Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  “Yes, this is a private matter. A private matter that became my concern when you dragged my daughter into your investigation.”

  “I didn’t exactly drag her into my investigation,” James replied mildly.

  Lord Montagu’s stare bore into him. “There is only one reason Harley would perceive Annabelle as a threat: he suspects you are onto him. You would have been better off not to have shown yourself when he discovered Annabelle in his study.”

  James had considered that. And didn’t like the possibility he’d made such a disastrous blunder. But he had feared Harley would push her from the balcony as he had his last victim.

  * * *

  “This is highly improper,” Lena glanced at the mansion behind them as they entered the vine-covered walkway.

  Annabelle continued forward. “Stop fretting. It’s not as if we are the first ladies to stroll Mrs. Morgan’s gardens. The weather is glorious. Much warmer than normal for March. A perfect day for a walk.”

  “But we are not just admiring the gardens. We have abandoned our hostess during lunch.”

  “Lunch is finished,” Annabelle said. “The ladies are playing cards.”

  “I should never have allowed you to talk me into this. We should return to the house.”

  “Nonsense,” Annabelle replied. “We have come too far to turn back now.”

  They stepped from the covered walkway. Annabelle slipped her arm through Lena’s arm and kept a sedate pace until they rounded a large cluster of bushes taller than themselves.

  “I am certain the spot is near that oak.” She released Lena and hurried the thirty feet to the tree. “Yes,” she cried at sight of newly dug earth the size of a large book at the base of the trunk. “This is the place.”

  Annabelle scanned the ground for something to use for digging. A large branch lay a few feet to the right. She picked it up and began digging, but the branch was unwieldy and moved the dirt in tiny bits. She spied a flat rock half the size of her hand sticking up from the ground several feet from the tree and dropped the branch. Lena reached her as she squatted beside the rock and began working it free.

  “I have never seen this side of you,” Lena said. “It is disturbing.”

  Annabelle broke the rock free and laughed as she rose. “I didn’t quite realize this side of myself existed, either.” She returned to the spot where the dirt had been dug, then pulled up her skirt and knelt.

  “Annabelle, your dress,” Lena admonished.

  “Never fear,” Annabelle scooped dirt with the rock, “the dirt is dry here. And I purposely wore velvet so that the fabric wouldn’t wrinkle.”

  After only a moment’s digging the rock clinked against metal. She looked up at Lena, whose eyes had gone wide.

  Lena shifted her gaze to Annabelle’s face. “Well, are you going to finish or not?”

  Annabelle grinned. “Indeed I am.” She quickly uncovered a four-inch by four-inch tin box. She pulled the box from the hole and opened it.

  “Jewelry,” Lena said.

  Annabelle fingered the ivory broach, emerald comb, silver chain, gold band, pearl ring and gold locket. She lowered herself onto her rump and pulled from beneath the jewelry a folded paper. A newspaper, she realized, and set the box on her lap then unfolded the paper. There were four pieces. Obituaries cut from the Times dated from between a year and a month ago.

  “Obituaries and jewelry,” Lena said. “How strange.”

  “Strange, indeed,” Annabelle agreed.

  “I don’t care for this, Annabelle.”

  Annabelle had to admit that she didn’t care for it either.

  “You are certain it was Lord Harley you saw bury the box?” Lena asked.

  “Positive.” Annabelle read through the second page, the third, and scanned the fourth, but could make no sense of why Lord Harley had kept the pages or what they had to do with the jewelry.

  “Perhaps we had better go,” Lena said. “We are sure to be missed.”

  Annabelle refolded the clippings. “Yes.” She placed the newspapers beneath the jewelry as she’d found it, then closed the lid and placed it back in the hole.

  “Annabelle,” Lena said.

  “Yes, yes,” Annabelle said. “I am hurrying.”

  Lena patted her hard on the shoulder.

  She looked up. “Really, Lena.”

  Lena stared at something in the direction of the gardens. Annabelle shifted her gaze to the left. She started at sight of Lord Harley standing ten feet away, pointing a pistol at them. She started to push to her feet.

  “Don’t move,” he snarled.

