How the Scot Was Won

by Caroline Linden

  His breath hitched. “’Tis a skill like any other. Step boldly to the crease…”

  She choked on a laugh and sidled closer.

  “Check your stance,” he murmured.

  She laid her hands on his chest, feeling his hands settle lightly on her waist. Felix lowered his head.

  “Now, swing from the soles of your feet,” he whispered, and she went up on her toes and kissed him.

  “How was that?” she asked breathlessly.

  His hand slid around the back of her neck, twirling a loose curl before cupping her head. His other hand moved to the small of her back. “A good first effort. Some practice wouldn’t go amiss, though, have another go…” And his mouth took hers again as his arms tightened and she melted into him, opening her mouth and letting him taste her, have her, make love to her. His hands were on her back, making her want to wrap herself around him. Shivers of hot and cold ran through her as his mouth glided down her throat, echoes of that wickedly wonderful night on the supper room sofa.

  He was the one who broke away, stopping her when she would have pulled him back. His hands trembled as he cupped her jaw. “You’ll drive me mad, you will,” he whispered.

  No, she thought in a daze, it’s the other way around. Every kiss, no matter how small or brief she intended it to be, burst from a spark into a roaring blaze in the blink of an eye. She didn’t think she would ever get tired of kissing Felix Duncan. And holding him. And laughing with him. Even just talking to him, as they had in the park in Perth and in his room, late at night.

  She wasn’t falling in love with him—she had already fallen, deep and hard.

  “Where’s your hat?” he asked as she just stood gazing at him in silent yearning. “A cloak?”

  She blinked. She was in love with him. Should she tell him?

  Felix swallowed hard and let go of her. “If you keep looking at me like that, your brother will tear off my head just for what I’m thinking.”

  His mouth on her breast. His hands under her skirt. His body, tall and lean, moving against hers. A flush raced across her skin in anticipation. “He wouldn’t dare…” she whispered.

  Felix took a step back. “You wouldna say that if you knew what’s in my head. I’m no’ makin’ a muck o’ this again,” he warned, his voice thick. “I’m taking you home afore I lose what’s left o’ my wits. I’m a gentleman, lass, not a saint.”

  Agnes sucked in a breath, wondering what was in his head. Goodness, was it as wicked as the thoughts in her own mind? “Aye. Of course.” She found her hat and jacket, and put them on with clumsy hands.

  Out in the street, she waited while Felix locked and tried the door. The night air cooled her blood and her imagination, and she smiled ruefully as he offered his arm. He was a gentleman. She was the wanton barely in control of herself.

  “I enjoyed that more than cricket batting swings,” she confided as they walked.

  “And ye did far better at it, too,” he said with a simmering look.

  She gasped in mock surprise. “I’m still faster than you in the field, I wager!”

  “Aye,” he said agreed, laughing. “No doubt you could catch me still.”

  I hope I do, she thought, and walked the rest of the way home in ebullient spirits.

  11

  Nothing could dim Felix’s good humor.

  Not the weather, gray and cloudy though it was for several days. Not the crush of demands from clients. Not the thieves plaguing Edinburgh, although he did keep a keen ear out for anything that hinted at resolution.

  He even went to see his father without being summoned. Lachlan barely glanced up as Felix dropped into a chair opposite his desk. “What’s the trouble now?”

  “No trouble at all,” said Felix.

  His father’s brows went up. “A rare and wondrous thing.”

  He grinned. “Ain’t it?”

  That got Lachlan’s attention. He straightened in his chair and pushed back his law book. “Why?”

  Felix laughed. “All my life, you’ve scolded me for trouble. Now you fret over no trouble?”

  “You only come to me when there’s trouble,” Lachlan replied. “Either you’re lying, or you don’t even know what trouble you’re in.”

  Felix reflected. “In other words, whatever I say shall be treated as unreliable.” He shrugged. “I might as well be on my way. Apologies for disturbing you.” He started to rise.

  “Wait,” growled his father. He drummed his fingers on his desk in frustration. “Why did you come?”

