Sleepless in Scotland

by May McGoldrick

  The men of her family were all tall, but he towered over those around him. But for the hints of grey at the temples, the color of his hair nearly matched his clothing, and he wore it longer than was currently fashionable. Even the shadow of whiskers on his face gave him the careless look of a man who gave no thought at all to what others might think of him.

  His dark eyes remained fixed on her face, and Phoebe felt unexpected heat pool in her treacherous stomach. Memories of those impetuous, golden days of her youth returned. The rogue could still set her insides on fire.

  Then, with an almost imperceptible nod, he turned and looked across to where Hugh and Grace had ended their dance.

  Without any hesitation, he started toward them.

  “Damnation,” Phoebe muttered. “I’ve got to stop him.”

  * * *

  Ian had timed his late arrival intentionally. He was here to see and speak to one person and only one. Phoebe Pennington. Based on what he’d learned from their discussion in the carriage, however, and from everything he’d been able to ascertain about her story since, he was certain any conversation tonight would be more productive if it were initiated by her. Otherwise, he’d never get a straight answer out of her.

  He asked the butler not to introduce him when he entered. Having been pretty much absent from social gatherings such as this for nearly a decade—because of the war and his recovery and his sister’s death—he didn’t want to draw the attention of acquaintances asking about him or about his mother. He had no interest in mingling. And he definitely didn’t want to give anyone the erroneous impression that he would be accepting other invitations.

  Scanning the crowd, he immediately found Phoebe standing by the open doors to the veranda. She was taller than most women, including her younger sister who stood beside her. For a moment, all he could do was stare.

  She was wearing a regal red robe over a white short-sleeved dress. The border of gold embroidery captured the rays of the setting sun behind her. The ribbon intended to keep the mass of dark curls arranged atop her head was inadequate for the task, and ringlets hung loose around her face.

  His gaze moved over the perfect symmetry of her expressive face. He knew her eyes were a dark shade of blue, and they shone with intelligence and intensity during a discussion. Sitting across from her in his carriage, he’d been teased by those lips, with their fullness and color.

  His mind focused. A scarf of red silk encircled her throat, covering her wound.

  He was here for a reason, and it was essential he speak to her.

  His plan. Ian found the earl and the countess speaking with some guests in the far corner of the ballroom. A number of people around him had already recognized him. He heard his name rippling outward through the assembled guests. Her brother, Viscount Greysteil, was just finishing a dance with his wife. Perfect, he thought.

  He looked in Phoebe’s direction again. As he’d hoped, she discovered his arrival. Their gazes connected across the ballroom. He fought back a smile when her eyes narrowed with displeasure. Ian nodded in greeting and started toward her brother.

  Before he’d gone half the distance across the dance floor, she slid into his path, effectively blocking him.

  “Captain Bell.”

  This close, he saw little evidence of any bruise under her eye. However handsome he’d thought her in his carriage, the impression didn’t come close in comparison with how striking she was in the well-lit ballroom.

  “Lady Phoebe.” He bowed and she curtsied.

  “How delightful of you to accept the invitation. My mother and sister-in-law were under the impression that once again you’d deprive us of your company.”

  He arced one brow, well aware of the eavesdropping audience hemming them in. “As I mentioned to you in Edinburgh when we met last, I wouldn’t miss it this year.”

  The bonniest of blushes colored her cheeks.

  “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I need to give my regards to—”

  “And if I recall, when we parted, you asked for the first dance. Did you not, Captain?”

  Ian looked into those shining blue eyes, sparkling with challenge. The moment hung in the air between them, and he heard more whispers of his and her name. If he wished to see her squirm a little, he knew he would be waiting a long while. Phoebe Pennington was far too independent and sure of herself.

  He bowed and stretched a hand out to her. “You honor me.”

  She slid her gloved fingers on top of his, and they moved toward the dance floor. Anyone watching would have believed their little lie as she granted him a rare smile.

  “I believe this is the first time I’ve ever been asked to dance by a young lady,” he told her. “Did you knock anyone over running across the ballroom?”

  “You should accept more invitations, Captain. I’m certain there are quite a few ladies here tonight who would happily ambush you.”

  “But I suspect if our last meeting had been different, you wouldn’t be one of them.”

  She opened her pretty mouth to say something but thought better of it and pressed her lips together.

  A waltz was announced, and as the two of them moved to join the large circle of dancers, he caught Greysteil’s gaze over Phoebe’s head. Both men nodded in greeting.

  His partner’s head turned to follow his gaze, and she saw her brother.

  “I hope you’re not thinking of abandoning me, Captain.”

  He shook his head. “The night is young, and I’m certain both the earl and the viscount will be happy to meet with me in private for a few minutes after we finish this dance.”

  He hid his amusement as she took his hand and forcefully positioned it on her waist.

  The music started, the two of them turning together and dancing into the space vacated by the next couple as the whole circle moved in a slow, whirling motion.

  He felt the tension in the rigidity of her steps and in the way she avoided looking into his face. They were close, but miles apart. Her forehead was creased, her cheeks flushed, he imagined her having an argument with him now while he was deprived of hearing a single word.

