Too Scot to Handle

by Grace Burrowes

  Well, no he couldn’t, but doubtless Twilly and Pointy would accommodate that oversight.

  “Where were you?”

  She was such an innocent.

  “A gentleman wouldn’t say in the presence of a lady, much less in the presence of his intended.”

  Her expression underwent a curious progression, from indignant, to astonished, to blank. “I am not your intended.”

  “I can rectify that with a simple call on your uncle, and before you sputter about tender sentiments and other impracticalities, allow me to explain your situation to you. If you agree to accept my proposal, then I will delay speaking to the authorities while we conduct a more thorough search of the premises. Lord Colin will have time to make an expedient trip north, though he’ll be regrettably unwelcome in England for the rest of his days.”

  Miss Anwen turned her back on Win, probably to hide tears. The ladies were prone to such histrionics. Rosalyn could cry over Lady Dremel’s missing fan and usually to very good effect.

  “Your settlements,” Win went on, “will be discreetly modified to replace the funds missing from the orphanage’s exchequer, in due course. The Windham family bears some responsibility for the entire situation, after all. But for their connection to MacHugh’s ducal brother, your head would never have been turned, MacHugh would never have become involved, and we’d all have been spared that wretched card party.”

  The future Mrs. Winthrop Montague turned to face him, not a trace of a tear to be seen. If Win had to guess, he’d say she was revising her opinion of Lord Colin, and the rubbishing mushroom had best be making plans to leave the country.

  “Are you finished, Mr. Montague? A fortune has gone missing, and while my future concerns me, the future of the children concerns me more.”

  “Their future concerns me as well, though you should know, the condition of this building is unacceptable. The children aren’t safe here, from what I can see. Something must be done and soon. Perhaps you’d like to offer your opinion on that topic?”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle. Some ladies did that because it emphasized their bosoms, but Miss Anwen was so modestly attired, a man was hard put to recall she had a bosom.

  Though cursory inspection reassured Win that she did, thank God.

  “Allow me to summarize your offer,” Miss Anwen said. “You will marry me, have the benefit of my settlements, see the missing funds replaced—funds you had motive and opportunity to steal—and likely close the orphanage nonetheless, but you’ll allow Lord Colin to flee under a cloud of disgrace entirely of your own manufacturing.”

  “Well put, though you neglected the sad consequences of the alternative. If you and I wed, then Lord Colin becomes a family connection of mine, hence my willingness to hesitate before contacting the authorities. In the absence of such a connection, my duty to the children means Lord Colin will be arrested by Monday morning.”

  Win speared her with his best raised eyebrow, lest the lady mistake his point. “I’m not saying he’s guilty. That will be for the authorities to decide, and I will defend Lord Colin at every turn. I will also honestly regret that he has no alibi, and that will speak volumes. Finally, I will state my opinion to all and sundry that you, yourself, despite being a somewhat eccentric, difficult woman, would never be so bold as to steal, or to raise funds expressly so you could turn around and appropriate them for yourself. A gently bred lady could never be so devious.”

  That last part was an inspiration, but it could work, with the right regret sighed into the right ears after the right number of drinks, especially if Rosalyn lent a hand.

  It could work marvelously, and the day was quickly coming right—for Win.

  Miss Anwen stared over his shoulder as if a lot of dusty old books might start performing the minuet on their dusty old shelves.

  “So you’ll see Lord Colin condemned in the court of public opinion even if the magistrate finds no evidence to bind him over. Scandal will close the orphanage if a lack of funds doesn’t, while you gain a wife, means you did nothing to earn, and commiseration from your many friends for the troubles you’ve endured.”

  He hadn’t thought about the commiseration. Commiseration was always lovely.

  “I am marrying a woman of some discernment,” Win said. “I will leave in your graceful hands the delicate matter of explaining particulars to Lord Colin. He has until Monday, no need to thank me. I am a gentleman, after all, and compassion should inform my every decision. I am content that I’ve prevented a lady I esteem from being ruined by a Scottish rogue.”

