Return of the Scot

by Eliza Knight

  Lorne took her hand in his, and they followed Malcolm back to his gymnasium. It was much brighter inside than it had been the last time she’d been in there. But still, the sight of the pugilist ring, the fencing planche, and the various dumbbells scattered around had her face heating and her mind swinging back to the night of the ball when he’d kissed her. Hovered over her. Delicately touched her ankle. Oh, but she could swoon.

  Lorne wrapped his hands around her waist, and she gasped at the contact as he lifted her until her feet touched the platform of the pugilist ring. She ducked beneath the rope, turning in a circle, mostly to get as far away from his touch as possible. Malcolm remained in place, arms crossed and a goofy grin on his face when Lorne leapt up to join her. The platform bounced with his weight, and she laughed in surprise.

  “Hands up, Miss Andrewson, like this.” Lorne showed her how to place her fists—thumb outside of her curled fingers—and her elbows bent.

  “Are ye truly giving me permission to hit ye?” she asked. “And are ye going to hit me back?”

  Lorne chuckled. “I’ll no’ hurt ye. And I doubt ye’ll get in a lick.”

  Oh, that was a challenge worth taking. A decade’s worth of pent-up frustration where this man was concerned, and here she was being given a chance to quell it? At the very least, it would keep her from kissing him. “Deal.”

  Lorne bobbed back and forth on his feet, a grin splitting his face that showed how eager he was for her to fight him. She watched his feet and imitated him, finding the surface flexed beneath their feet ever so slightly with their movements. She’d only ever been to a boxing match once, years ago, having snuck in with Giselle, dressed up like lads. But it was so long ago that she barely remembered it.

  “Come on then, take your best shot,” Lorne urged.

  Jaime stepped forward, shot her fist out toward his belly, but he danced away, much quicker than she’d been able to punch. She tried again, still feeling her movements were constricted by her bodice and the thick layer of skirts she wore. But alas, she wasn’t going to undress in front of them—as much as Lorne, and even his cousin might enjoy that.

  As they circled one another, with her taking shots at him with her inadequate fists, she realized this was very much like a dance. And dancing, she was good at. She grew more confident, adding in a few of the dance steps she knew and was able to clip his elbow barely as he bounded away.

  “I win,” she said, dropping her fists. “I got ye.”

  Lorne laughed, a deep, hearty sound that made her smile. “Och, nay, lass, ’tis no’ that easy. Ye have to take me down to win.” He pointed at the base beneath their feet.

  “Down, as in, to the ground?”

  “Aye.” The teasing glint in his eyes was almost too much for her.

  Because when she thought about being down on the ground, she imagined them here not too long ago, in a similar situation, and her body tingled all over again.

  “And yet, we both know who has had to catch whom since we’ve met, aye?” She reminded him of how clumsy she was compared to him, and hopefully not of the kiss they shared.

  “Indeed.” But the wicked curl of his lips, the heated intensity of his stare told her she’d not succeeded.

  “Ye have an unfair advantage with your inhuman ability to balance,” she said stiffly in jest.

  “All right, I’ll give ye an advantage then. Malcolm, hand me one of the ties.”

  His cousin tossed him a length of fabric, and with a grin, Lorne put the fabric over his eyes and tied it at the back of his head.

  “Blindfolded,” Jaime said with a sigh of exasperation.

  “Aye. Come at me again, lass. Let’s see if ye can take down a blindfolded fellow.”

  Well, this ought to be easy and quite entertaining. As quietly as she could, Jaime tiptoed around Lorne, but he seemed to know where she was at all times. Even when she swung at him from behind, he whirled around and dodged. When she feinted right, then swung left, he still caught her.

  “How about one hand behind my back?” he teased.

  “Aye, I’ll take that challenge,” Jaime goaded, sweat marking her brow and her breath uneven from exertion. She was having a lot more fun than she would have guessed.

  Lorne held one hand behind his back, seizing her flying fist with one hand and bearing a thwack to his ribs with her other.

  “Aha!” she said with a laugh. “I finally landed a decent blow. And ye need not remind me it was to a blindfolded, one-armed man.”

