Lyn Stone - The Scot

“What are you doing?”

Susanna yelped, jerking her head around so fast she slung a shower of water out of her long wet hair. She scrunched the thick toweling closer, hastily covering as much of her as possible. “Get out of here!”

Her husband leaned against the door frame, biting back a grin. It shone like devilment in his eyes as his gaze traveled the length of her. “Pardon the intrusion,” he said, so insincerely she wished she had something to throw at him.

Fortunately for him, she had nothing near enough but the bar of soap on the ledge. She was tempted. “Get out of here immediately!”

One shoulder shrugged. “You’ve seen me in the natural state. Turnabout’s fair, eh?” He paused while he looked his fill.

Susanna shivered. Her teeth chattered. She was not that cold at the moment. But she was furious…!

Praise for LYN STONE’s recent titles

The Highland Wife

“…laced with lovable characters, witty dialogue,

humor and poignancy, this is a tale to savor.”

—Romantic Times

Bride of Trouville

“I could not stop reading this one….

Don’t miss this winner!”

—Affaire de Coeur

The Knight’s Bride

“Stone has done herself proud with this

delightful story…a cast of endearing characters

and a fresh, innovative plot.”

—Publishers Weekly

#644 THE MIDWIFE’S SECRET

Kate Bridges

#645 FALCON’S DESIRE

Denise Lynn

#646 THE LAW AND KATE MALONE

Charlene Sands

The Scot

Lyn Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Available from Harlequin Historicals and LYN STONE

The Wicked Truth #358

The Arrangement #389

The Wilder Wedding #413

The Knight’s Bride #445

Bride of Trouville #467

One Christmas Night #487

My Lady’s Choice #511

The Highland Wife #551

The Quest #588

Marrying Mischief #601

Gifts of the Season #631

“Christmas Charade”

The Scot #643

Other works include:

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Beauty and the Badge #952

Live-In Lover #1055

A Royal Murder #1172

This book is in memory of my father, Harlan Perkins, who allowed me to make my own decisions, congratulated me when they were right and never said, “I told you so” when they were wrong.

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Edinburgh, 1856

James Garrow slowly rotated his second tankard of ale with a thumb and forefinger as he mentally tallied the British pounds he had accrued during the past fortnight. A mere fraction of what was needed to carry the remnant of his clan through until next summer, but still better than he had anticipated. Stonework didn’t pay much, but with all the new construction, it was steady. His hard-won degrees in the study of architecture were doing him precious little good.

He glanced around, grimacing ruefully at his surroundings. The Hog and Truffle Inn, despite its earthy name, did furnish clean sheets, fairly decent meals and passable ale. His private room here would have fit neatly into his garderobe back home, but the loneliness of the city not-withstanding, he’d rather have a small space than share one with a stranger. God, he’d be glad to return to the Highlands. Before the first snow, he promised himself.

His ears perked as he heard a name mentioned at the table behind him. Eastonby. The earl? James slouched back in his chair so that he was a few inches nearer and listened to the muted conversation with interest.

“His girl’s with him, I hear,” a rough voice whispered.

“So much the better,” another answered in kind, the accent soft and cultured.

“Cause an outcry the like of which you ain’t never heard,” the other warned. “Killin’ a man’s one thing, but—”

“You want the money?” came the silky question. “Then you do as I say. There’ll be the woman.” An enticement that drew a suggestive growl.

“We’ll take ’im on the road to York, then?”

A deep-throated chuckle, then the almost inaudible confirmation. “As soon as he clears the city. And no one survives. Is that clear?”

The same voice, the well-spoken one, then gave the exact location of what James understood as a planned assassination and continued to discuss the details of what needed to be done.

Were the men bloody drunk to bandy plans such as this in a public room? He noted the rest of the clientele who were few in number, deep in their cups and sitting far enough away they could not possibly have overheard. He was not that close by himself, but his own hearing was such that folk generally marveled at it.

Since he had yet to see their faces, James wondered how he could manage without getting up, walking halfway around their table and alerting them to the fact that he had heard what they said.

Instead, he quietly sat up, then leaned forward on the table and slid off to the floor in a heap, raking his tankard in a wide arc as he fell.

As he’d expected, the men who had been speaking jerked around to see what had caused the commotion. Cursing him and complaining loudly about the ale splash, they rose. James grinned up at them through half-closed eyes until he’d set their faces in his mind, then sighed loudly and feigned an unconscious stupor. The smaller of the two kicked him soundly in the leg, but he lay still. Then they stalked out of the pub, still bellyaching about being splattered.

He had recognized neither of them. When the door slammed behind them, James rolled to his side and made a show of struggling to his feet. Stumbling drunkenly out the back way as if to answer nature’s call, he dropped the guise once outside and managed to reach the front of the inn just as the men separated. He kept to the shadows and followed the toff. Eastonby should be warned.

The next morning, James arose quite early, dressed in his best suit and set out for the palace, hoping the earl had not yet left, if indeed that was where he was staying. A peer would likely have a standing invitation there, James thought.

As it happened, the earl was not a guest in the palace, but James was able to verify that the man was still in the city.

After a good deal of trouble and a long walk through the city, James found himself impatiently waiting to be granted an audience with Eastonby at the Royal Arms Hotel.

He reminded himself repeatedly why saving an English earl who starved his tenants and neglected his estate was a worthwhile endeavor. But there was also a female at risk, he recalled. James couldn’t leave without doing what he could to prevent her murder.

“This way,” ordered a liveried employee who had let him upstairs to the third floor and knocked on the door. When they were prompted to enter, James followed the man into a well-appointed sitting room where sat a distinguished gray-haired gentleman at a large writing desk blotting the signature on some sort of document. “Mr. Garrow, my lord,” said the footman as he backed out the room. The earl continued what he was doing.