Julia London - Wild Wicked Scot

Wicked intrigue unfolds as an unlikely marriage leads to a path of risky desire in the lush, green Scottish Highlands

Born into riches and groomed in English luxury, Margot Armstrong didn’t belong in a Scottish chieftain’s devil-may-care world. Three years ago she fled their marriage of convenience and hasn’t looked back—except to relive the moments spent in wild, rugged Arran McKenzie’s passionate embrace. But as their respective countries’ fragile unity threatens to unravel, Margot must return to her husband to uncover his role in the treachery before her family can be accused of it.

Red-haired, green-eyed Margot was Arran’s beautiful bride. Her loss has haunted him, but her return threatens everything he has gained. As the Highland mists carry whispers of an English plot to seize McKenzie territory, he must outmaneuver her in games of espionage...and seduction. But even as their secrets tangle together, there’s nothing to prevent love from capturing them both and leading them straight into danger.

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Julia London

“London’s new Highland Grooms series will be well worth following if this first novel is any indication.... An absorbing read from a novelist at the top of her game.”

— Kirkus Reviews on Wild Wicked Scot (starred review)

“Expert storytelling and believable characters make the romance between Arran and Margot come alive in this compelling novel packed with characters whom readers will be sad to leave behind.”

— Publishers Weekly on Wild Wicked Scot (starred review)

“London’s well-honed storytelling skills carry the day.”

— Publishers Weekly on The Scoundrel and the Debutante

“London’s engaging series is recommended for all romance collections.”

— Library Journal on The Scoundrel and the Debutante

“London’s writing bubbles with high emotion as she describes sexual enthusiasm, personal grief and familial warmth. Her blend of playful humor and sincerity imbues her heroines with incredible appeal, and readers will delight as their unconventional tactics create rambling paths to happiness.”

— Publishers Weekly on The Devil Takes a Bride

“This tale of scandal and passion is perfect for readers who like to see bad girls win.”

— Publishers Weekly on The Trouble with Honor

Wild Wicked Scot

Julia London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Karen, Rachelle and Teri, who accompanied meon that amazing writing retreat in Scotland.

See? I told you I was working.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

PROLOGUE

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

Copyright

PROLOGUE

Norwood Park, England

1706

WHEN MISS LYNETTA BEAULY challenged Miss Margot Armstrong to name what she liked most about the young gentlemen who buzzed about them as bees to honey—taking for granted, of course, a fortune and suitable connections—Miss Armstrong could not name a single thing with any confidence.

Because she liked everything about them. She liked the tall ones, the short ones, the broad ones, the slender ones. She liked them in powdered wigs and with their hair in natural queues. She liked them on horseback and in carriages and strolling about the massive gardens at Norwood Park, where she happened to reside with her father and two brothers. She liked the way they looked at her and smiled at her, and how they laughed with their heads tilted back at all the amusing things she said. Which, apparently, she did with some frequency, as one or five of them seemed always to laugh and say, “How clever you are, Miss Armstrong!”

Margot liked young gentlemen so much that, on the occasion of Lynetta’s sixteenth birthday, she convinced her father to allow her to host a ball in her dear friend’s honor at Norwood Park.

“Lynetta Beauly?” her father had asked with a sigh of tedium, his gaze on a letter bearing news from London. “She is not yet out.”

“But she will be presented this Season,” Margot had hopefully reminded him.

“Why do her parents not provide her with a gathering?” her father had asked as he stuck the point of an ink quill beneath his wig to scratch an itch.

“Pappa, you know they haven’t the means.”

“You haven’t the means, either, Margot. I am the only person at Norwood Park who has the means to provide this young woman, for whom I have no particular regard, with a ball.” He’d shaken his head at the absurdity of it. “Why are you so keen for it?”

Margot had, apparently, blushed. Lynetta said that was one of her true faults—it was impossible to hide what Margot was thinking because her fair skin changed from cream to pink to red with only the slightest provocation.

“I see,” her father had said sagely, and had leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his belly. “Some young gentleman has caught your eye. Is that it?”

Well...she would not belabor the point, but all of them had caught her eye. She’d fussed with a curl at her collarbone. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” she’d muttered as she’d studied the pattern of brocade on a chair in her father’s study. “No one in particular, really.”

Her father had smirked. “Very well. Amuse yourself. Give this ball,” he’d said, and had waved her away.

* * *

A FEW WEEKS LATER, everyone within a fifty-mile radius of Norwood Park descended on the area, as it was well known in northern England that a Norwood Park ball was unparalleled in luxury and company with the exception of London’s Mayfair district.

Beneath five gilded wood and crystal chandeliers blazing with the light of dozens of beeswax candles, young ladies dressed in a dizzying array of colors spun around the ballroom floor to the lively tunes provided by the six musicians brought up from London. Their hair, masterpieces of wire and netting, was piled high and artfully in gravity-defying styles. Their dance partners, all handsome young men of privilege, were dressed in brocades and silks, their coats and waistcoats intricately embroidered. Their wigs were freshly powdered, and their shoes shined to such a sheen that they reflected the candlelight from above.

They drank embargoed French champagne, dined on caviar and slipped in behind potted ferns to steal a kiss.

Margot had donned a gown made especially for the occasion—a pale green silk mantua that Lynetta said complemented her green eyes and auburn hair. To her tower of hair, she’d added little songbirds carefully crafted from paper. She wore her late mother’s glittering diamond-and-pearl necklace at her throat.