Scot Under the Covers
Page 32
“Mama?” she quavered, taking in the sight of the three people sitting at the table with the countess. “Papa? Matthew?”
“Sit down, darling,” her mother said, patting the seat of the chair beside her. “Evidently we have a few things to discuss. It’s been a very busy morning.”
* * *
“I’m merely pointing out, Master Aden,” Smythe intoned, “that there are no footmen left in the house, or grooms in the stable. If you want more missives to go out now, I will have to hire messengers.” He fidgeted a little, his neck flushing. “And you should know—”
Aden took the pen from between his teeth, glad he’d moved downstairs to the library with his list of names and addresses. He waved a fistful of letters at the butler. “All of these can go by post. I’m nae sending anyone to India.”
The butler nodded. “The mail will be arriving shortly. Might I hand them over then?”
As impatient as Aden was for this to be finished, twenty minutes wouldn’t make any difference for letters sailing halfway around the world. “Aye. That’ll suffice.” He dipped the pen and started another note. Now that he’d settled on the wording, writing them out was a fairly quick process. “Has Miranda come downstairs yet?”
“I have not seen Miss Harris come downstairs, no.”
That sounded a bit … precise. Aden sent the butler a sideways glance, uneasiness trickling up his spine. He’d checked the bedchamber before he’d allowed her inside, and it had been free of possible angry navy men or henchmen or nosy MacTaggert females. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep, though. They devil knew they’d been awake most of the night. “Let me know when she does.”
“I shall do so. And there’s something else you should—”
The brass door knocker thundered up the hallway, slamming against the front door at least half a dozen times in rapid succession. Hmm. It was early for callers, and he hadn’t put his name or address on any of the notes. Lord George would know where any missive came from, though, as would Matthew Harris.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Smythe said, leaving the library as the loud rapping repeated.
The front door opened, followed by a loud exclamation and what sounded like a scuffle. Aden shoved to his feet and was halfway to the library door when the butler stumbled through it and fell to his knees, a pistol and then the blue-clothed arm of Captain Robert Vale directly behind him. Aden helped the butler to his feet, then stepped between him and the captain. No one else was going to be hurt.
“Where are they?” Vale snarled, the pistol moving to aim squarely at Aden’s head.
“If ye shoot me ye’ll nae find out, will ye?”
“A ball in the leg will persuade you. Give them back. I’m not asking again.”
This was the way Aden had wanted it, with Vale’s anger turned on him. Thank the devil Miranda was still upstairs. “Ye look a bit disheveled this morning,” he noted, taking in the poorly knotted cravat and missing regal captain’s hat. “Did ye get booted out of bed or someaught?” If that was how it had happened, he would have loved being there to see Lord George toss out his unwanted houseguest.
“Do I look like I’m playing?” Vale enunciated, waving the pistol a little for emphasis.
“Nae. Ye look like a man who’s nae thought through his next couple of moves. Mayhap this’ll help ye.” Moving slowly on the chance the captain might panic and fire, Aden reached over to the table and retrieved the letter he’d just written out. “I’ll read it to ye, so ye dunnae have to look down.” He lifted the paper. “‘Admiral Jonathan Kenny, Bombay, India. This missive is to inform ye that the promissory notes in yer name and possessed by Captain Robert Vale, née Tom Potter of Polperro, Cornwall, have been destroyed. Ye may be interested to know that while I’m nae aware of his current location, Vale was last seen in Mayfair, London, on the ninth of June. He nae longer possesses any promissory notes at all, and nae any friends, either. Best of luck in yer future endeavors. A friend.’”
Vale stared at him, his face pale and a vein pulsing visibly at his temple. “Give me that.”
“Nae. I willnae. I’ve already had seventeen or so of them delivered—which ye already know, since I reckon Lord George bade ye goodbye—and this one looks quite proper. My ma would be proud of my penmanship, I reckon.”
“I am going to … kill you, and then I will kill Miranda Harris.”
Something cold and hard settled in Aden’s chest, and he altered what he’d been about to say. The time for baiting and jests was over with. Vale had just put a stop to it. “Ah. Now ye have two choices, Tom Potter,” he said, noting that his voice sounded perfectly calm despite the black fury in his heart. “Ye—”
“‘Two choices’?” the captain repeated, snarling. “I’m giving you none at all, you bastard.”
“I’m talking now,” Aden cut in sharply. “If ye interrupt me again, we’ll be down to one choice. Now. As I was saying, ye can put that pistol on the floor and leave, leave London, leave England before I catch a whiff of where ye’ve gone. Or ye can go with yer second choice, and fire that pistol and pray to God ye kill me. Because if ye flinch, if ye miss me or but wound me, I am going to put a knife through yer chin and up through yer brain and ye’ll be dead before ye hit the floor. And if ye don’t miss, one of my brothers will see ye dead before ye get ten feet out the front door. Those are your two and only choices. You, alive, or dead by a MacTaggert’s hand.”