  Miss Anwen said nothing, which boded well for their marital accord. Win kissed her cheek and left her in the empty office. He really ought to have a chat with the magistrate with all due haste, but that would mean locating same, and a trip to Bow Street. Monday was soon enough for those dreary undertakings. The funds were gone, and a day or two’s delay wouldn’t change that.

  A consultation with Win’s gold pocket watch assured him the fellows would be gathering at the club to lament the damage done by the infernal card party. Too bad for them. For Win, a celebratory glass or three was in order before he presented himself at his papa’s dinner party.

  Also some hair of the dog. Rather lot of hair of the dog, for matters could not be turning out any better.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “MacDeever spent the night with his lady friend,” Colin said. “He had his keys with him, so they couldn’t have been stolen, but he says the locks in the building are so old they can be forced or opened without a key.”

  Anwen sat on the chairman’s desk where the strongbox was usually to be found, an odd perch for a lady. Her air was distracted, though her calm didn’t fool Colin.

  “I forced one of the locks when we searched the unused wing,” she said. “I used my hairpin, remember? If Win Montague learned of that, he’d be sure to let the magistrate know.” Her tone was flat, beyond bitterness, beyond resignation or even despair.

  “Has Montague been spreading his foul talk again?” Montague had driven his phaeton out of the mews at a rattling trot, denying Colin even a nod of parting.

  “I hate him, Colin. I thought I hated the quadrille, long sermons, serious illness. I don’t. I hate Win Montague.”

  Colin took Anwen in his arms. She remained passive in his embrace, and that troubled him.

  Scared him witless, in fact. “Tell me, love. What has Montague done now?”

  Anwen felt small and brittle in his embrace. Her fire was down to coals, and Colin would shelter the flame they held with his life if necessary.

  “He will have you arrested on Monday morning, and if I were you, I’d be very careful no one has access to your domicile between then and now. Win will put a sack of coin under your pillow or otherwise incriminate you with more than gossip. He can do it too, Colin. You were right not to underestimate him.”

  For a moment, Colin simply held his beloved, because he needed to stay near her goodness and dearness.

  “What’s the rest of it?”

  “In the alternative, I can marry him, and you will be allowed to slip away quietly as a gentlemanly courtesy extended by Mr. Montague to a distant family connection. You’ll be a wanted man, and my family must compensate the orphanage for the missing funds, but nobody will hang for stealing. The House of Urchins will be demolished in any case.”

  Was there an uglier verb in the language than “to hang”?

  “Anwen, I did not take that money.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” she said. “Neither did I, but such is Winthrop Montague’s honor that he’ll intimate from every club and race meet that I planned the entire card party so I could steal the proceeds. I’m withdrawn and eccentric, a difficult woman, much indulged by my family. I had no maid sleeping in my dressing room to attest to the fact that I fell into bed exhausted and barely stirred until I joined you here this morning.”

  “To accuse you makes no sense,” Colin said, holding her more closely. “You love this place,
and you have no motive to steal from children. Don’t let Win’s fancies frighten you into marrying him.”

  She kissed him, a gesture of faith in a desperate conversation. “I’d kill him before the vows were consummated, Colin, which makes me as bad as he is. I won’t blame you if you take ship for Scotland. This situation will sort itself out, and my family will stand behind you. I’ll join you in Scotland, and there’s nothing Win Montague can say to it.”

  He kissed her back, a gesture of determination. “What about the boys, Anwen? I’ve given them and you my word that they’ll not be tossed to the elements for Montague’s convenience or my own.”

  She eased away and began a perambulation about the room. “I gave them the same promise, but I won’t lose you to Montague’s vile games, Colin. The boys had nothing to add to what we know, and they still think you should beat the stuffing out of Montague.”

  “And be arrested for assault?”

