The Marquess's Scottish Bride

by Lauren Royal

  She felt another jab and tug on her arm, and the tears flowed faster. Not from the pain, though…

  Oh, aye, from the pain. The pain that weighed heavy as a brick in her chest. The pain in her heart.

  It wasn’t long at all before the surgeon knotted the thread and cut it with a knife. He tied a bandage around her arm to protect his handiwork. Then, mindful of his patient’s distress, he collected his things quietly and went to Jason. “Go to Hampstead Wells and ask to see Dorothy Pippen. She sells medicinal water.”

  “My thanks.” Jason pressed a few coins into the surgeon’s hand and followed him to the door, closing it softly behind him. Cait put her arm back in her sleeve and tightened her laces.

  “There.” Jason came close and patted her shoulder. “It wasn’t so bad, after all, was it? And now it’s done.”

  She shook off his hand. She couldn’t bear his touch. Not when she knew they’d reach London tomorrow and go their separate ways, with nary a regret on his part. Only pride, she imagined, that he’d kept her where he wanted her, ensuring his successful, unimpeded capture and murder of Geoffrey Gothard.

  Oh, it was not to be borne! Despite a heroic effort to rein in her emotions, she rose and wandered away in tears. Her hand went into her pocket and found the miniature of her brother.

  She pulled it out and stared at it, drifting to the window, where she could see the picture better in the failing light. Her thumb caressed the glass that protected Adam’s familiar face.

  Adam. Where was he? Though Lord Darnley’s wedding wasn’t until Friday, Adam might well be in London by now. Maybe she would find him tomorrow, and when she saw him, her world would be set to rights. Her plans would be back on track, and she wouldn’t feel as though her life were so out of control.

  Adam. Dear, familiar Adam. She gazed at his oval face, his wheaten hair, his hazel eyes. All just like hers. The foppish outfit he’d posed in, all velvet and ribbons and snowy linen, brought a smile through the tears. So unlike herself and Da, but typical Adam.

  “Who is that?” Jason asked from behind her.

  “Adam,” she said louder, feeling better just saying her brother’s name. She had a goal—a worthy goal—and at last it was within reach. So close. “Adam. My brother.”

  When she turned to look at Jason, his face was whiter than Adam’s lacy cravat.

  “What is it, Jase?” She’d never known a man to faint, but he looked as though he might keel over at any second. “Is something amiss?”

  “Yes.” He blinked and shook his head. “No. No.” He drew a long breath, and his lips curved in a forced smile. “You’re tired. Let me go downstairs and bring up some supper. Then I’ll pay Dorothy Pippen a visit and get you the water.”

  Cait’s hand went to her amulet. “I don’t need special water. And I’m not hungry. Just stay with me, all right?”

  His gaze skittered away. “I must at least make some inquiries and see if I can find out where we need to go tomorrow. Where Scarborough lives, I mean.” He made as though to reach for her, then pulled back. “Sleep well. I’ll be up later.” With a distracted kiss to her forehead, he left her to go to bed.

  Alone.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  GASPING, HE checked his momentum, but not in time. His silver blade flashed, sliced in, sending a shiver up his arm. The man before him crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood pumping into the dirt. His eyes stared unseeing at Jason… hazel eyes… Emerald’s hazel eyes… Caithren’s hazel eyes…

  Caithren’s brother’s hazel eyes.

  His heart racing, Jason let out an anguished yell as he awakened. He curled up on the bed. His breath heaved. He couldn’t recall what he’d eaten for supper, but it felt like it were about to come back up.

  “Jason?” Caithren leaned over him, patting his shoulder uncertainly.

  He moaned. His head pounded from overdrinking last night—something he never did—and a frustrated dampness squeezed from beneath his clenched eyelids.

  Dear heavens, he’d killed her brother.

  She would never accept him, never love him, never stay with him, never marry him. As though killing an innocent man hadn’t tainted him enough, the man had been her brother.

