Scot Under the Covers Read online

  Collecting Loki, he patted the chestnut on the withers and swung into the saddle, heading north and east toward Oswell House. It was nearly scandalous to see himself returning this early in the evening, but clearly he wasn’t much in the mood for another gambling hell tonight. Not unless he wanted to lose his shirt and kilt because he couldn’t pay attention to anything but how damned fetching Miranda Harris had looked earlier, and how something warm and soft had woken in his chest when he’d kissed her. He’d tasted her, and he wanted more. He wanted her.

  Like Robert Vale, he’d found a prize he wanted. Unlike Vale, he wasn’t willing to ruin lives to steal it. Well, one life, aye. But Robert Vale deserved it.

  “There ye are,” Coll said, straightening from one of the gateposts as Aden and Loki trotted up to the Oswell House stable.

  “Why were ye waiting out here?” Aden asked, swinging out of the saddle and handing the chestnut over to Gavin. “Ye ken I’m nae generally back here till much closer to dawn.”

  “I had a thought.”

  Aden lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I can see how that would render ye senseless and send ye out wandering into the dark after midnight, then.”

  “A clever tongue willnae keep me from leveling ye, Aden.” Coll moved between him and the side entrance of the grand house. “What if we convince Matthew Harris that he doesnae wish to be part of this family? He’s young yet, and I imagine if he has any sense, he’s half ready to piss himself at the sight of us anyway.”

  “Ye’d break our sister’s heart, then?” Aden returned, regardless of the fact that he could currently end Eloise and Matthew’s engagement with half a dozen carefully chosen words.

  “If we can convince him to break off the engagement, she willnae be blaming us.”

  “Her heart still gets broken, Coll.”

  “Ye’re suddenly a romantic, then? Did ye get hit in the head?”

  “Someaught like that,” Aden said. “I’ve nae wish to marry an English lass at someone else’s command,” he returned, unable to keep from conjuring a twinkling pair of dark-brown eyes. “But I’d rather reason with Francesca than risk Eloise’s heart because I’m nae willing to risk mine.”

  The viscount blew out his breath. “It’s nae about my heart. Every damned lass I’ve met here would blow over in a stiff breeze. I’ll nae be hung for murder if I try to kiss one.”

  “Ye said ye meant to wed one and leave her behind anyway, so what does it matter if the wind or your mighty kiss topples her?”

  “I suppose it doesnae, but—”

  “Ye’ve changed yer mind.” Aden squinted one eye.

  Coll frowned. “Nae. I—”

  “Aye, that’s it. Ye’ve seen how doe-eyed Niall and Amy are, and ye ken ye could make do with being in love. A shame, then, that all the London lasses reckon ye’re a giant boulder-hurling demon.”

  “I’m a tall man with shoulders wide enough to hold me up,” his brother retorted. “And I’m a Highlander. I could say the same about ye, and lasses arenae running from ye.”

  “Ye were cruel to Amy on the first night ye met her. I dunnae think she’s spoken about it, but there was an entire herd of Sassenach around ye.”

  “I didnae want to marry Amy. I apologized to her. And she found Niall, so there’s nae harm. Hell, we’re all living under the same bloody roof.” Coll’s frown deepened. “Even surrounded by lasses, ye’re as far from being married as I am. I smell the cigar smoke and beer on ye. Ye’ve nae been at some fancy soiree dancing the quadrille. Ye’ve been at one of yer gaming hells, and there’s nae a marriable lass in one of those.”

  Aden jabbed a finger into his giant of a brother’s shoulder. When he was ready to discuss Miranda Harris, he would do so. But that wasn’t tonight. “Ye’re the one least likely to wed, and so I’ll nae be bothering to find a bride until ye’ve secured one. No sense me ruining my life when ye’re going to break the agreement and render us and all of Aldriss destitute.”

  “One of these days ye’re going to clever yerself into someaught ye cannae escape, bràthair,” Coll muttered. “Ye’ll nae be so amused when it’s ye on the gallows with a rope tight about yer neck.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  They walked into the house through the servants’ quarters and the kitchen. Aden paused to request some food be brought up to his bedchamber. Generally, he ate out; at the least he was rarely home while the oven was still warm.

  “Coll, have any of the lords here offered to sponsor ye at a club?” he asked, trying to sound just on the near side of bored, as if he were only trying to make conversation.