Aden took a slow breath, giving what he’d said time to sink in past Vale’s desperation, time for the man to consider where he was and whether he had the spleen to shoot a man who stood there looking him in the eye. Because Vale was a man who prided himself on being roundabout, who made other men dirty their hands so he wouldn’t have to. Except that this time he’d put the pistol into his own hands. “Now choose which one it’s to be.”
“You—”
“I said, choose, ye mealymouthed coward!” Aden bellowed. “You, alive, or dead?”
Vale flinched, opened his mouth, and shut it again. After six loud ticks from the clock on the mantel the pistol fell to the floor with a dull thud, and Robert Vale turned on his heel and fled the house.
“My … Thank you, Master Aden,” Smythe said faintly behind him.
A door opened to his right, and he turned just as Miranda slammed into him. “Aden!” she sobbed, flinging her arms around him like a woman drowning.
He held her close. If he’d known she was in the next room, that a stray shot might have … God’s sake. Aden lowered his face into her hair. “It’s over,” he whispered, his voice only now beginning to shake.
His mother and the Harris parents and Matthew piled out of the adjoining sitting room behind Miranda, but other than noting that someone—Francesca—had been maneuvering behind his back, he ignored them. Miranda was safe. Now she was safe.
Coll thundered in from the direction of the stairs, a claymore in one hand and wearing nothing but a scowl. “Where is the bastard? I’ll cut him in half!” he roared.
“He’s gone,” Francesca answered, one hand over her heart. “He … Your brother threatened him, and he fled.” She sat down hard in the nearest chair.
“Fuck. Mayhap I can catch him.” Coll ducked back into the hallway, calling for his horse.
“He’s … he’s naked,” Elizabeth Harris said faintly.
Amusement began to crack through fury and relief. “He’ll realize that before he gets too far down the street,” Aden commented, holding Miranda a little away from himself so he could get a better look at her. “Ye’re nae hurt, are ye, lass?”
She wiped tears from her cheeks. “Me? Me? You were the one with a pistol pointed at you.” Miranda clutched at his arms. “Are you certain you’re all in one piece? We were headed in here to talk to you, and I heard … I heard everything. Your mother wouldn’t let me open the door.”
Aden looked over her head at Francesca, still seated and the gray caste slowly leaving her face. She’d been genuinely worried, he realized. Over him. It wa
sn’t just a show for her guests. “Thank ye for keeping her safe, màthair,” he intoned.
Dark-green eyes met his. “Of course. I cherish what and whom you cherish.”
Miranda shifted a little and took hold of his hand. “Come with me for a moment,” she said, and tried to pull him toward the sitting room doorway.
“Aye. Excuse us. Smythe, I need those letters to go out.”
“They will, Master Aden, if I have to take them to the nearest ship myself.”
Aden allowed Miranda to lead him into the sitting room, and only lifted an eyebrow when she let him go and moved away to shut the door behind them. If she wanted to kiss him a few more times he wasn’t about to protest, but he’d allowed her to be put in danger, and he needed to answer for that. “I didnae reckon he’d dare show his face here, Miranda, or I’d have posted a guard. I guessed wrong, and it … Ye might have been hurt. It’ll nae happen again.”
She faced him, putting her back against the door. “You didn’t guess wrong. For heaven’s sake, Aden, you’re not like him. You didn’t anticipate an attempted murder because you’re not a murderer.”
“I’d have killed him just now, if he hadnae run.”
“So I heard. In very graphic detail.”
“Well, if I’d known ye were there, listening, mayhap I’d have been more polite.”
Out in the hallway Coll bellowed for someone to bring him a damned kilt, and her mouth twitched. “At least he’s returned,” she commented.
“Aye. He generally does, though on occasion Niall or I have to go out and fetch him. Are yer parents here to take ye home?”
“Someone saw me in the street last night riding through London on your lap, and informed them,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her waist. “They came to find out what in the world was going on.”
He should have been there to help her with that conversation. “Ye told ’em, then?”
“Yes. Matthew and I did. He told them everything, and took complete responsibility for Vale, gambling, and the entire nightmare.”
That impressed him, more than he would have expected. “Good lad. Is he disowned?”
She shook her head. “No. He is surrendering his membership to every gentlemen’s club of which he’s a member, though.”
“That’s wise. He and I can play Beggar My Neighbour over punch in the evenings. Out in the garden, mayhap, so the womenfolk willnae hear us weeping.”
Miranda lifted on her toes, then sank down again, but didn’t move from her spot in front of the door. “I’m grateful to you,” she said.
“Ye dunnae have to be. We’re partners.”
“Yes, and I appreciate that. At the same time, I think it’s fair to say that I’ve received more benefit from our partnership than you have.” When he opened his mouth to argue with that, she scowled at him. “I’m not finished.”