  With all his might, he wished she’d really been Emerald. He would still love every stubborn inch of her, and he might have a chance with Emerald. Emerald would understand the driving need for justice that had turned him into someone he didn’t recognize. Emerald would understand the way killing, even unintentional killing, changed a person.

  But Caithren…sweet, provincial Caithren…

  She wouldn’t.

  And he’d killed her brother. Her brother. How could he expect her to forgive him, when he couldn’t even forgive himself?

  He couldn’t tell her the truth.

  He had to tell her the truth.

  “Jason?” Her hand jiggled his shoulder, spiking the pain in his head. Not that he didn’t deserve it. Slowly he rolled over and gazed up at her.

  “Was it the nightmare again?”

  He nodded.

  Her lovely hazel eyes filled with compassion. “It will go away when you know who he was.”

  “I—”

  He broke off. Words simply failed him. He needed to tell her…

  But how?

  Concerned, she leaned closer, sweeping sweat-damp hair from his forehead. Flowers of Scotland overwhelmed him. She was close, so close. He could almost taste her—

  No, he couldn’t do this. Not this time, not this way.

  He needed to tell her.

  He couldn’t tell her.

  Not telling her was a lie.

  But though he knew he’d pay for the lie, he couldn’t seem to find the words.

  Still she moved closer…

  CAIT KNEW THE moment he gave in.

  He pulled her closer, bringing her mouth down to his. His kiss wasn’t angry or hesitant—instead it was sweetly cherishing. It seemed as though the whole of his attention was focused on that kiss, as if, for that moment, nothing else existed in his world.

  The sheer intensity frightened her. She’d wondered if the magic of that stormy night was repeatable, but now she was afraid to learn the answer.

  If it were yes…how would she ever find it in herself to leave him?

  Not that he would ask her to stay.

  The truth brought a pang to her heart. But then he rolled and took her with him, and she ended up in his bed with him gazing down at her, his eyes deep green in the hazy dawn light.

  “Jase…” She wrapped her arms around him, her hands ranging all over his back, and he kissed her again, kissed her until she found herself a melting mass of sensation. And still he kissed her.

  A long while later, he sighed and moved his lips to her forehead. “Your arm?”

  “It’s fine.” She drew back enough to smile into his clear green eyes. “You made me forget all about it.”

  He grinned, then groaned as his gaze wandered to the now-bright window. “We’d best get some breakfast and ride into London to warn Scarborough.”

  “Aye,” she agreed on a sigh.

  “Say it again.” Smoothing the hair off her face, he kissed her softly. “My name.”

  She frowned. “Jason?”

  “The other.”

  “Oh.” Her heart swelled. “Jase.”

  “It sounds right from you, sweet Cait,” he said before claiming her lips once more.

  FIFTY-SIX

  “NUMBER TWELVE. Is that it?” Two hours later Caithren indicated a brand new three-story house at the edge of St. James’s Fields. “Crivvens, but Scarborough lives well. No wonder Adam aims to be his friend.”

  Adam. The man’s name made Jason’s gut twist. Swallowing hard, he helped Cait down—mindful of her arm—and tethered their horses.

  “Someone else is here,” she said as they started up the gravel drive. “Or rather, leaving.”

  A fat-bellied gentleman with an unfashionable brown beard turned from the town house’s front doo
r and headed down the steps. Jason nodded at him, but the man didn’t acknowledge the gesture, avoiding his gaze as they passed.

  “Who do you suppose that was?” Jason muttered as the man hurried away.

  Cait shrugged. “Why does it matter?”

  “I don’t know. Just a feeling.” The same niggling feeling he’d had when the Gothards were close by. Shaking it off, he led Cait up to the tall, imposing door.

  Their knock brought an aging maidservant to answer. She bobbed a curtsy, her gray curls bouncing beneath a dainty white lace cap. “My lord?”

  “I’ve a matter to discuss with Lord Scarborough. Of some urgency.”

  “Cuds bobs, you’re the second in as many minutes. As I told the other gentleman, Lord Scarborough has left town. He’s expected back just in time to attend Lord Darnley’s wedding tomorrow.”

  “That’s where Adam will be!” Caithren said excitedly.