  “No, actually.” Her smile was wan. “Dickie explained that if you haven’t any witnesses, and you say Win fell down the steps, and Win says you pushed him, no arrest can follow. It’s a difference of opinion. Quite the little barrister.”

  “So the trick is to commit my crimes without witnesses. Do you suppose Montague had accomplices when he took that money?”

  Anwen left off tidying a shelf of books behind the desk. “What?”

  “You heard the same evidence I did. Montague had more opportunity than anybody save Hitchings, who has never taken a penny or misstated an expense. Hitchings also has no motive, because if this place closes its doors, he has no job. That leaves Montague, who had motive in the form of designs on Mrs. Bellingham, as well as debts, and endless opportunity.”

  Win’s guilt had been clear to Colin from the moment Win had accused him. Anwen had apparently not reached the same conclusion.

  “Your theory makes sense,” she said slowly. “In his every pontification and threat, Montague’s demeanor supports your version of the events. He’d steal from children, blame others, and think he could get away with it. He’s set it up so he’ll be the victim of unfortunate associations, while he marries me to save me from scandal. I really do hate him.”

  And yet, Anwen hadn’t wanted to accuse even Winthrop Montague of stealing from the children.

  “He hasn’t got away with it,” Colin said, “not yet. His worse offense is upsetting my lady, and for that, he must be held responsible.”

  This time when Colin held Anwen, she was with him, she was present, accounted for, and holding him in return.

  “You cannot call him out, Colin. He’ll cheat, he’ll say his gun misfired, he’ll find a way to take you from me, and see your reputation the worse for it.”

  How fierce she was, how protective.

  “I won’t let it come to that. What was stolen can be retrieved. The banks won’t open until Monday, and Win wouldn’t trust that much money to any of his dear friends. He’ll keep it under his control, and that means I can find it.”

  “You’ll steal from the thief?”

  “I’ll restore the money to those who are entitled to it.”

  Anwen sank her fingers into the hair at his nape. “He’s having you arrested on Monday at the latest unless I agree to marry him, and he’ll make that agreement public on the instant. I can’t marry him, but I can’t ask you to risk hanging.”

  “You don’t have to ask me. Honor demands that I put the situation to rights. Fortunately, I’ve been in Win’s rooms many times, and know the entire house well. Then too, I’ll have the benefit of expert advice before I attempt this adventure. Your job is to make Montague think you’re considering his proposition.”

  She held Colin desperately tight. “I can do that. You’ll consult with the boys?”

  “Who better? They know housebreaking, thievery, all manner of useful skills that a gentleman could never claim but I desperately need.”

  “Be careful,” Anwen said, going up on her toes and kissing him at length. “Be quick, and be very, very careful.”

  * * *

  The door to the conference room was unlocked.

  In the past three weeks, Anwen had become very aware of when a door was locked or unlocked, when a sister was napping one floor above, and when the footmen came around to trim wicks or clean the ashes from the various hearths. Here at the orphanage, with children underfoot, she was usually even more careful.

  Caution was beyond her when Colin planned to embark on nothing less than a hanging offense against the Earl of Monthaven’s household.

  “I can’t stand the thought of you taking such a risk,” she murmured. “If you’re caught, you could well die. A man who steals from his friends and from orphans, who bullies a woman to the altar, will think nothing of perjuring himself to see you hanged.”

  The words were the stuff of nightmares, and yet, all of polite society would name pickpockets as a worse threat to the king’s peace than Winthrop Montague.

  All of polite society would be unforgivably stupid.

  “I won’t be caught,” Colin said. “By Monday morning, the money will be back where it should be, and Montague will look like a fool for going to the magistrate.”

  How confident Colin sounded, and how solid he felt in her arms. Anwen stroked her hands down his back.

  “You don’t have that much money in London, do you?”

  “Nobody with any sense keeps such a sum in private hands.” Colin spoke with his lips against Anwen’s temple. “I could likely raise the cash within a week, but I just strained my immediate resources to accommodate Montague’s last escapade.”