  She couldn’t fathom what he was doing. “Lord Harley, what is the meaning of this?”

  “Who else did you tell about the box?” he demanded. “Ruthven? I knew you didn’t meet him last night for a liaison. You two shouldn’t have conspired against me.”

  “Conspired against you? My lord, I met him only last night.”

  Lord Harley closed half the distance between them and leveled his pistol on Lena. “Tell me what he knows or I will kill your cousin.”

  Annabelle started to say that no one knew, then snapped from her confusion with the realization that the truth would give him every reason to feel that he could kill them without fear of discovery.

  Heart racing, she slowly rose, blocking his aim at Lena, and said, “I told Lord Ruthven I saw you bury this box two days ago.”

  Indecision flickered in his gaze, then his eyes narrowed. “If Ruthven knew, he would have come himself. Who did you really tell?”

  Annabelle shook her head. “He can’t very well barge into Mrs. Morgan’s home and start digging. Not to mention, he feared he wouldn’t find the right tree. So I agreed to investigate. I did tell Lady Diana and Beth Rose. Lena, of course and, oh yes, my mother—and, of course, my fiancé, Lord Northington.”

  “Northington?” he repeated. “Your mother, Lady Montagu?” He swiped at his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve. “You stupid girl, why would you do that? Because that’s what stupid girls do,” he said before she could think of a reply. “Stupid, stupid girls,” he repeated in a mutter, and again wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. His gaze fell on the hole, then his face snapped up to her face, eyes accusing, “You are not taking the box. You are burying it again. You’re lying, you didn’t tell Ruthven.”

  “Lord Ruthven only wanted to know what is inside the box.”

  Lord Harley’s face contorted in rage. “He’ll never know now, will he?”

  He extended the pistol and Annabelle quickly said, “Why would you kill us for finding this box, Lord Harley? There are only trinkets inside.” They weren’t trinkets. In fact, the jewelry was expensive.

  His brow furrowed. “Ruthven told you nothing of his investigation?”

  Investigation? Understanding struck. Lord Ruthven being in the earl’s study had something to do with this box. But what?

  She frowned as if in confusion. “What investigation? I only told him of the box after you discovered us in your study.”

  “So he is no closer to knowing the truth than he was before,” Lord Harley said as if speaking to himself.

  “You need not worry,” Annabelle said. “Nothing in this box could possibly cause you harm. If you prefer, I can tell Lord Ruthven that we found nothing.”

  “You think I am stupid,” he said. “You would not lie to him.”

  He took a step forward and Annabelle tensed in readiness for the blast of the weapon and the searing pain of a bullet.

  “Surely, they didn’t go into the arboretum,” a female voice drifted toward them.

  Lord Harley whirled in the direction of Lady Denton’s voice. Annabelle scooped up the branch she’d dropped earlier, but Lord Harley spun back toward her before she straightened. He lunged, knocking the branch from her grasp with a bone-jarring blow to her arm and shoving her to the ground. Lena took a step toward him, but he pointed the pistol at her.

  “Not another step,” he growled.


  “Gunfire will bring Lady Denton racing here—along with the men in the house,” Annabelle said. “You cannot escape.”

  “Get up.” He seized her arm and yanked her to her feet. He shoved her toward Lena, then scooped up the box and stuffed it into a jacket pocket. “Walk.” He motioned with the gun deeper into the trees.

  Annabelle looked at Lena.

  Lord Harley seized Annabelle’s arm and jammed the pistol into her ribs. “A bullet in the belly is a slow and painful way to die.”

  Lena’s eyes gleamed with fury, but she turned and began walking deeper into the woods.

  “It is quite warm,” Miss Morgan’s voice sounded closer than had been Lady Denton’s. “Perhaps we should return to the house.”

  Lord Harley hurried Annabelle forward at a fast walk. She took three steps and the toe of her slipper hit a root. She pitched forward and her arm tore loose of his grasp.

  “Bitch.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her upright.

  “There they are,” Lady Denton cried.

  Lord Harley swore. “You took a fall and I am escorting you home,” he hissed in a low voice. His gaze locked with Lena’s. “Do you understand?”

