Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  James caught the fear beneath the civil reply and wanted to enfold her in his arms and assure her no one would ever again do her harm.

  His heart chilled.

  He would never be able to hold her close. She belonged to another man.

  Chapter Nine

  The carriage stopped in front of Annabelle’s home and nervous tension knotted her stomach at the prospect of facing her parents. Lord Ruthven opened the door. She caught sight of the bright light that spilled from the mansion and drew a sharp breath. Lord Ruthven’s head snapped in her direction. Her cheeks heated. His gaze sharpened, then he glanced out the door and looked back at her. His expression had melted into neutrality, but she knew he understood her consternation. The only reason there would be so much light was because the entire house was roused.

  Lord Ruthven jumped from the carriage. Annabelle exchanged a glance with Lena, then Lena took the hand he extended toward her. She stepped from the carriage, then Annabelle followed.

  “Courage, my lady,” Lord Ruthven said. “They will be relieved you are safely home.”

  “Then they will lock us in our rooms,” Lena muttered. “And rightfully so.”

  They started up the walkway and got three steps when the front door opened. Annabelle started at seeing her older sister standing in the doorway.

  “Mother,” Josephine called. “She is here.”

  Annabelle exchanged a startled look with Lena as Jo hurried down the steps.

  “I knew I heard a carriage arrive.” She reached them and her eyes widened. “My God, Annabelle—” She looked at Lena. “Lena.” Her brow furrowed. “What has happened? Are you all right?” Her gaze cut to Lord Ruthven and her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

  “This is Lord Ruthven. He saved us—well, he and Mr. Benning.”

  “Mr. Benning,” Jo repeated, and looked at the driver.

  “That is Michael,” Annabelle said. “Mr. Benning is dealing with Lord Harley.”

  “What happened?”

  Josephine’s demand was cut off by her mother’s cry. “Annabelle.” She nearly ran down the steps. She reached Annabelle and pulled her into a hug, then hugged Lena. “Where have you been?” Her brows drew down. “What happened?” Her gaze swung onto Lord Ruthven. “Sir, what are you doing here with my daughter?”

  Annabelle laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “Mother, perhaps it is best if we go inside and discuss things.”

  For an instant Annabelle thought her mother would demand to hear all right then, but she gave a curt nod that made Annabelle’s stomach churn harder. They went inside to the drawing room and Lord Ruthven remained standing while they sat.

  “You may begin by telling me why you look as though--” Lady Montagu’s gaze locked onto Lena and she shot to her feet. “Lena, you are bleeding.

  “It looks much worse than it is, Aunt,” Lena said.

  “Come here.” She stepped around the coffee table as Lena rose and brushed past Josephine, then stopped beside Annabelle’s mother.

  Lady Montagu carefully examined the gash above her temple. “Sit down,” she ordered, then crossed to the door and tugged the bell pull. She faced them. “Lord Ruthven, you will explain.”

  “Mother—” Annabelle broke off when her mother sent a cutting look her way.

  Josephine gave Annabelle’s hand a comforting squeeze.

  “My lady,” Lord Ruthven began, but the door opened and Graham stood in the doorway.

  “Graham, please have Dr. McKinley sent for.”

  “There is no need for a doctor,” Lena said.

  “Please do as I say. Send for Dr. McKinley,” Lady Montagu said. “Have tea brought in. Also, please send Roger to Baron Morgan’s home to find out where the marquess is. He and Nicholas need to be informed that Annabelle and Lena are safely home.”

  Annabelle’s heart fell. Her father and Josephine’s husband had launched a search for them. What was her father going to do once he learned everything that had happened? She started at the realization that Lord Ruthven’s eyes were on her hands, which were twisting the fabric of her dress.

  “Oh, and please see to Lord Ruthven’s driver.” Her mother looked at the viscount, brow raised. “He is your driver?”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  She looked at Graham. The butler angled his head in acknowledgment and left. She resettled on the couch, then looked expectedly at Lord Ruthven. He began his story, and Annabelle listened in shock as she learned of his suspicions that Lord Harley had killed four women, one of whom Annabelle knew. The tea came. Her mother poured and served, and paused in setting a cup before Lena when Lord Ruthven said, “If I am correct, the jewelry in the tin box belonged to some, if not all, the four women Lord Harley murdered.”