  Lorne chuckled. “Again.”

  This time, she came at him with a similar move, but he snaked his free arm around her waist, whirled her around, and dipped her backward over his bent knee. All the breath left her, and her heart pounded so hard, she was certain Lorne could hear it. Maybe even Mungo, wherever he was.

  Lorne’s face came within an inch of hers, and he breathed her in, the move so elegant, so sensual, that she was rendered immobile by it. Wanted him to kiss her right then and there. Needed him to kiss her.

  “I got ye,” he whispered, his gaze moving to her mouth.

  “Aye,” she murmured back.

  “Ye’ll get better.” He smiled.

  But did she want to? If he were going to end each fight like this, why would she want to beat him? She would happily bungle every single time. Oh, what was she even thinking right now? There could be no next time, let alone more than once.

  Lorne righted her, his fingers lingering a little longer on her waist as he pulled off his blindfold with the other hand.

  “Well done, Miss Andrewson,” Malcolm clapped. “Ye almost had him.”

  Jaime had nearly forgotten about his presence, and she swiveled her head toward him. “Thank ye, my lord, for your good cheer,” she said with a laugh and then turned back to Lorne. “Ye won. I suppose ye’re under no obligation to tell me why ye were at the docks.”

  “I had no’ wanted to until I had more information to give ye, but alas, we are here, and there seems no point in keeping it from ye. Malcolm and I were interviewing the captains and crews because we discovered that my half-brother was on a ship that sailed for Ireland—with his wife—and a wee porter.”

  “His wife?” Jaime’s hand flew to her chest, and her brows pinched so close together, she was nearly cross-eyed in shock. “Shanna?”

  “Aye. And the wee porter sounds like her son, though I’m no’ certain why they would make him dress in disguise.”

  Neither was she. “Perhaps to lead anyone astray who was looking for him. She has to have guessed I would. I did, in fact, send a man looking, and so did ye.”

  “Where would they go in Ireland?” Malcolm asked.

  “I’ve a minor holding there.”

  Lorne cocked his head. “The holding in Shanna’s dowry?”

  “Used to be, but it was given to me when my parents disowned her. I never forced the issue, though I know it must have hurt her.”

  “And ye gave her Dunrobin, too.”

  Jaime smiled sadly and nodded. “’Tis beside the point. My guilt runs deep.”

  “And your sister cares no’.” Lorne’s words cut her to the quick, but she knew he was right.

  “When did they sail?” she asked.

  “About two weeks ago.” Malcolm held out his hand to help her down from the ring.

  “So what ye’re saying is my sister was in the city all this time? Hiding?”

  Lorne referred to Malcolm.

  “At least before they left, miss, but I’m no’ certain for how long.”

  Jaime bit her lip, straightening her gown and bodice as discreetly as she could. “Do ye think Shanna accused me and my ships? Perhaps in hopes of keeping me tied up with the business and unable to pursue her?”

  Lorne shrugged. “I would no’ put it past her or my brother, considering what we’ve been discovering.”

  “Och, poor, sweet Gordie.” Jaime blew a loose lock from her face.

  “Ye’ve no reason to believe he would come to harm, do ye?” Malcolm asked
her.

  Jaime shook her head. “Nay. She was a selfish mother, but no’ cruel.”

  “That is good news, at least.” Lorne ran a hand through his mussed hair.

  “Aye.” A clock chimed from somewhere within the house. “Oh, how I wish I could stay longer, but I must get going. My aunt will tear apart Edinburgh looking for me. She’s decided that I need a chaperone, but only when it’s convenient for her.” Jaime gave a slight roll of her eyes. “Please let me know if ye find out anything more.”

  “Of course.” Lorne led her toward the door but then paused. “Are ye all right leaving this way, or shall we arrange an escape?”

  Jaime smiled and let out a short laugh. “I already came in this way. Better for them to see me leave than think me here all night.”

  “True.” He lifted her hand to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “Until next time.”

  12

  Jaime was preparing to play a game of cards with Aunt Beatrice after dinner when a loud knock sounded at her front door.