  Lena’s gaze shifted past him.

  “Look at me, girl,” he snarled.

  Lena’s eyes snapped back to his.

  “After I shoot Lady Annabelle, I will shoot you with the second pistol I have in my waistband.” He drew back his coat slightly to reveal the weapon, then released the fabric. “I will then kill Lady Denton and Miss Morgan with the knife I carry in my boot—and no one will know I killed any of you. Do not doubt I can do this.”

  Annabelle’s mind raced. If he shot her, could Lena escape before he grabbed the second pistol? Lady Denton and Miss Morgan were far enough away that if they ran they would be able to reach the house before he caught them.

  “Ladies,” Lady Denton called. “Who is that with them?”

  Annabelle’s heart fell. They were too close now.

  “Come here—now,” Lord Harley ordered Lena in a whisper, and jammed the pistol hard against Annabelle’s stomach.

  Lena’s mouth thinned, but she hurried to his side. Lord Harley shoved the pistol inside the folds of his coat and pressed the barrel against Annabelle’s ribs as he turned them to face the ladies.

  “You will only kill us in the carriage,” Lena whispered.

  “Don’t be stupid,” he snapped. “I cannot kill you with your driver up top.”

  “Lady Annabelle, Miss Summerfield,” Lady Denton called.

  Grip tight on Annabelle’s arm, Harley started walking.

  “Lady Annabelle, in case you decide to sacrifice yourself, remember, I will kill your cousin. I have nothing to lose.”

  And he didn’t, Annabelle realized with mounting panic. There had to be a way to stop him. But how? No matter what, someone would die. Once they reached the house she could break free. He would shoot her, but with all the guests present, surely someone would stop him before he harmed anyone else.

  Ladies,” he said as Lady Denton and Miss Morgan neared.

  “Lord Harley,” Lady Denton said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had business with the baron. He was delayed and I decided to take a stroll in the arboretum. I met Lady Annabelle and Miss Summerfield. Lady Annabelle took a fall and twisted her ankle.”

  Lady Denton looked from Annabelle to him, then Lena, clearly confused.

  “It is my fault,” Lena said. “I insisted we go to the arboretum. Annabelle is wearing nothing but thin slippers.” Lena looked at Annabelle. “Do you think Lady Montagu will be terribly angry with me?”

  Annabelle blinked, then started at the discomfort of the gun digging deeper into her flesh. “No, of course not,” she managed. “It is more my fault than yours. I did say I wanted to see that glorious maple tree located deeper amid the trees.”

  “We were growing a bit concerned,” said Lady Denton, slowly. “You are not looking well, Lady Annabelle.”

  “Then I had better get Lady Annabelle to her carriage,” Lord Harley quickly put in.

  “I suppose that would be best,” Miss Morgan said.

  Something in the girl’s voice snagged Annabelle’s attention. Sadness? Wistfulness?

  “You do not look well,” she added, and Annabelle thought perhaps she had misread her.

  Lord Harley started forward and Annabelle jolted into motion with Lena keeping pace to her left. The ladies walked beside her. Annabelle caught a sideways glance Miss Morgan cast at Lord Harley and recognized the longing of a woman toward her lover. So she hadn’t misread the girl. She had a tenderness for the earl. Shock reverberated through Annabelle. Lord Harley was a married man, and Miss Morgan but a maid at seventeen. Or was she still a maid?

  “Did you win your card game, Miss Morgan?”

  Lena’s question jarred Annabelle from her thoughts.

  “What?” Miss Morgan said.

  “The card game,” Lena said. “Did you win?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  They rounded the large bushes and came to the covered walkway.

  Miss Morgan slowed with the obvious intent of allowing Annabelle and Lena to go first, but Lord Harley said, “Go ahead, ladies. I will help Lady Annabelle.”

  The ladies went first. Lena glanced at the earl and Annabelle read the worry in her eyes. He jerked his head in a motion for Lena to go. Her eyes narrowed, but she obeyed and the earl led Annabelle through the walkway behind her. Lena’s mind raced. With the women ahead, could she try to break free? He would shoot her, but the other ladies would have a chance. Lena had nerve. Miss Morgan and Lady Denton would freeze. Their best escape opportunity would come when they reached the mansion. The male servants there would come to the ladies’ aid once Annabelle made a break for freedom.