  Felix sank back in the chair. “You allege that I never tell you anything, and you must rely on the intelligence of others to discover my actions. So today, I’ve come to tell you something.”

  Now his father looked wary. “And it’s not trouble?”

  “Completely the opposite.”

  Lachlan leaned back and folded his arms.

  “I’ve met a lady.” Felix paused, then shook his head. “No—strike that. I’ve fallen in love with a lady.”

  His father studied the papers on his desk. “It is not Miss Catriona Hill, is it.”

  “No,” said Felix apologetically. “It was never going to be Miss Hill.”

  Lachlan grunted.

  “But I think you will like her very much. She’s beautiful, of course, but also sensible and clever—she would make a fine attorney—and warm-hearted and very good-humored…” Felix stopped himself and cleared his throat. “I believe she cares for me as well. I want to marry her.”

  “Who is the fortunate lady?”

  “Miss Agnes St. James.” Felix waited for his father to declare that he had known all along. Not only had he divined it a few weeks ago, but Felix had been escorting Agnes to and from the St. James shop for over a week now in full view of all Edinburgh. His father was sure to have heard about that from half a dozen people.

  But Lachlan merely nodded.

  “All right.” Felix opened his arms. “You’re not surprised. What, pray, is the opinion among your friends as to her answer?”

  “I’ve no notion,” replied his father. “I’ve not discussed you or your love affairs with anyone. What is your opinion? Is she likely to accept?”

  “What?” Felix stared. “I—surely you knew. You pressed me about her before I went to Perth.”

  “And you denied every word. Said she refused you.”

  He cleared his throat. “At the time, she did.”

  “Then I must congratulate you on arguing a persuasive appeal. A man’s own self is the most difficult client to advocate for.”

  “One moment.” Felix was stuck on his father’s earlier words. “Surely you’ve already analyzed the match with Lord Lindow and Sir Patrick,” he said, naming two of his father’s colleagues and friends.

  “I have not,” said Lachlan, unperturbed. “After you upbraided me for it, I stopped attending to gossip about you.”

  He barely managed to keep his jaw from sagging open. “Entirely?”

  Lachlan grimaced. “As little as possible. I hoped you would tell me yourself, if there was anything important to know. And now—“ His face worked, the granite facade cracking for a moment. “’Tis very happy I am for you, lad,” he finished quietly.

  “You—you truly didn’t know?”

  Lachlan sat forward, elbows on the desk, and sighed. “You were right, aye? I’ve confessed it. You’re my son, my only family, but you’re a man and not in need of my protection.”

  “Protection!” Felix jolted.

  His father nodded. “How else to keep my promise to your mother? You’ve got her mischievous spirit, and I swore to her I would keep you from harm. Without her to advise me, I feared I wouldn’t be able to discern when you needed my help. But you’ve not needed me for years, I think.” He paused. “I wish you great joy with your lady.”

  Felix was still stunned. “Thank you,” he said after a moment.

  Lachlan gave him a level stare. “So, will she accept this time?”

  “I hope so.” He gave
a firm nod. “I believe so.”

  “Very good. When will I meet the lass?” His father smiled ruefully. “It’s been twenty-five years since there was a woman in our family.”

  “Soon,” said Felix, thinking rapidly. “Well—once she says yes. No point otherwise.”

  His father gave a bark of laughter. “No, indeed!” He sobered, then put out his hand. “Thank you for telling me. It makes my heart glad.”

  “Aye.” Slowly Felix smiled back and clasped his father’s hand. “Have I your blessing?”

  Lachlan raised his brows. “You’ve never lacked it, Felix.” There was a tap at the door, and Mathison the clerk peeked in. “Go to it, lad, and win your lady’s heart.”

  * * *

  Felix’s good feeling persisted for several days.

  St. James had gone back to Fort George near Inverness to resign his army commission, and asked Felix to see to his family in his absence. From his expression, it was obvious his friend knew he would be there anyway.