“Go on, then.”
“I’m not just grateful because of your assistance with Vale. You … opened my eyes to some things, and—”
“Miranda,” he broke in, frowning, “dunnae thank me for that, for Saint Andrew’s sake. It was a genuine pleasure.”
It occurred to him that she was likely trying to find the softest way to bid him farewell, and he straightened despite the fact that he felt like he’d just been punched in the chest. He couldn’t pull in a solid breath, and his heart felt hollow and pinched.
“I wasn’t…” She blushed. “Yes, the sex was—is—a genuine pleasure for me, as well,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean that, either, though.”
“Then what—”
“I’ve always followed the rules,” she cut back in. “I’ve enjoyed being good at them. The idea of breaking them to suit me … I don’t know that it ever would have occurred to me, if I’d been on my own in this mess. But it’s rather delightful, really.”
“Good. I’m glad it makes ye happy.” Even if the idea of her being with another man, smiling at him, kissing him, killed him inside.
“It does. In fact, I broke a few rules not ten minutes ago.”
Curious despite himself, he tilted his head. “Aye?”
“Aye. I, um, asked your mother’s permission to request your hand in marriage.”
Everything stopped. Time, his breath, his heart. “I beg yer pardon?”
She walked back up to him finally, taking his hands. Hers shook. “I love you, Aden MacTaggert. I love your cleverness, and your heart, and the way you have Smythe so twisted about that he couldn’t figure out this morning how to tell you that not only is Brògan a girl, but she had pups on his bed last night.”
A laugh burst unbidden from his chest. Everything seemed to be breaking free, letting him breathe again. “She what?”
“Yes. Five of them. He’s very attached, already.”
“Saint Andrew’s sake,” he mused. “I saw she was putting on weight, but—”
“Aden,” she interrupted. “I’m trying to tell you that I want to spend forever with you. Will you marry me?”
“Aye.” His heart resumed beating again, in a fast, hard tattoo. Aden lifted her in his arms, kissing her as he lowered her into reach of his mouth again. “Yes, Miranda Harris. I will marry ye.” He grinned. “I thought ye’d never ask me.”
She laughed, kissing him back with a passion that delighted him beyond words. Her lessons about being a proper gentleman hadn’t been even remotely successful, Aden reflected, but she’d taught him something even more useful—how to trust his heart again.
It wasn’t about being a Highlander or a Sassenach, or where they chose to live, or even whether someone had ordered him to find London to find a wife. None of that mattered in the least. All he needed was his hope, his joy, his sharp-tongued, bonny lass. And now he was hers, and she was his. No more wagering was necessary; he’d just been dealt the perfect hand.
* * *
Don’t miss the first book in the Wild Wicked Highlanders series
IT’S GETTING SCOT IN HERE
Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Look for these other novels from New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Enoch
The No Ordinary Hero series
HERO IN THE HIGHLANDS
MY ONE TRUE HIGHLANDER
A DEVIL IN SCOTLAND
ALSO FROM ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS
* * *
Also by
SUZANNE ENOCH
It’s Getting Scot in Here
A Devil in Scotland
My One True Highlander
Hero in the Highlands
Some Like It Scot
Mad, Bad, and Dangerous in Plaid
Rogue with a Brogue
The Devil Wears Kilts
The Handbook for Handling His Lordship
A Beginner’s Guide to Rakes
Taming an Impossible Rogue
Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke
Praise for Suzanne Enoch’s No Ordinary Hero series
“The latest from the ever-popular Enoch is steamy and bubbling with humor, a scrumptious tale to begin her No Ordinary Hero series.”
—Booklist
“Stirring historical romance … with colorful secondary characters, judicious lashings of Scots dialect, and … a heady romantic atmosphere that’s sure to captivate the genre’s eager audience.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Thrilling and sexy.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Romance not to be missed.”
—BookPage
“Wonderfully romantic … marvelous.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Enoch at her finest! No one does it better.”
—Reader to Reader
“A delightful mix of sexy bantering … a picturesque Scottish setting, and likable characters … A WINNER.”
—Addicted to Romance
About the Author
A native and current resident of Southern California, Suzanne Enoch loves movies almost as much as she loves books, with a special
place in her heart for anything Star Wars. She has written fifty Regency novels and historical romances, which are regularly to be found on the bestseller list. When she is not busily working on her next book, Suzanne likes to contemplate interesting phenomena, like how the 3 guppies in her aquarium became 161 guppies in 5 months.
Visit her online at www.suzanneenoch.com, or sign up for email updates here.
Thank you for buying this
St. Martin’s Press ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Also by Suzanne Enoch
Praise for Suzanne Enoch’s No Ordinary Hero series
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Paperbacks, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
SCOT UNDER THE COVERS