  “My God,” Josephine breathed.

  “How did you come to rescue the girls?” Annabelle’s mother asked.

  “Lord Harley took an interest in Miss Morgan,” he replied. “I assigned Mr. Benning to watch her home. We saw Lord Harley force Lady Annabelle and Miss Summerfield into his coach, and followed.”

  Josephine’s grip on Annabelle’s hand turned fierce when he told of how they found Lena, then how he came upon Annabelle being attacked by Lord Harley.

  Her mother sat down again, and her tea remained untouched. She listened, her expression grim.

  “I feel certain the contents of the tin box will convict Lord Harley of the four murders,” Lord Ruthven said.

  “Not to mention his abduction of Annabelle and Lena,” she said. “Where is the earl now?”

  “Mr. Benning took him to the magistrate.”

  “We know Henry quite well. If Carson doesn’t arrive soon I will send a message that he is not to release the earl. My husband told me how you found Annabelle snooping in Lord Harley’s study. I assume that is what started this chain of events?”

  Annabelle gasped and jerked her gaze onto Lord Ruthven. He’d betrayed her.

  “Do not blame him for telling us,” her mother said. “Rifling through a man’s property is serious business. Your father and I were going to speak to you about the matter when you returned from Miss Morgan’s party. We could never have imagined you would nearly get yourself killed between then and now.”

  Tears pressed against Annabelle’s eyes and she feared she would embarrass herself by blubbering like a little girl.

  Rapid bootfalls sounded in the hallway. Annabelle tensed and, in the next instant, the door burst open and her father entered, followed by Josephine’s husband. Annabelle gave a small gasp when Calum stepped into the doorway behind them.

  His gaze locked onto her. “Lady Annabelle.” He took a step forward, then seemed to catch himself and stopped.

  Annabelle caught the look that passed between Josephine and Nicholas, but had no time to try and decipher its meaning.

  “Everyone is well?” her father demanded.

  Footsteps echoed behind them and the two men turned as Graham ushered in Dr. McKinley.

  Annabelle’s father looked sharply at Lady Montagu as she rose. “What happened?”

  “Nothing serious, Carson. Lena has a small gash on her temple.”

  Her father’s eyes darkened. “What is your part in this, Ruthven?”

  “He saved the girls,” Annabelle’s mother said.

  “Just as you saved my wife and daughter last night?” he snapped.

  Lord Ruthven gave a stiff nod. “Aye, my lord.”

  “Perhaps they wouldn’t have needed saving if not for you.”

  “It is more likely we wouldn’t have needed saving if not for Annabelle’s curiosity,” her mother said. Her father glanced uncertainly between Annabelle and Lord Ruthven, and her mother added, “Dr. McKinley, your patient is here.” She gestured toward Lena, who rose and crossed to them. “Graham, please take them to Carson’s private study.”

  Patient and doctor left, and Annabelle wished mightily that she could leave with them. But she had no wound with which to garner sympathy. Calum still stared as if he wanted to sc
oop her up and whisk her away...just as Lord Ruthven had done when he saved her from Lord Harley. A strange tremor radiated through her. The viscount had put himself in harm’s way to save her. She’d been terrified, had fought him, but when she heard his voice, she’d wanted him to wrap his arms around her as he had the night before in the garden and never let go. Annabelle started from her thoughts. Lord Ruthven was again recounting what had happened, while Calum still stared.

  Lord Ruthven finished and Annabelle’s father wrote and sent a message to the magistrate that commanded him to hold Lord Harley until he had heard Lord Ruthven’s story.

  “It seems I owe you a great deal,” her father said to Lord Ruthven.

  The viscount gave a deferential cant of his head. “You are welcome, my lord.”

  Calum stepped forward. “I, too, must offer my deepest thanks. I can never repay you for saving Lady Annabelle.” He extended a hand.