  He was. He was invited to tea, and to sit with them in church. Louisa St. James’s approval was evident in the way he and Agnes were always allowed to close up the shop and linger. He had learned to leave a few minutes for her to put her hair and dress back to rights before they walked home together, arm in arm.

  Felix had got so far as planning where and how he would propose, when the first ominous ripples of scandal broke. He strode into Agnew’s one morning, late as usual—he and Agnes had walked slowly that morning—and found a larger crowd than usual around the table where he and Hunter sat.

  “What’s about?” He had to squeeze through to find his partner.

  “Rumors.” Hunter nodded toward the man speaking. “About the thieves. Word is someone might be reaching for the pardon.”

  After the St. James shop was robbed, Drew had flexed his new influence and urged the Procurator-Fiscal to offer a King’s Pardon to any thief who came forward and gave evidence about the crimes. Such a pardon would save a man from prosecution not only for the robberies but for every other crime he had committed in his life. The offer, printed in the papers, had caused a renewed flurry of gossip.

  This seemed different, though. “But who is it?” one fellow was asking, in hushed tones.

  Michael Oliphant, the bearer of these tidings, shrugged. He defended criminal charges and was frequently in and around the Tolbooth jail. “No name was mentioned.”

  “What clues were given?” asked Felix, to a rumble of chuckles.

  Oliphant winked. “That it was a name we would all ken—a man of some prominence.” Startled mutters swept the small crowd.

  “The thief?” whispered Felix to Hunter, incredulous.

  His partner nodded. “’Tis said there’s more than one thief, and that the mastermind is a substantial man of town. Oliphant’s been boasting that he’s heard things from a deputy sheriff.”

  Felix twisted his mouth. Criminal lawyers always claimed that.

  “If a prominent man is involved, we ought to be able to deduce who he is,” said one man.

  “The ablest minds in Edinburgh, right here,” added another, eliciting more chuckles.

  A few names were bandied about, analyzed for likelihood, and mostly dismissed. The more prominent the man, the more stupid he would be to risk everything by robbing shops up and down the High Street. Felix listened skeptically, until one name caught his ear.

  “Deacon Fletcher.”

  William Fletcher was Deacon of the Wrights, a town councillor, and owner of one of the largest cabinetry shops in town. He was also the father of Ilsa Ramsay, who was soon likely to be—if Felix read the signs correctly—Mrs. Andrew St. James, the future Duchess of Carlyle.

  “Fletcher,” scoffed one. “He could buy and sell half this town, and send the other half to jail!” The man who’d proposed it shrugged, and the discussion flowed on.

  Except in Felix’s mind, where little scraps of info were tumbling together into a worrisome bundle. Fletcher made fine furniture, like the walnut bookcases and cabinets in Lachlan Duncan’s law chambers, and the heavy, carved door to the offices with the good lock in it.

  Felix remembered that lock. Several years ago, one of his father’s clerks had been caught reading files and selling the info he gleaned from them. Lachlan had had every lock in the office replaced, even on the cabinets, and Fletcher’s men had done them all. Because Fletcher was also a locksmith.

  The door of the St. James silk shop had been opened as easily as if the thieves had a key. Like many in Edinburgh, Mrs. St. James left the key hanging just inside the door, in plain sight. She’d never missed it, but if someone took an impression of it… someone able to make a false key…

  He retreated to a private table to dash off a quick note. Then he muttered an excuse to Hunter and went out to hire an express messenger to Fort George.

  12

  The robbery clarified more than Agnes’s feelings for Felix.

  It also reminded her of how much she loved her shop. Seeing it torn to pieces was like a bucket of cold water to the face. Papa would have been furious, and devastated. Agnes was ashamed that she had lost sight of that, between the trip to Stormont Palace and her emotional tumult. And when Drew suggested they simply sell the shop, so they could go with him to England, something inside her seemed to fracture.