  “Who could be visiting you at this hour?” Aunt Beatrice gave her a warning look that set Jaime’s nerves on edge as if she’d spent the last two years entertaining gentleman callers or some such.

  “I assure ye, I have no idea.”

  MacInnes appeared a moment later in the drawing room. “A Mr. Bell here to see ye, miss. I reminded him of the late hour, but he seems to think ye’ll want to see him anyway.”

  Aunt Beatrice narrowed her gaze. “Mr. Bell? Who on earth is he?”

  “An investigator,” Jaime explained. “I sent him to find Shanna.”

  “Shanna? I thought she was at Dunrobin?”

  “She never made it, Aunt.” Jaime wasn’t in the mood to tell her aunt the entire story of Shanna’s duplicity, so instead asked MacInnes to show the man in.

  Mr. Bell looked thoroughly dusty as if he’d ridden all the night through. He bowed before her and Aunt Beatrice.

  “This is my aunt. Feel at ease to speak freely, as I would tell her what has happened anyway.” Which she wouldn’t normally, but since the woman was there, she might as well.

  “Very well. It appears your sister has fled to Ireland aboard the Dueling Brothers.”

  Jaime nodded, not wanting to confess this was information she already knew, for then she’d have to explain how she came by such evidence, and well, that only made her think of Lorne’s hands on her as he bent her backward, his grin wide and satisfied. And the great, cold dousing of Aunt Beatrice’s chagrin, should she find out.

  “I sent a man in that direction, miss, in hopes of finding her—and to be on the lookout for Master Gille, as it appears they were on the ship together.”

  Jaime pressed her hands together in front of her heart. “And Gordie, please tell me ye know something of him?”

  “It appears he was acting as the couple’s porter but did no’ appear in distress.”

  “A porter,” Aunt Beatrice exclaimed, clearly distraught as she whipped out a fan, waving it rapidly as she sank deeper into her chair.

  “Are they married?” Jaime asked. This was the one thing Lorne had not yet been able to find out.

  “That’s where I’ve come from, miss. The traveling inn where I found the governess—

  I checked the vicarage there and did find a marriage license for a Mr. Gille Gordon and his bride, Shanna Andrewson.”

  How much easier it was to marry in Scotland than it was in England. If they’d been across the border, the two of them would have had to wait for three weeks while the banns were read, for they’d not have been able to get a special license, or at the very least, it would have been difficult. But in any case, she would have heard of it, had that been the case. Not in this instance, however. They’d simply walked to the nearest priest they could find and exchanged vows.

  Jaime let out a long sigh, trying to keep the frown from her face. Trying to ignore her aunt’s increasing breaths.

  “Married, my god.” Beatrice seemed due for a fit of the vapors from all the tut-tutting she was doing.

  Jaime rose and went to the cellarette, pouring her aunt a thimble of whisky and one for herself. “Can I get ye anything, Mr. Bell?”

  She handed her aunt the whisky, and Beatrice drank with vigor.

  “Nay, thank ye, miss. I need to be getting home. Ye were my first stop on the way, and I’ve my family waiting for me to return. As soon as I hear from my men, I’ll be sure to let ye know what we’ve found.”

  Jaime nodded, and MacInnes escorted the man out.

  “I suppose this was something that was a long time coming,” Jaime mused, staring hard into the amber-colored spirits in her tiny cup. “And we can be glad he married her rather than abducting her.”

  “A long time coming?” Aunt Beatrice finished her dram but still had the wild look of a hunted deer in her eyes. Really, the dramatics were too much.

  “Aye, I’ve a feeling Gordie is actually Gille’s son.” Jaime tipped the cup into her mouth, letting it burn a path down her throat, relishing that little bit of punishment.

  “A feeling? What makes you say so? That’s not true.”

  “We may need to open our minds to the possibility, Aunt.”

  Aunt Beatrice scrunched her nose in disapproval, and Jaime didn’t have the patience now, despite the whisky, to give her aunt any further information. Instead, she rose and went to the writing desk, penning a quick note to Lorne.

  “If ye’ll excuse me but a moment, Aunt.”