  “Aye, one or two. Matthew’s da, Albert, said it would be his pleasure to sponsor me at Boodle’s club, or even White’s. I turned him down. I reckon I’ll be gone from London once and for all by the end of summer, one way or the other. I’m nae keen to make a fool of myself so I can pay to be a member of a place I’m likely nae to see ever again.” He paused as the two of them reached the main staircase at the front of the house. “Why do ye ask?”

  Aden shrugged. “The play at most of the hells I’ve found isnae much of a challenge. I just wondered if there were better players in the clubs, and better games to be had.”

  “Deeper games, ye mean. That’s it, aye? Ye’re nae happy unless ye’re risking yer hide?”

  “I like it better when there’s half a chance I could lose, and when the prize for winning is more than a copper. I can admit to that.”

  “Well, I hear the play at some of these clubs is deep enough to drown ye. Thousands of pounds changing hands. Firstly, ye dunnae have thousands of pounds to lose, and secondly, I’m nae sure what would happen if ye discovered there were people better at someaught than ye are out in the world. Ye might have an apoplexy or faint like a Sassenach.”

  “Ye keep roaring, giant. Me winning a few rolls of the die at hazard might be the only thing keeping Aldriss from falling to pieces, if ye cannae find a wife and the countess cuts us off.”

  “I could find a damned wife tomorrow. Just nae one I can tolerate. Ye look to yer own impending nuptials, Aden.”

  I am. “Aye.”

  Coll was both more clever and less barbaric than what he’d shown so far in London, but he’d begun on the worst foot possible. The Sassenach saw him as a ham-fisted suitor, a great bear amid the delicate flowers of Mayfair. It wasn’t entirely his fault, but the big man had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Rather than admit that he’d felt angry and trapped by the fact that after seventeen years of being as far away from Lady Aldriss as Britain could manage his mother had decided she knew him well enough to select a bride for him, he’d chosen to accept the consequences for his behavior that night at the theater.

  His brother headed down the hallway toward the library, but Aden continued up toward the front of the house. Reading, billiards, cards—none of it held much attraction for him tonight. He needed to think, and he needed to stop imagining Miranda Harris beside him for long enough to figure out how to save her.

  On the main staircase’s landing Rory stood there in his usual regal pose, a new yellow bonnet replacing the green one the deer had boasted this morning. He knew Eloise had taken to decorating the stag, as well, but unless he was mistaken that bonnet had belonged to Jane Bansil, Amy’s cousin and former companion who’d been living with them at Oswell House since she’d aided Niall and Amy’s elopement to Scotland.

  “That’s Jane’s, isn’t it?” a female voice said smoothly from the top of the stairs.

  Cursing silently, he faced his mother as the countess descended the steps to join him on the landing. “That’s what I reckon.”

  “If the girl wasn’t so shy, I imagine I could find her a husband by the end of the week.” His mother sighed. “At least she’s taken with Rory. That’s a first step, I suppose. And speaking of marrying, how is your hunt proceeding?”

  “If Coll manages to make it down the aisle, I’ll throw a flower and marry whichever lass catches it,” he said, starting past her.

  “No one ha
s caught your heart, then?” she countered. “Miranda Harris, for example?”

  As Brògan trotted down the stairs to meet him, he crouched and scratched the spaniel behind the ears. “I reckon there are two lasses in England who’ve caught my heart. That’s enough for any man.”

  “Ah. I assume you’re referring to your sister and your dog, there. But then you’ve declared that Brògan is a male, so perhaps you’re referring to Jane Bansil? My, that would be something.”

  “Dunnae ye try matching me with that lass. She’s got courage, aye, but if I look at her the wrong way it’ll likely kill her.”

  “I would have to agree with that. You might have included me in your list, though. I am your mother.”

  Straightening again, Aden faced the diminutive countess. “Ye helped Niall, so ye’ve won him over. I’m nae as bighearted. Or peace-minded. I recall the fights ye had with Da, and I definitely remember ye nae sending any letters in seventeen years.”

  “I di…” She trailed off. “As you will then, my wild son. The agreement stands. Find yourself an English bride. I will help you if I can. You need only ask.”

  With a nod Aden turned up the stairs, Brògan on his heels. As he reached the second floor, though, he turned around. He didn’t want her damned assistance, but he had a partner out there, and finding excuses to see her and speak to her was complicated at best. “Have ye considered having the Harris family over here for dinner? We’ve all met by now, I reckon, but nae officially. Especially with Mrs. Harris and Miranda being gone from London until last week.”

  Francesca tilted Rory’s bonnet forward a little. “That is a splendid idea. Tomorrow might do; it’s very short notice, but there are no soirees of which I’m aware. You will attend, then?”