  Drew was not going to sell her shop. She would repair it and restore it, better than ever, and when Mama gave in and left Edinburgh with Drew and her sisters, Agnes was going to take it over—as Papa would have wanted. She threw herself into it, nudging Mama to make changes, even spending her savings on new displays for the window and new glass in the cabinet doors.

  It took her some time to realize that between that effort and Felix’s attentions, she’d been neglecting Ilsa. Mama had agreed that she could stay with Ilsa for a month; when that ended, Agnes went home without arguing to stay longer. Ilsa would probably be glad, she’d told herself, to have more privacy to conduct her own romance with Drew, which no one bothered to deny anymore. Mama had invited Ilsa to dine with them and received her like an honored guest.

  But Agnes hadn’t considered that her brother had been out of town a great deal, first on his secret mission and then back to his regiment near Inverness. Agnes and her sisters still walked with Ilsa from time to time, but they saw her far less often. And even when she did talk with her friend, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Ilsa about Felix.

  She didn’t know why; embarrassment at how it had gone wrong at the Assembly Rooms, perhaps, and a vague fear that her current happiness wouldn’t last. At times it still felt like a dream that might abruptly end if she told anyone she was in love. She had never had a suitor before and had no idea how to act. Felix hadn’t proposed again, or even told her he loved her. How stupid she would feel, if she told people and then his interest faded.

  A customer jolted her out of that.

  Betsy Steuart was one of their best customers, wife of a prosperous jeweler, and was one of the first to return to the shop to select her silks over tea and cakes. Mama usually received her, but Agnes persuaded Mama she could do it. She was ready for Mrs. Steuart with fresh tea and several carefully chosen bolts of silk.

  “Have you heard the latest rumors, Miss St. James? Surely you must.”

  Agnes smiled politely. Every client probed for information about the thieves, certain that the victims knew more than anyone. “Not a bit, Mrs. Steuart.”

  “But Captain St. James—“

  “He’s not told us anything, and now he’s away from town.” Agnes spread out a beautiful primrose silk, printed with scarlet poppies. “This has just arrived, and would suit your coloring perfectly—“

  “I hear there will be an arrest soon, and it will set the entire town on its ear.”

  Agnes was sick of the thieves. “I hope so. Now, if you prefer a green, we have this celadon china silk—“

  Mrs. Steuart was all but falling off the edge of her seat. “They say it will be Deacon Fletcher!” />
  Agnes froze. “What?”

  Mrs. Steuart’s round, pretty face was eager with expectation. “They say he’s involved with these robberies,” she whispered loudly.

  Her heart almost stopped. Ilsa’s father! “Impossible…”

  Mrs. Steuart blinked. “Is it? Why, it would be remarkable, and very shocking. A deacon and town councilor! Who could be less likely to smash in doors and rob honest people? But that is what they’re saying…”

  Agnes swallowed. It couldn’t be true. “We mustn’t accuse anyone without evidence. Now, about this print…” She forcibly steered Mrs. Steuart back to the silks unfurled across the table.

  When the woman finally left, she ran downstairs. “Mama, I must leave,” she gasped. “Immediately.”

  Her mother took one look at her face and nodded.

  Almost running back toward the High Street, she met Felix on the bridge. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

  “Ilsa,” Agnes gulped. “I have to see Ilsa.”

  He didn’t ask why, just turned around and kept pace with her. “Have you heard?” she asked as they went. “About her father?”

  “Aye,” he said after a pause. “I hope it’s not true.”

  “You knew!” She stopped in her tracks. “And didn’t tell me?”

  He stepped closer and took her hand. “I only heard it a few days ago, as a vague guess, no accusation at all. And I sent a man straight up to Fort George with the news, just in case,” he added as she opened her mouth.

  All right. He had taken it seriously. “What did you tell Drew?”

  “I knew nothing to tell. I only warned him there were rumors.”

  They had reached Ilsa’s house. Felix stopped at the step. “Give Mrs. Ramsay my regards.”

  Agnes smiled, her heart brimming with warmth. “Thank you. I will.”

  “Shall I wait?”

  She shook her head and rapped at the familiar door.