  “And you were saying?”

  Blue eyes narrowed, meeting his.

  “I did as I promised and came to Baronsford the next morning. I thanked you already for what you did for me. Why can’t you let it end at that, Captain? Why keep threatening to expose me to my family?”

  “Because you lied.”

  Ian was charmed to see how dark the blue irises turned as his words sank in.

  “Everything I said was nearly the truth.”

  “You lied,” he repeated, spinning them faster as the music picked up in tempo.

  Sounds of giddy laughter surrounded them, but the hilarity had no effect on the unblinking gaze or the clipped sharpness of the words.

  “How can I defend myself when I have no idea what your accusation pertains to?”

  He waited to answer until the music once again slowed. “I spoke with your man Turner.”

  Phoebe went flat-footed for a moment, but he slipped his hand around to the middle of her back and guided both of them into the turn.

  “What did Duncan tell you?”

  Deuced little, he thought. The former Edinburgh constable was devoted to her. He was not going to be pressured into revealing anything about why Lady Phoebe had hired him to escort her to the Vaults. But when it came to corroborating falsehoods . . . well, the man wouldn’t cross that line.

  “There was no beau. No lover,” he told her. “You followed no manipulating cad to that drug den.” The man actually said Lady Phoebe’s secrets were hers to keep or reveal, but that Mrs. Turner would “ne’er cook another morsel if he did one solitary thing that might injure her ladyship’s reputation.”

  The music tempo increased again, and she held on to him tightly as he turned them in the heightening frenzy of the dance.

  “Why did you go there?” The respectable distance between them had diminished nearly to an embrace. The constant tur
ning had her clutching onto his arm. “I’m giving you one last opportunity.”

  “After the dance,” she whispered breathlessly, her face flushed. “Please meet me in the gardens outside my brother’s study. I’ll explain everything to you then. I promise.”

  Too soon, in his opinion, the dance came to an end. Laughter and applause filled the room, but the two stood still, facing each other, the tension palpable in the narrow space between them.

  He bowed, and as she curtsied, he saw her cast a quick glance over his shoulder. An instant later, she backed toward the crowd. When he turned around, Viscount Greysteil was waiting.

  “I’m delighted you’re here, Captain. We hadn’t been expecting you.”

  Chapter 4

  Phoebe looked back along the path from the veranda. The sun was gone, leaving behind a thick blanket of red and gold beneath the deepening blue of the twilight sky. Distant sounds of the party emanated from the open ballroom doors. Music mingled with occasional laughter and voices, intermittently sharpened and muffled by the soft breeze that carried it to the walled garden outside of Hugh’s study. Still there was no sign of him.

  Captain Bell had visited Baronsford before, she told herself. He’d have no trouble finding his way. That is, if he was coming.

  “He’ll come. He will,” she muttered, starting to pace to calm her agitation. At the end of a garden path, beyond the orchards, where the meadows fell away to the lake, darkness was already claiming the rolling hills of the deer park. Around her, a mist was beginning to rise from the fields.

  I’m delighted you’re here, Captain. We hadn’t been expecting you.

  She’d heard her brother’s greeting as she walked away from the dance floor. Hugh might be delighted that Ian Bell was here, but Phoebe certainly wasn’t.

  “Why can’t you let it go?” she asked under her breath.

  She knew why. She wasn’t blind. Ian had been mourning his sister for three years. And it was his nature to worry about others and try to prevent a similar tragedy from occurring. Especially to a person he knew.

  Of course, she was more than simply a person he knew. Sarah had been closer in age to Millie, but the bond of friendship had been stronger with Phoebe. And she knew the reasons. They each had an independent nature and a sense of adventure. They shared a love of books and poetry and stories. They were both tall, almost the same height. Their stature was hardly a requirement to establish them as friends, but it served as one more link between them. And there were a hundred more things that bonded the two young women.

  For a moment the music and the dance were back in her thoughts. To be held so close, to feel Captain Bell’s strong hands on her waist, on the small of her back. Her body relived the movement, each step in perfect harmony even as his words wreaked havoc in her mind. She’d never seen eyes like his, nearly black with a rim of silver encircling the irises. They’d held her captive throughout the dance.

  Feelings she’d had for him from before kept pushing into her mind like the strains of a song that would not be forgotten. The song was distracting, somewhat embarrassing, and try as she might, she couldn’t ignore it.

  But Phoebe had other, more important things to consider. The present situation was too stressful. She liked her life. She loved what she did. She wanted to get back to it. She hated the possibility of being exposed by someone else, and the certainty of disaster that would follow if she were. She now knew what the “sword of Damocles” meant.

  “Damnation,” she muttered, turning on her heel and walking back along the same path.

  She couldn’t blame Duncan either. She’d put herself under that dangling blade. The Highlander was an honorable man. He would say nothing that would demean or endanger her—especially to a gentleman who might be considered a suitable matrimonial possibility. His wife had delivered many a kindly lecture to Phoebe extolling the benefits of marriage and family. It was a favorite topic of hers. And Duncan shared her sentiments.