  Frowning, Jason waved her off. “Who was the other man?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” the maid said. “He didn’t introduce himself.”

  The niggle returned. “Could he have been Geoffrey Gothard?”

  Caithren made a sound suspiciously like a snort, and the maidservant let out a short bark of a laugh before composing herself. “Not hardly. You wouldn’t be asking that if you’d seen him.” She brushed at her apron. “Mr. Gothard won’t be showing his face around here, in any case. Not if Lord Scarborough has any say in the matter.”

  “He won’t be showing his face,” Jason repeated under his breath. The man hadn’t looked him in the face, either. “Have you an address to reach Lord Scarborough?”

  “No, my lord, we do not. Lord Scarborough will be here tomorrow. That is all I have to tell you.”

  “I sent him a very important letter last week.” His arm stole around Cait’s waist. Had it been but a week since he’d met her? Eight or nine days, if he was remembering right, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. “Might you know if Lord Scarborough received it?”

  The older woman’s expression was implacable. “I’m not privy to Lord Scarborough’s personal matters. And his secretary went with him.”

  Knowing he’d get no more out of her, he sighed. “I thank you.”

  “My lord.” With a curtsy, she shut the door in their faces.

  Dejected, he stood there a minute, then turned with Cait to head back to their borrowed horses.

  “I wonder if the other man learned more,” she said.

  “He could hardly have learned less. But I cannot shed the feeling that man might have been Gothard, or maybe Wat, or—”

  “Have you eyes in your head?” A giggle burst out of her. “It wasn’t Geoffrey or Wat.”

  “It could have been someone they hired.”

  “It could have been anyone. Do you know many of Lord Scarborough’s acquaintances?”

  “None,” he admitted.

  “Then it could have been a friend. Or a merchant. Or a solicitor. And even if it were someone the Gothards hired, you just said the man didn’t learn any more than we did.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Judging from that maidservant’s attitude, neither will anyone else.”

  “True enough. Which means no one will learn where to find Scarborough today, any more than we have a clue where to find Geoffrey Gothard.”

  Maybe she was right. Sometimes a niggle was only a niggle. “Well, I hope Scarborough got my letter, in which case he’s already been warned. But on the chance he didn’t, I’ll come by here again tomorrow.”

  “We can do it on the way to the wedding.” Toward the end of the gravel drive, her feet slowed, then stopped. “If you’re willing to take me, that is? Of course, I could go on my own, but…”

  A wave of guilt washed over him. “I’m willing to take you anywhere,” he said quietly, coming around to face her.

  She had no reason to attend the wedding, and he needed to tell her so—soon. His moment of reckoning couldn’t be postponed much longer.

  Scarborough’s red-brick town house loomed behind her, reminding him that he’d be bringing her to his own town house next—and then she’d discover the truth. How much longer could he hold her affections? Before she could see the trepidation in his eyes, he yanked her to him for a kiss, right there in the lane.

  A charming little yelp of surprise escaped her throat. His lips clung to hers for a long, melting, desperate moment, a moment so sweet it made him ache, knowing he wouldn’t get to kiss her many more times. Knowing he had to hurt her.

  Their time was coming to an end. He had to explain that her beloved brother was dead and he was to blame for it, shattering whatever fledgling love she might feel for him. He ought to pray her feelings weren’t strong, that her heart would emerge relatively unscathed—although his certainly would not. Surely learning she’d never cared much for him would be better than seeing her heartbroken.

  But it didn’t seem better.

  One more day. Despair made him grasp at the thought—he could keep her for one last day. A day remained, and a night too, before her brother was expected in town.

  It would be the most bittersweet day of his life, but for her it would be the most magical. He would make it so, no matter the cost to him personally. Before he confessed the truth and drove her away forever, he would give her one good memory of him to take with her.

  He broke the kiss. “Cait, I…”

  “Hmm?” Her eyes were a glazey blue. Such trusting tenderness shone from their depths.

  A weight settled in his chest.

  The time had arrived to come clean with it all. Part of the truth she would learn today, and the rest—the painful part—in the morning.

