When a Scot Loves a Lady

tossed down the remainder of his brandy. “Tell me it will end tomorrow.”

“You are doing this by choice.”

“Hardly.”

Leam withheld his thoughts. The Welshman’s insouciant manner with females masked a chivalrous nature even stronger than his love of the bottle. Why the mask, Leam had never inquired.

“I believe this is the first time in our acquaintance that I have heard you complain.”

“I am not complaining.” The lad straightened in his chair. “Merely lamenting lost time.” He held out his glass.

Leam tipped the brandy decanter against it and poured, topping off his own as well. After glimpsing Kitty in her gossamer night rail, her rich hair lying in a plait against her perfect breast, he needed the extra dram or two.

“When shall we head off for Liverpool?”

“Presumably when you have convinced our hosts that you cannot live without their daughter.”

Yale set down his glass, stood, and strode toward the door.

“Turning in so early?” Leam murmured.

“Merely leaving you to the company of one much prettier than I. You’d better hurry. She might not wait up for you.” He departed.

Leam went to the fire, lit a taper, and moved around the parlor setting candles to blaze. He disliked darkly lit chambers in winter. They reminded him too much of that autumn five years earlier, Alvamoor sunk in darkness and cold, his heart turning to stone within the frozen stone of his house.

Before he’d gone down to London again and met up accidentally with Colin Gray.

He could not sleep yet, in any case. He was here for one reason only: to make certain Kitty and Lady Emily were no longer in danger, and that Cox was not hiding somewhere with a pistol waiting for them to emerge. Once all were abed tonight, he would do some prowling about, studying and surveying. His Falcon Club experience would again come in handy.

He settled into a chair, glancing at the journal on the table beside him without interest. He didn’t care about the news from London. Or Paris, or Edinburgh, or Calcutta. It was almost a relief to harbor that feeling again—the cool, hard relief of not having a care for anything at all.

Almost.

“Monseigneur, how glad I am to find you!” Madame Roche entered in a swirl of skirts and veils, like a nun crossed with an opera singer.

He stood.

“Oh, non, non, sir. You must not! You must treat me as the servant, for that I am in this house.”

“Whin a leddy enters a room, ma’am, a gentleman that no stands shoud be nag-whipped.”

“And you are the fine gentleman, n’est-ce pas, Lord Blackwood?” She tapped him upon the shoulder with her fan and sat in the chair across, fabric flowing over armrests and floor.

He allowed himself a smile. “Woud ye be caring for a bit o spirits, ma’am?” He gestured with his glass.

“No, no. Sit! We must talk.”

He obliged. She leaned forward, pursing lips defined by ample rouge.

“You do not still mourn the death of the young wife, non?” She peered at him with dark eyes enhanced with kohl. Well accustomed to such prying, Leam did not reply.

“Bon.” She patted her palms together. “I thought this. But why will you not play the courtship game?”

He studied her for a moment. Her intent seemed direct, and she clearly doted upon her charge. But women were complicated creatures.

“The lad’s taking guid care o it, ma’am.”

“Oui, oui. Monsieur Yale, he is extraordinaire. But I think that is not your reason. Emilie, she is a good girl. And the Lady Katrine, she does not allow ma petite to be harmed, non? She is like—how do you say?— bloodhound.”

He lifted a brow.

“Non! ” The feathers in her hair jiggled as she shook her head. “Peut-etre not the bloodhound. They hunt with the nose on the ground, n’est-ce pas?” She pressed a fingertip to her red lips. “The shepherd dog. Oui. Have you any?”

Collies and their flocks covered the slopes of Alvamoor.

“Aye.”

“Then she is comme ca!” She gestured with a nod.

“Ma’am, A wadna be making a leddy evin wi’ a wirkin dug.”

“Ah, non! Bien sur. But she is very loyal. She does not wish to see ma petite unhappy.” Her voice dipped. “For she has suffered so much unhappiness herself, non?”

He had no reply. In truth, he knew nothing of the heart of any woman. Nothing he could trust.

“Begging yer pardon, ma’am, but A’m nae a man for blethering.” Lies and more lies. He would never be free of them. For over five years he’d made it his particular business to do nothing but encourage gossip from women such as this. Now he would be free of it. But the desire to hear about Kitty Savege was too strong, and he remained seated.

Madame Roche leaned in and spoke confidentially as though she had not heard him or understood.

“I do not think she cared for that man.” She shook her head. “I do not believe she did. The gossips —the silly friends of my mistress—who tell the Lady Vale that my Emilie must not be in la belle Katrine’s company, that she is the poor example for a young girl.” She waved her hand broadly. “But I say these biddies, they are wrong. C’est la jalousie! I tell my mistress. Wicked jalousie that drives the heart insane.” She peered sharply at him. “Do you know it, the jealousy?”

Leam’s palms were cold. “Aye.”

“She is very beautiful, the Lady Katrine, non?”

More beautiful than he could bear.

“Oui! Any gentleman would admire such beauty, as did that canard Poole.” She made a spitting noise. “Phtt! He is better far and away from la belle Katrine, so she must no longer always be running away from him at les parties and balls.” She shook her head sorrowfully. “So sad always, la belle, so beautiful dancing with all the handsome gentlemen. But, helas, they cannot stir her wounded heart.”

She sighed, her eyelids drifting shut and fingertips moving from side to side.

Her eyes popped open. She stood.

“Ah, bon. I am so glad we have had this conversation, monseigneur.”

Leam came from his chair and bowed. “Ma’am.”

“Alors, good night.” She traipsed from the chamber, leaving him with a glass full of liquor and fire in his gut.

The temptation to go to Kitty’s bedchamber now and make her take him in was great. The desire flickering in her eyes for the briefest moment earlier told him she would accept him, and they would know pleasure again for a night. But one night would not be enough, and he did not trust himself with more.

He left the parlor and turned down the corridor away from the guest chambers. In the dark he would study the manor house. Tomorrow in the light he would spread his research wider. He would discover if any threat had followed him to Willows Hall, if any here were now in danger. When he was satisfied that all was well, he would depart.

Yale and Lady Emily maintained their farce for her parents, who seemed happy with the Welshman’s pretty manners and elegant appearance. Having taken the lay of the land, Yale dressed at his