When a Scot Loves a Lady

On the table beside her cup was a sealed note, her name on it.

Like a schoolgirl with a tendre, she had memorized Leam’s hand from the envelope in which he had sent the music. Her heart thumped. She grabbed up the note and tore it open.

“Kitty?”

“Mama, I—” A whoosh of air went out of her. Lord Chamberlayne was innocent of wrongdoing.

But the note said little more, only that she was to come to the park at eleven.

She glanced at the clock on the sideboard, and leaped up. “Mama.” She went to her mother, grasped her hands, and kissed them one after the other. “I am so very happy for you. I like Lord Chamberlayne very much and am thrilled he is to be part of our family.”

“Kitty, this is highly unusual.”

“Perhaps. But now I must go.”

“Katherine.”

“Truly, I have an appointment.” She went toward the door, flashing John a speaking look as she went. He was doing a poor job of concealing a grin.

Her nerves raced. Why did he wish to meet her at the park? Why not come here to tell her? He had never been shy of calling before. Not exactly.

“Mama.” She pivoted around. Her mother stood as though bemused. Kitty returned to her, threw her arms about her, and held her tight. “Mama, I love you dearly. You know that, don’t you? Of course you do. And I am so very, very happy for you.”

She ran to change.

Never had a drive to the park taken so long. Beneath the clearing sky above, Kitty sat huddled into a corner of the carriage and chewed the tips of her gloves. She was fatigued from lack of sleep, sore in places she had never imagined she could be sore, and alarmingly edgy given all.

When they turned through the gates of the park her stomach somersaulted. She had thought of every possibility, even that the note was a forgery and she was walking into a trap. Strangely, she had not imagined Leam astride his muscular roan waiting for her near the entrance. The wolfhounds wandered close by, their heads coming up as the carriage neared.

She nodded. “How do you do, my lord?”

He drew his horse alongside the carriage and bowed from the saddle. “Good morning, my lady.

Would you care for a stroll?”

“Thank you, yes.”

It was all highly civilized. Her heart hammered. The carriage halted, and by the time the coachman let down the step Leam had dismounted and was there to take her hand and assist her out. He did so with gentlemanly grace, holding her gloved fingers only as long as propriety allowed. Momentarily Kitty felt a pang of disappointment, but he could not very well ravish her in the park, and she had noticed his clothing. Elegant once more, tasteful and fine. She understood, or thought she did, and it excited her.

He offered his arm. She shook her head, too wrought with nerves to touch him now. She started away from the carriage and the curious servants. One of the dogs came alongside her and pushed its muzzle beneath her hand. She stroked it distractedly.

“He is not guilty of any crime?” she asked when they were sufficient paces in front of her maid not to be heard.

“He is not.” He walked close beside her, his hands folded behind his back. “He sought me only to beg me not to give over the cargo to the rebels, of which his son is the leader. He was ready to pay me to have it destroyed. He hadn’t any idea what it was.”

“What was it?”

“It still is not clear. The Home Office wishes proof beyond his word before it is willing to trust him entirely. His son is a known instigator, but I believe in Chamberlayne’s innocence.”

Kitty drew in breath through her teeth. “I have heard him speak of his son. They are quite close.”

“Apparently.” Leam’s voice was sober. “He fears for him, and hopes to make this rebellion impossible by putting spokes in the way of it. But it was difficult for him to admit to it, although I believe he wished to and was glad for the opportunity. He is a proud man.” He turned to her. “Much like a young lady of my acquaintance.”

Relief trickled through her. “I am not young. Yesterday I turned six-and—”

“Twenty. Yes. You told me that almost immediately upon speaking to me in Shropshire. I wonder why.”

“Because you had called me a lass and I was endeavoring to put you in your place.”

His gaze lingered upon her lips. “Peculiarly done.”

“Could we return to the subject at hand, sir?”

He stopped and she was obliged to as well.

“Which is?” Beneath the soft blue sky his eyes shone with warmth.

“The innocence of my mother’s beau, and, frankly, why you insisted I come here instead of calling on me at home to tell me this news. It gave me a frightful case of nerves and I think you are beastly to have arranged it this way.”

“Not mincing words this morning, are we?”

“We never do. Or at least rarely. Now have you anything else to tell me about Lord Chamberlayne? My mother and he have become betrothed—last night, in fact, although he asked her quite a while ago, I understand. So I should like to know if I shall be asked to tell my prospective father-in-law further horrid lies, which I won’t in any case, you know.”

“It is the very reason we are here.” The amusement faded from his eyes. “I asked Gray to meet me.”

“You did not tell him I would be here as well?”

“Beautiful and clever,” he murmured, scanning her face.

“Why not?”

“He might have avoided it.” His gaze flickered over her shoulder. “Will you meet him?”

“I think you are trying to frighten me. You are not sufficiently chastened by my reprimand, it seems.” She turned in the direction of his attention. The viscount rode across the green in their direction.

“You have no need to be frightened of me, Kitty.” Leam spoke at her shoulder softly. “You never will.”

She looked up. A bright intensity lit his eyes. Delicious weakness slipped through her veins.

“Last night, Leam,” she said before she could halt her tongue, “when you told me—when you read the documents about Lambert Poole, what did you understand of my part in it?”

“That you had been hurt. That is all.”

Everything was forgotten—the park, their purpose. Nothing mattered but what she must finally say aloud for the first time, and to this man. She whispered, “He told me no other man would ever want me. Not for more than dalliance. He told me this when I was barely fifteen. Then he told me again when I was nineteen, many times. I was ruined, and I could not bear children. I was young and believed I was in love with him, and he said a gentleman would only take me for my dowry if he took me at all, and then he would find me disappointing.” She did not want to say these things. She wanted to say that the foolishness of her youth no longer commanded her and that she loved him. She wanted to throw herself into his arms because he was looking at her as he had the night before when he had been inside her and unable to speak.

“I want you,” he said.

She hadn’t thought it possible, not after the night, everything, but she could no longer bear not knowing how greatly he wanted her. To what extent? But she could not find the words.

“Damn Gray and all of this,” he uttered low. “Kitty, this afternoon, will you be at home to callers?

No, damn it. To me?”

“But, of course. Leam—”

“To only me. In your drawing room”—his eyes sparked—“with the draperies thrown wide, door open, servants poised upon the threshold?” He smiled.

“You are being very odd.” Her heart raced, and now the words she ached to declare came to her tongue swiftly and strongly. “Yes,” she whispered instead, because this abandonment was new and it deserved what he asked of her, though she would have it all said now; she did not want to wait another moment for it to begin. “Yes.”

Hoofbeats sounded on the turf close by. Kitty tore her gaze away and Lord Gray dismounted. As he came