  Of course he had. “I’m too muddled to think. Too angry, too frightened, too—”

  Colin framed her face in his palms. “Hush. If you weren’t worried, I’d fear you failed to grasp the magnitude of the problem. We’ll get through this. You are my bonfire, and the harder the gale blows, the more brightly a bonfire’s flame roars.”

  She tugged him over to the desk, scooted back, and pulled him between her knees. “I’m an anxious bonfire. Love me, Colin.”

  The need to join with him was a confused welter of worry, determination, desire, and hope. Colin could be arrested by this time Monday, the orphanage doomed, Anwen’s family embroiled in scandal, but this moment was hers to share with him.

  “Lass, there’s no need tae—”

  “That was your one allotted gesture in the direction of gentlemanly restraint, Colin. Lock the door and make love with me.”

  His lips quirked, the dimple creasing his left cheek. “When you put it so sweetly, I can only agree.”

  He twisted the old lock, and as he crossed the room, his walk became a prowl. Anwen’s nerves settled, though her heart beat faster.

  “This is battle lust,” he said. “You’re fighting for all you’re worth against an enemy who has no honor, and the blood sings.”

  “The only battle I want to win is the battle for your heart.”

  He stepped between her knees. “Regarding that conflict, I’ve long since surrendered, Anwen.”

  “So did I.” And she was desperate to surrender to him again.

  Colin had reserves of self-control Anwen lacked. His kisses were deliberate, slow and sweet, then hot. His focus was on her, not scattered in a hundred upsetting directions. Gradually, Anwen let herself be pulled into the loving he wove, despite the dusty shelves, the hard desk, and the missing money.

  Despite everything.

  Colin made a respite for her, a haven of soft caresses, tender indecencies—he excelled at those—and growing desire. When he eased her skirts up, and moved his sporran to his hip, Anwen was ready.

  “You do it,” he said, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Bring us together.”

  She wiggled, she scooted, she took him in her hand, and showed him where she wanted him. Then scooted another half inch, and the joining was begun.

  “We’ve never made love in a bed,” she whispered as Colin gently rocked closer. “I want to make love with y
ou in a bed. I want to see your home in Perthshire. I want to learn all about distilling whisky. I want to marry you. I want—”

  He surged forward. “You’ll have what you want, and you’ll have me.”

  She had him until she bit his shoulder to keep from crying out her pleasure; had him until her soul sang with a surfeit of rainbows; had him, until she realized the dampness on her cheeks was tears.

  Colin withdrew, and held her close. “None of that now. I’ll be careful, and Winthrop Montague will rue the day he trifled with his betters.”

  Anwen’s skirts drifted back down over her ankles. She felt calm, hollow, cherished, and terrified all at once. She stayed close to Colin as he finished in a few deft strokes, and then for a few minutes longer.

  “I don’t want to let you go.”

  “You’re no’ lettin’ me go. You’re in my heart, and you always will be. I’ve a few plans to make, and some young gentlemen to consult with, but I should see you home so you can tell your family what’s afoot before Montague beats you to it.”

  The suggestion was like a pail of cold, dirty water tossed on Anwen’s fragile sense of peace.

  “Uncle Percy will be horrified, not only because the money is missing, but also because scandal threatens to touch his family.”

  “Then give me one night, and maybe scandal can be averted before Montague spreads his accusations. If Montague comes to call, intercept him, or at least see that his recounting is accurate while you incriminate him with your every question and aside.”

  Anwen fluffed the folds of Colin’s cravat, which had got a bit wrinkled somehow. “I can do that. You’re good at this.”

  He gave her a naughty smile and put his sporran front and center. “We’re good at it.”

  “Not that, though you’re a very skilled lover. I mean, you’re good at seeing what has to be done, assigning tasks to the person best suited to the job, and planning for success.”

  “Wars are won and lost in preparation as much as battle, and it’s the same with the whisky.”