Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  “Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but she has ye wrapped around her finger.”

  Montagu laughed. “I pray I live long enough to see you have daughters.”

  James had no intention of allowing his daughters to run wild. But he would argue that point later. “We must find Lady Annabelle and the other ladies.”

  “They may be on their way home,” Montagu said.

  James looked sharply at him. “I pray they do no’ intend to walk.”

  Montagu lifted a brow. “Nicholas will escort them home.”

  “Come, Mr. Benning.” James started toward the door.

  “I am coming with you,” the marquess said.

  James glanced at Benning, who shrugged.

  Twenty minutes later, they reached the outskirts of town. They went first to Mrs. MacBain’s home. Annabelle had left half an hour ago.

  Mrs. MacBain wrung her hands. “I swear, my lord, Lady Annabelle promised me she would no’ walk home again.”

  “But ye have no idea where she went?” James demanded.

  “She said she was going to the inn.”

  “Thank ye, Mrs. MacBain.” He started to turn from her door, then stopped and turned back. “How is young Ally?”

  “Better. The doctor saw her again this morning. Ye need no’ trouble him again.”

  “He will come again to be certain she is truly well. Do no’ fear, Mrs. MacBain, ye are not wrong for asking for help for your family. Do you understand?”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I do no’ want your children sick again,” he said.

  She bobbed her head. “If ye say so, my lord.”

  “I do.” He strode to his horse and vaulted into the saddle.

  When he found Lady Annabelle, he planned to have a very long talk with her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Annabelle lifted her gaze from the knife Lady Copeland gripped to her face. “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, dear. I plan to kill you.”

  “My sister and cousin will be here any moment—along with my brother-in-law.”

  “They will not arrive in time.”

  Annabelle suddenly understood. “You helped Lord Harley murder those women.”

  Lady Copeland snorted. “He helped me. Monroe was a coward at heart. That is why he pushed ladies from balconies. So unimaginative. I, on the other hand, am an artist.”

  Annabelle’s heart thundered. “Sane people call you a murderer.”

  “You repeat yourself.” She lunged.

  Annabelle dove to the floor. Fabric rent and she pictured the knife slicing through the chair upholstery. Lady Copeland screeched in fury. Annabelle rolled away from the chair, then leapt to her feet. She yanked up her skirt and seized the hearthside poker as Lady Copeland launched herself at Annabelle.

  Annabelle swung the poker. The iron hit Lady Copeland’s skull with a sickening thud. She spun with the force of the blow and slammed into the wall beside the hearth. She slid downwards, a trail of blood marring the wall. Annabelle held onto the poker and backed up, watching Lady Copeland’s motionless body.

  Bile rose in Annabelle’s throat. She whirled. Burning tears blinded her. Her skirt caught beneath her boot. She stumbled, dropped the poker and grabbed for the chair, but she and the chair crashed to the floor. She shoved upward. Something heavy crushed her to the floor and knocked the air from her lungs. Annabelle rolled over and came face-to-face with Lady Copeland.

  * * *

  James strode alongside Lord Montagu and Lord Grayson. Lady Grayson, Miss Summerfield, and Mr. Benning followed. None of them had seen Annabelle since morning. If not for Mrs. MacBain’s report, he would be out of his mind with worry.

  They entered the inn, and the innkeeper showed them to the room where Lady Annabelle awaited her family. A loud, muffled grunt and the clatter of dishes caused James to shove past the innkeeper and fling open the door. He froze.

  Lord Grayson, Montagu, the ladies and Benning crowded behind him.

  Lady Annabelle said, “You are late, my lord.”

  James started. “What?”

  “To save me,” she panted. “I would have welcomed your help five minutes ago. As you can see—” she nodded to the unconscious woman she straddled, “—I saved myself this time.”

  “Saved yourself?” James blurted. “It looks as if ye barely escaped with your life.” His heart raced in panic.

  She shrugged. “I am not as skilled a fighter as you.” She lifted the teapot she gripped. “I did the best I could.”

  James started forward, and Montagu and Grayson trod on his heels. James reached her first and pulled her to her feet, away from Lady Copeland.

  “She can’t be left unchaperoned for more than five minutes,” Lady Grayson said.

  “And to think, you wanted to send me to France with her, Uncle,” Miss Summerfield said.

  James looked at them as if they’d lost their minds. Then he glimpsed a butcher knife on the floor near the hearth.

  “Is that knife yours, my lady?” He turned her and pointed to the knife.

  Lady Josephine and Miss Summerfield gasped.

  Lady Annabelle shook her head. “That belongs to Lady Copeland.” Her eyes swung to his face. “Oh, my lord, she said it was she who killed the ladies, not Lord Harley.”

  James looked at Lord Montagu. “We have the evidence we need to convict Lady Copeland of attempted murder.”

  “Are you unhurt?” her father demanded.

  “This was not my fault, Papa. I was here, just as I promised I would be. Lady Copeland came here.”