  Surprise flickered in Lord Ruthven’s eyes. He accepted Calum’s hand, if a bit stiffly, and shook. Annabelle realized Lord Ruthven wasn’t accustomed to being in the company of a marquess—two marquesses, counting her father.

  “Tomorrow I will speak with Henry. Ruthven, you will be there for the meeting, I assume?” her father asked Lord Ruthven.

  “Aye, but first I will speak with the families of Lord Harley’s victims. I wish to identify the jewelry.”

  Annabelle’s father shook his head. “I have known Monroe for over thirty years. I still cannot believe he is a murderer.”

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” Annabelle said.

  Her father’s expression cleared and he looked at her. The smile she’d grown accustomed to played at the right corner of his mouth as it always did when he softened toward her. He opened his arms and she rose and rushed to him, heedless of the room’s other occupants. He enfolded her close and she felt more like ten than twenty.

  “I am sorry,” she mumbled into his shirt.

  “As you should be,” he replied.

  Annabelle drew back, locking gazes with him. “It was all my fault. Lena warned me.”

  “Someone always warns you.”

  She nodded and he released her. She caught Calum’s gaze, his expression drawn. He’d been worried. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, that he deserved a better wife. She slid her attention left, where Lord Ruthven stood staring at her. Her cheeks warmed. Calum shifted and she started when he looked from her to Lord Ruthven.

  “Annabelle, perhaps you should retire for the evening,” her mother said.

  Annabelle looked sharply at her mother. “Yes, of course.”

  “I will have bathwater sent up.”

  Annabelle nodded. “Thank you, Mama.”

  She started toward the door. When she neared Calum, he said, “May I have a word with you, Lady Annabelle?”

  Annabelle couldn’t prevent a glance at Lord Ruthven before nodding. “Of course, my lord.”

  He reached the door before she did and opened it, then followed her into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

  Annabelle turned to face him, but he cupped her elbow and led her several steps from the drawing room door before stopping.

  “I am sorry,” she blurted.

  “How in God’s name did you get embroiled in this, Annabelle?”

  Annabelle winced inwardly. As always, he spoke with deference, but she heard the worry in his voice.

  “I wanted to know what Lord Harley buried.”

  “Your mother mentioned you being in his private study with Ruthven.”

  “Oh no, I wasn’t with him. He, too, was snoop—er, in Lord Harley’s study, and when he saw me there, made up an excuse to get me safely away from the earl.”

  “What excuse did he make up, Annabelle?”

  She blinked. “Why-well, that he and I...”

  Calum’s mouth thinned. “And your father said he saved you and your mother last night. What was that about?”

  Blast his brain. He never missed a thing. “On the way home from the party last night we encountered highwaymen.”

  “Highwaymen?” he burst out. “I knew I should have escorted you home.”

  “We had no way of knowing what would happen,” she said.

  “Yet Ruthven was there.”

  “Coincidence. Nothing more.”

  “Just as it was coincidence that he was in Lord Harley’s study when you were there, and he was watching Miss Morgan’s home when you were kidnapped. My God, Annabelle, you were kidnapped, and by your appearance, very nearly killed.”

  Lord Ruthven had recounted saving her from Lord Harley, but he hadn’t given details and she hadn’t been asked to elaborate.

  “Lord Ruthven explained why he was at Miss Morgan’s home,” she said.

  “Yes, I heard every word. What you don’t seem to realize is that in the last day he has been there every time you have been in need.”

  She stared. Was he jealous?

  He shook his head. “I am sorry, Annabelle. I have no right to be angry with you.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “But you do. I shouldn’t have entered Lord Harley’s study and I shouldn’t have gone to the arboretum to investigate.”

  “You could have told me you thought something was wrong with the earl.”

  She smiled gently. “That’s just it. I didn’t think anything was wrong. I was simply nosy.”

  “Why did you not tell me highwaymen attacked your carriage last night?”

  “I-I didn’t think of it.”

  Hurt appeared in his eyes.

