn’t mention that the pleasant thought she conjured was him on his arse with a bloody nose. Vale no doubt thought he’d just fended off a very minor threat, an inconvenience, a stone on his well-tended pathway toward Societal acceptance. He had no idea she held on to Aden’s words, to the memory of his mouth on hers, like an iron cloak. The captain could jab at her, but while she had Aden MacTaggert on her side none of the blows could do more than sting.