  They neared the cardroom balcony when Lord Harley said, “Miss Morgan, it is best we not alarm your mother. I will take Lady Annabelle and Miss Summerfield through the side servants’ entrance.”

  Everyone stopped.

  “Perhaps we should call for a doctor,” Miss Morgan said.

  The desperation in the girl’s voice caught Annabelle’s attention.

  “Very kind of you,” Lord Harley said. “But I feel certain Lady Annabelle’s mother would prefer she returned home. Miss Summerfield.” He started left and Lena followed.

  The crestfallen look on Miss Morgan’s face as he left them wrenched Annabelle’s heart. Miss Morgan was in love with Lord Harley.

  The earl took them to the side entrance and Annabelle realized he was more familiar with the grounds that he should have been. Had he used this entrance to sneak into the mansion to visit Miss Morgan? If the girl’s expression when they’d left her was any indication, Annabelle felt sure he had.

  They passed through the gate and onto the street.

  “You are doing very well,” he said.

  “Sheep to the slaughter,” Lena muttered, but Annabelle didn’t miss the small tremor in her voice.

  Annabelle scanned the street. The sun shone high in its zenith. This time of day, few carriages traveled the streets of this quiet neighborhood, and only a lone carriage sat parked on the street corner to the right. If Annabelle forced Lord Harley to shoot her, he could easily pull out the other gun and shoot Lena before anyone could stop him. It was likely there would be no witnesses and he could claim someone waylaid them. With no one to contradict his story, he would go free.

  He hurried them to the curb and Annabelle realized he intended to force them into his carriage, not hers. She tensed in readiness to break free, but her knees weakened at the click of the hammer being pulled back on his pistol. Her head whirled. The press of the hard metal into her side felt unreal, like a dream and, for an instant, she expected to wake up. The driver shifted to jump from his perch.

  “Stay where you are, Brice,” Lord Harley said, and yanked open the door.

  He pushed Annabelle forward. She grasped the handle and pulled herself inside.

  �
�Miss Summerfield,” he said.

  Her gaze flicked to the bulge in his coat.

  “Get inside,” he ordered.

  She grasped the handle and stepped into the carriage, settling herself on the seat beside Anabelle.

  He shook his head. “Lady Annabelle, move to the other seat.”

  She exchanged a glance with Lena.

  “Now,” he snapped.

  Annabelle did as ordered.

  He called to the driver, “We are to meet William,” then leapt inside, slammed the door shut, and slid into the seat beside her. Her grabbed her arm and jammed the pistol into her belly. “Pray we do not so much as hit a hole.”

  Chapter Five

  Two blocks from Baron Morgan’s home, James left the rented hackney and strolled up the block despite the urge to hurry. He had arrived at his townhouse an hour after leaving Fenton Hall to find a message awaiting him from his man Nathan Benning. The words still seared his memory.

  Ruthven,

  Lady Annabelle and her cousin have arrived at Miss Morgan’s home. I have seen no sign of Lord Harley, but I will await word from you, or follow if the ladies leave.

  Benning

  James’s blood heated. Lady Annabelle attending a party at Miss Lydia Morgan’s home was no coincidence. The little fool. She would get herself and Miss Summerfield killed—perhaps even Miss Morgan.

  He turned the corner and covertly scanned the street. Seven coaches lined the street in front of the baron’s house. The only other vehicle in the vicinity was Mr. Benning’s modest coach parked on the cross street half a block down. He suddenly wished he had shed his jacket. The March sun beat down upon him with unusual intensity. James crossed the street and strolled until he reached the coach, then quickly stepped inside. Benning shifted his attention from the opposite window and met James’s gaze.

  James settled in the seat, and said, “What have ye to report?”

  “A tea party, given the hour and the ladies’ attire, my lord.”

  “Quit addressing me as ‘my lord.’” James scooted to the side of the carriage beside Benning and drew the curtains aside an inch to peer out at the house. Still quiet.