  “I did only see you for a few moments at Miss Morgan’s home. We only said hello before you left with her brother.”

  “I would have stayed, if you’d asked.”

  “I know, but that wouldn’t have been the time or place, would it? I am a ninny. I admit it. But I do understand that a private conversation such as that should be just that: private.”

  “Then you intended to tell me?”

  She wanted to answer yes, but she’d never been a good liar. Her hesitation clearly said enough.

  He nodded. “I see.”

  “My lord—”

  The door to the drawing room opened and her mother stepped into the hallway. She glided to them. “It is time you go to bed, Annabelle. Tomorrow we will be seeing the magistrate.

  Chapter Ten

  James stared out the window of the hackney and released a breath. Only two days had passed since Lord Harley’s arrest and James was in no mood for the party he was supposed to attend.

  The chief magistrate didn’t agree that the jewelry in the tin box proved Lord Harley killed the four women, but he couldn’t deny the earl had kidnapped Miss Summerfield and Lady Annabelle. An official investigation and trial would follow, but Lord Montagu intended that Lord Harley spend the rest of his life in prison.

  Some piece of the puzzle was still missing, though. James had found no proof that Harley was The Inverness Butcher. If the murders stopped, that should satisfy him that the earl was the infamous killer. And it mattered not whether Harley hung for murder or kidnapping, so long as he hung. But the lack of evidence bothered James. Not because he feared Harley wasn’t the Butcher, but because something told him it mattered. He’d been grappling with the mystery of the missing piece for the last two days, but to no avail. He had no clue as to what it was that bothered him.

  The hackney stopped and James silently cursed. He’d accepted the invitation for the afternoon party a month ago. Long before he’d brought Lord Harley to the magistrate—long before the damn article appeared in the gossip sheets about Lord Harley kidnapping Miss Summerfield and Lady Annabelle.

  James had spent enough time in the company of polite society to know they would never let pass such a juicy story. That morning, half a dozen gentlemen stopped him and inquired about the details of the kidnapping. By one o’clock that afternoon, he’d given up trying to get any business done and went home. This, he knew, was but the beginning.

  If James ever learned who at the magis
trate’s office sold the story to the newspapers he would shoot the miscreant. The magistrate denied the possibility that anyone at his office told the newspaper, and James half wondered if the man wasn’t responsible himself. He was furious that Montagu had insisted on Lord Harley’s arrest and James wouldn’t put it past the magistrate to sell the story out of spite.

  The carriage started forward again and James spent the next fifteen minutes racking his brain for a good excuse to send his regrets to the host, but lying wasn’t his forte. How did a new viscount refuse an invitation from a duke?

  The carriage slowed to a crawl and James pulled back the curtain. Carriages lined the street. Minutes later, they arrived at His Grace the Duke of Brodrick’s home. James opened the door as the driver alighted, and caught sight of two other carriages parked at the curb. He stepped to the ground and scanned left and right, then grimaced. Carriages lined the streets for three blocks in both directions, and he glimpsed additional vehicles on the side streets. To the devil with making excuses. The duke would never miss him. James turned and grasped the door handle.

  “Lord Ruthven.”

  James froze. It couldn’t be.

  “Lord Ruthven.”

  It was. How was it possible that of all the people he would encounter it would be Baron Morgan? James released the handle and turned.

  The baron approached with his wife on his arm and his daughter beside him.

  James gave a slight bow. “Good afternoon, Baron. Lady Morgan. Miss Morgan.”

  “My lord,” Lady Morgan said in unison with her daughter.

  The baron stopped near him “May I have a word with ye, my lord?”

  James gritted his teeth. He should have stayed home. “Aye.”

  The baron looked at his wife. “Go on ahead.

  The ladies left and James started forward with Morgan alongside.

  “The Chief Magistrate visited me this morning,” the baron said. “He told me he’s arrested Lord Harley. He also told me ye suspected his attentions had turned to my daughter.” Morgan clasped his hands behind his back. “I spoke with my daughter. Lord Harley promised her he would marry her.”