  With effort, he mustered a grin. “As I said, sweet, I’d love to take you anywhere. Would you like to attend a ball tonight?”

  Her face brightened with a spark of excitement. “A ball? A London ball? I never thought…” Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know there’s a ball tonight?”

  “There’s a ball in London every night,” he said dryly.

  “And you can gain entrance?”

  Her skepticism prompted a smile. “I think I can manage to get us in.”

  “Aye,” she said so slowly he could almost see the gears turning in her head. Her gaze swept over what she doubtless considered his nobleman’s costume. “That maidservant assumed you were a lord. You’re a master of disguises,” she proclaimed with a grin. “It would be a grand adventure. An impulsive, grand adventure. Am I making you impulsive, Jase?” Her eyes sparkled turquoise, the shade he’d decided meant she was happy.

  If only he could keep her so.

  “And Adam might be at a ball. He must be in town already.” Glancing down at her now-bedraggled gown, she lost some of the sparkle. “I’ve nothing clean enough to wear.”

  “My sister keeps gowns at our town house. One of them should fit you well enough.”

  “You have a town house?” Her eyes clouded with confusion. “But—”

  He distracted her with a big, smacking kiss, then took her by the hand. “Yes, I have a house here in town. Come along, and I’ll show you.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  “I’VE NEVER seen so many people!” As Caithren and Jason jostled their horses through the teeming streets, she found herself astonished at the city called London. It seemed to sprawl forever, building after building crammed together. The streets were clogged with animals, vehicles, and pedestrians. Gaudy signboards hung overhead from heavy wrought-iron brackets, appearing to block the air and the sun.

  “London stinks,” she added. “And it’s so noisy!”

  Street vendors cried their wares from every corner and in between, making mundane goods like matches, rat poison, and razors sound colorful and exciting. Customers clustered to purchase eatables and drinkables of every sort from the criers’ laden barrows. In a span of less than a minute, Cait’s ears were assaulted with invitations to buy hot eels, pickled whelks, asses’ milk, and a singing bird. In the midst of the deafeni
ng hubbub, performers danced on stilts to the beat of tambourines.

  Above it all, she heard a man singing lustily to a gathering. Dazed, she stopped to listen. “What is he doing?” she asked when Jason noticed she was missing and rode back to her.

  “Teaching them new tunes. He’s a ballad seller.” A carriage squeezed by, nudging his horse up against hers. “When he’s finished, they’ll buy sheets with the words for half a pence.”

  Caithren was amazed. Songs were old, passed down through the generations. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a new song. “What if they cannot read?”

  “Then they’ll memorize the words. Running patterers sing news ballads to report murders and executions. But this fellow is selling the latest popular songs.”

  A flower girl strolled by with a basket over one arm, reciting a list of her posies in singsong rhyme. Bewildered, Cait shook her head. “How can anyone think in this city, with this din? Does anyone get anything done?”

  Jason laughed, and they rode on, weaving through the tumult. She followed him around a corner and onto a street bordering a busy parkland. When he stopped before a large, four-story brick house, she was confused. “Is he tired?”

  “Who?”

  “Hamish. Your horse. Why are we stopping?” Looking around, she glimpsed a vendor hawking fat brown sausages in the grassy square across the street. “Oh, of course. You’re hungry.”

  Jason laughed again. “We had breakfast not two hours ago.” He slid off his horse and lifted his arms to help Caithren down from hers. “No, I’m not hungry.” His hands still resting lightly at her waist, he took a deep breath. “I…have something to explain to you.”

  She stared up at him. “Aye?”

  Releasing her, he swept the red wig off his head and finger-combed his hair. “I’ve been less than completely honest with you, and—”

  At the same time a liveried stableman rounded the corner to take their horses, one of the brick home’s double front doors swung open. A tall, thin butler poked his nose out. “Lord Cainewood—what a surprise.”

  He couldn’t possibly be as surprised as Caithren was when Jason answered to the name. “Yes, Goodwin, I’ve found myself in town for a few days. I apologize for failing to send word.”