  “Proof enough as to why you should take my suggestion, Lord Montagu, and lock her up at home,” James said.

  Lady Annabelle scowled. “I beg your pardon. It isn’t my fault she intended to kill me.”

  He grasped her other arm and began scanning her body for wounds. “She didn’t harm you?”

  “Please, sir.” She tried to twist free, but he held firm. “I am fine.”

  The blood on her dress didn’t seem to be hers. “You are unharmed?” he demanded.

  Yes, quite unharmed. Lady Copeland is remarkably inept. I can’t think how she killed those ladies.”

  “Ye do not want to know,” he said.

  Her face paled. “No, I believe I don’t.”

  “I am going to put an end to your escapades, Lady Annabelle.” He looked at Montagu. “My lord, I ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. It is the only way to ensure she stays out of trouble.”

  The ladies cried out and the marquess raised his brows.

  * * *

  Annabelle took a faltering step back, but Lord Ruthven still gripped her wrist.

  “My lord, would you call the magistrate?” he said. “I need a word with your daughter.”

  “Aye,” her father said.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said. “You will not talk about me as if I’m not here.”

  He pulled her toward the door.

  “I do not wish to talk to you,” she said. “And I certainly am not going to marry you.”

  He didn’t stop, and she stumbled along rather than be dragged.

  “Father, you cannot let him drag me away like this. Nick!” she cried as they passed through the doorway.

  “If he gets out of hand, hit him with a teapot,” Lena called.

  He stopped at the next room down and opened the door. The room was empty. He pulled her inside.

  “Lord Ruthven,” she began as he closed the door, “I—”

  He faced her. “I cannot afford a large wedding. There is always Gretna—though in Scotland there is no need to go so far. The nearest parson will do.”

  “Gretna?” she repeated. “Parson? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Aye. After all, I am proposing marriage to you. But that is beside the point.”

  “If you think marrying me is insane, why are you asking? Never mind. I have no intention of marrying you.”

  He nodded. “I understand. I am not wealthy like Northin
gton. But I will work hard. Ye will want for nothing.”

  “I am not such a ninny as to fall for that. I do not pity you and I care nothing for wealth.”

  “You prefer a more handsome man?”

  Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “You are handsome—as you well know. Lady Elliot and Miss Fletcher are not blind.”

  He grasped her shoulders and pulled her close. Annabelle’s pulse sped up. “Ah, so ye noticed,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes. “I do have eyes, and I am a woman.”

  “Aye, you are.”

  He slid a hand into her hair and cupped her neck.

  “My lord,” she began, but his mouth covered hers.

  Her knees went weak and she grasped his arms. He drew her closer. Her body melted against his contours. A tremor rippled through her when his tongue flicked her lips. Annabelle opened for him, feeling strangely weak. He groaned. The sound startled and thrilled her. Tentatively, she touched his tongue with hers. His hold tightened. Her head reeled. Warm and sweet. This is what a man was supposed to taste like.

  He broke the kiss and hugged her close. “When I saw you straddling Lady Copeland…”

  Her heart swelled. He feared for her life. He cared.

  He leaned away from her and met her gaze. “I wanted to paddle your bottom. That was the most foolish things ye have done yet.”

  Annabelle blinked. “What?”

  “She had a knife.” Before Annabelle could reply, he added, “Will ye ever learn not to take risks.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I would say the risk is marriage.”

  He barked a laugh. “Aye. That it is.” He studied her. “Are ye up for the challenge?”

  “I fear I am too much of a risk for you, my lord.”

  “You will no’ be taking as many risks while married to me, lass. I will insist on that.”

  “So you would lock me up?”

  “That would make life easier. But ye would only pick the lock.”

  “What of romance?” Annabelle asked.

  “Romance?”

  Ah, she had him. “You are not wooing me, my lord.”

  A speculative gleam lit his eyes. “Wooing, ye say?”

  She shrugged, then took a startled step backwards when he dropped to one knee.

  “I love ye, Lady Annabelle—”

  “Annabelle,” she corrected. Her heart beat fast. “A man in love, proposing marriage, is not so formal.”

  He smiled gently. “I love you, Annabelle. I am a humble man, but I promise to do my best to make ye happy.”

  “I am liable to drive you insane, my lord.”

  “James,” he said.

  “What?”

  “A woman about to accept a man’s marriage proposal does no’ address him as ‘my lord.’ She calls him by his Christian name. My name is James.”

  “You are sure I am about to accept.”

  “It is my greatest wish that ye will,” he said.

  She sighed. “You did promise to be my friend.”

  “I will be much more.”

  Annabelle smiled. “My best friend, perhaps?”

  He rose and grasped her hand. “Aye.”

  “Then I suppose I must marry you.”

  ###

  Table of Contents

  Lord Keeper

  To Tame a Highland Earl

  The Highlander’s Improper Wife

  My Highland Love

  My Highland Lord

  Lord Grayson’s Bride

  Lord Ruthven’s Bride