  “No, no, I think I shall retire. I’ve had quite a shock.” Aunt Beatrice rose. “It might be time for me to return to London, where I can quell some of the rumors before they run rampant.”

  In other words, she didn’t want this news to reflect badly on her daughters, Jaime’s cousins, who were starting in society. Jaime had not seen them in a decade—by choice of her aunt and uncle, who didn’t want Shanna’s reputation to influence their own three daughters. This had rubbed Jaime the wrong way.

  “Oh, that is a shame ye feel the need to leave, and we’ve been having such a lovely visit,” Jaime tried to keep her voice soft and sweet rather than elated. “But I understand. I will be sure to keep ye informed of all that happens.”

  “Yes, please do.” Aunt Beatrice handed Jaime her empty whisky glass.

  “Would ye like a glass to take up?”

  Aunt Beatrice paused a moment, likely wanting that very thing, but shook her head. “I’ll never sleep if I do.”

  Once her aunt was on her way up the stairs to the bedchambers, Jaime found MacInnes again.

  “Please see this delivered to the duke.” She pressed the note into her butler’s hand.

  “As ye wish, Miss, but might I remind ye of the time?”

  “Nay, MacInnes, ye may no’.” She smiled at him to soften her denial. “I am well aware, but this is a matter that can no’ wait. Besides, I’ve already destroyed my reputation where the duke is concerned if ye read the papers.”

  “I never read such rubbish.”

  “Good, ye’ll only want to burn them as I do.”

  MacInnes grinned. “Shall I wait for his reply, miss?”

  “That will no’ be necessary. Goodnight, MacInnes.”

  “And a goodnight to ye as well, miss.”

  Jaime watched her faithful servant leave, and then she wandered up to her room, her maid helping her undress and brush out her hair. Later, while she was sipping warm tea and curled on her chaise reading a novel, there came a tapping at her window. An erratic sound as if a branch hit the glass with every gust of wind. Except there wasn’t a tree outside her bedroom—and hardly any gusts of wind.

  Closing her book, Jaime rose and headed for the window, peeling back the curtain and lifting the sash. She inspected the large shape of a man looming in the shadow of her yard and a pebble hit her in the arm.

  “Oh, damn, sorry!” Lorne called up.

  Like an angel peering out over the land, Jaime’s chestnut locks cascaded around her gorgeous face. The white of
her nightgown looked ethereal in the moonlight. And all he could imagine was that beneath that gauzy film of fabric was her skin—naked. It was enough to make Lorne nearly lose his train of thought about why he’d made the late-night visit and pinged little stones from the gravel walk at her window like a rebellious lad.

  “What are ye doing here?” she whispered loudly. “Ye’ll wake my aunt.”

  “I got your missive.”

  “That did no’ require a reply. It was merely informative.”

  “I disagree, and I think we ought to make a plan.” How could he convince her to come down from where she perched… Preferably without changing?

  “And this could no’ wait until morning?” Jaime leaned farther out the window and gaze roving the building as if in search of anyone watching.

  “Ye’ll fall out. Get back in there,” he warned.

  “I’m seeing who’s listening.”

  “Nobody.”

  “Go away. We’ll meet in the morning. It’s Sunday, and my dock crew has off. We can walk in the park.”

  “I’m coming up.” He didn’t want to wait until morning, not when he had something to tell her that neither of them had thought of before. Not when she looked delicious enough to eat. Och, what he wouldn’t give at that moment for just one kiss.

  “Nay! I’ll no’ open the door.” She waved her hands, shooing him away.

  “I’ll scale the building.”

  “Ye’ll break your neck.”

  “Then come down.”

  Jaime let out a disgruntled noise but then said, “Fine. I’ll meet ye in the back garden.”

  Lorne grinned, watching as she shut the window and drew her drapes. A short time later, he heard soft footsteps in the grass, and then there she was, wrapped in a dressing gown, hiding that filmy nightgown from view. But he could still see the outline of her body. Her womanly curves were making him want to reach forward and explore every inch of her.

  “Ye could have come without this,” he teased, plucking at the sleeve and giving her a brazen wink.

  “Do no’ be ridiculous.”

  “I’m quite serious.”