  No, Phoebe alone had caused the current difficulty she was facing. Except for that weasel, Leech. He too was responsible. But she never should have agreed to meet him in the Vaults. They could have met in a thousand other places.

  “You didn’t think it through,” she scolded herself.

  The hoot of an owl quite close by was immediately answered by another down by the loch. Servants were beginning to light torches in the gardens at the far end of the west wing and along the paths. Light poured out a number of rooms on the upper floors and from Hugh’s study, and in the distance the music of a waltz ended.

  “Will you make me wait all night?” she said aloud, growing restless as she looked back down the path.

  Millie was right. She should have spoken to her family before tonight. It was childish not to make a clean breast of it, and she was hardly a child.

  But she could not approach her father. He was too stubborn to understand. Everyone in the family was of the opinion that she had inherited the Earl of Aytoun’s temperament. “Like two bulls” was the way her brother Gregory once put it. Perhaps it was true. The two of them never seemed able to listen to the other.

  Not her mother either. The husband and wife had no secrets, and the two had always operated as a united front. Growing up, Phoebe and her siblings knew there was no divide and conquer when it came to getting one’s way.

  No point in talking to Gregory about it. He had too much to worry about with Freya expecting, and with a precocious six-year-old to raise. And Jo was out of question. For the first time in her life, their older sister was immersed in happiness. Phoebe would never dream of casting a shadow of worry over that.

  “Hugh?” she mused, immediately frowning at the thought. She had a feeling the Lord Justice would drag her into his courtroom and prosecute her for trespassing in the Vaults, just to teach her a lesson.

  No, she had to speak to Grace. She was the bravest woman Phoebe had ever met. She’d grown up on battlefields. She knew what women were capable of doing, and she was not one to accept any ridiculous confines based on a person’s gender. She would understand. Grace had also lived in some of the greatest royal courts of the continent, and she knew how politicians worked. Her sister-in-law could convey this information to her husband without upsetting him. Look what she’d done for Jo and Wynne Melfort. She had known exactly how to soften a blow and mediate when there was danger of a disaster.

  “Why didn’t I think of it sooner?”

  She looked in the direction of the ballroom. The scoundrel was not coming.

  “Do you always talk to yourself?”

  She jumped, pressing her hand to her heart as she whirled to face him. Ian was leaning against an archway, his arms folded across his broad chest. He was silhouetted by light from the study window. Phoebe fought the urge to shower him with a string of curses. Of course he wouldn’t walk through the gardens to find her; he came through the house.

  “Did I frighten you?” he asked.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, you did.”

  “I’m glad. You should be frightened more often.”

  “By whom? You?”

  “Not me.” He unfolded his arms and drew himself up to his full height. “But you should be frightened of going places where you don’t belong. Of exposing yourself to danger unnecessarily. Of trusting people you shouldn’t. Of dressing like a man. Of lying to your family . . . and to those who save your life. And with regard to that—”

  She put up a hand to stop him. “I appreciate your concern, Captain. I accept all that you say.”

  He scoffed. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Is it that you don’t believe I appreciate your concern or that I’m capable of conceding I was in error? Or both? Or perhaps you’ve been practicing this admonishment for the past fortnight and you want to make sure you get in every word.”

  “You’ll say anything to evade the issue at hand, won’t you?”

  “Perhaps you’ve brought your schoolmaster’s switch and will require I kiss the rod when you’re d
one?”

  “Now that’s a thought.”

  Phoebe saw a smile tugging at his lips.

  She tended to intimidate men with her quick tongue and her willingness to argue. She knew she could be somewhat persistent—perhaps obstinate at times—in refusing to concede even minor points. Millie claimed she did it to push men away. But Ian Bell didn’t seem at all put off by her nature. She took a deep breath, forcing a change in her manner.

  “I apologize, Captain,” she said. “I know you’ve come out here to give me another chance to explain.” And you’ve not mentioned the Edinburgh misadventure to my brother, she finished silently.

  He remained where he was, and she didn’t know if he was dubious or amused.

  “Let me put your doubts to rest,” she said softly. “Please ask your questions.”

  It was understandable that he did not entirely trust her.

  “I’ve had plenty of time to think of that incident,” Phoebe continued when he said nothing. She touched the scarf at her throat. Every night since her return to Baronsford, she’d awakened in a cold sweat. The frightened lad appeared in her dreams again and again. Some nights she couldn’t get to him fast enough. Other nights, she was the one being chased by a fiendish assailant. She faced this in her sleep. But what of reality? The horror of what could have happened to her down there was a constant companion. She could have been killed when she fought him at the top of the steps. And if Captain Bell weren’t at the bottom, she would be dead now for sure, as she guessed the murderer would have come after her.

  “I am grateful to you for saving my life. And as far as the fabrications . . .”

  She paused, smoothing the front of her dress. The moment of reckoning was here.

  “I’m a writer.” The words tumbled out and she hesitated, half expecting a great chasm to open beneath her feet. “And I was in the Vaults with Duncan that night to research a project I’m working on right now.”

  The truth was out. She should have felt lighter, better about it. But the frown that now creased the man’s brow told her she might only have succeeded in opening Pandora’s box. And she didn’t wish to tell him more.