  “I’ll attend. For Eloise’s sake.” That sounded brotherly, even if it wasn’t his sister’s face refusing to leave his thoughts.

  It wasn’t just Miranda he wanted—needed—to see. He needed to speak to one of the Harris men. Miranda could teach him about being a gentleman, little as he cared about that, but she couldn’t get him into Boodle’s club. This Season in London, which he’d imagined would be torture ending in a disastrous union made only to keep Aldriss Park funded, had become something else entirely. Something enticing and hopeful and centered on a young lady with a great deal of sense and a very large problem not of her own making.

  For a moment he paused before his bedchamber door. If he’d been a young, poetry-minded whelp he likely would be contemplating riding over to Harris House, climbing through a window, and finding Miranda’s room so he could satisfy this annoying, arousing need to be with her.

  Even practical, and at seven-and-twenty not so very young, it tempted him mightily. Squaring his shoulders, he opened his door and went inside, the dog rushing in between his legs to jump on his bed. He and Miranda had a partnership, an agreement. And when he saw her tomorrow, he wanted to be able to give her more than a tale about how Vale followed his victims to the bank to collect his earnings.

  Ideally, he wanted to tell her that the villain was gone, never to be seen or heard from again. Short of that, he wanted to have a plan, something she could feel safe with, something that could actually set her free. And not just because they were partners.

  * * *

  The maid dragged the hairbrush through a tangle of Miranda’s hair. Then she did it again.

  “Millie, please!” Miranda said, wincing. “I have no wish to be bald.”

  “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Miranda. I just can’t help—he…” She leaned down, putting her mouth next to Miranda’s ear. “He kissed you,” she whispered, “and now you’re to see him again tonight. Your mother said that Lady Aldriss said that the dinner was his idea.”

  Miranda glanced toward her bedchamber door even though she knew for a fact it was closed. Catching her maid’s gaze in the dressing table mirror, she put on a deliberate frown. “You’ve been on about this for nearly a day now. Once and for all, Aden MacTaggert did not kiss me,” she stated.

  “But—”

  “He plays games,” she cut in, pushing away the memory, the eruption of heat and desire when he’d kissed her, the sensation of odd, heightened excitement she’d felt when she’d dared to kiss him back. “He wanted to see if I would remain in his little game,” she said aloud.

  “But he offered a partnership, and you agreed.”

  “Because I didn’t want him to be able to walk away if he decided this was all too difficult for him,” she returned, though even as she said it she had to admit that she couldn’t see him backing away from anything. “Now we are aiding each other. It makes much more sense.”

  Millie resumed brushing. “As you say, then.” From the maid’s tightly compressed lips, upturned at the corners, she didn’t believe a word of it.

  Her skepticism made sense, because Miranda wasn’t all that certain what the kiss had actually meant, either. It had felt electric, and she was still clubbing herself on the head for giving in to that surprising jumble of emotion and sensation and kissing him back.

  Her supposition could well be correct, after all, and Aden had begun looking for a way to make a swift exit before he had to risk anything more than his time. That kiss said something else entirely, but then he was proficient at shuttering his thoughts.

  She hadn’t been able to come up with a reason he continued even to offer his advice, except for his statement that he liked her more than she liked him. Him asking for instruction about how to navigate London had eased her mind somewhat; heaven knew he hadn’t demonstrated much in the way of propriety in the short time she’d known him. He’d actually admitted, aloud, to a desire to read The Adventures of Tom Jones, for heaven’s sake.

  This bargain made their partnership feel … more like a partnership. Like it didn’t rest on him liking her, or on her realizing Aden MacTaggert was much more complicated than she’d thought. At the same time, he’d kissed her. And she’d kissed him, dash it all.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about it even an entire day later. In a way, though, and completely aside from how worrisome it was, she was grateful for the unexpected gesture; for nearly an entire day that silly kiss had claimed more of her attention than her troubles with Robert Vale.

  That couldn’t continue, though, because while Aden was confusing and troublesome, Captain Vale terrified her. The idea of Vale kissing her, of him in her bed, made her stomach roil and her head pound. She needed to find a way to escape.

  And if that meant making a bargain with the troublesome Aden MacTaggert—and if that bargain kept him from ruining Matthew and Eloise’s upcoming nuptials—it was worth it. And it gave her an excuse to have him about without admitting that perhaps he was intriguing. And that his too-long hair suited him. And that of the half a dozen clandestine kisses she’d had in her life, only the last pair had given her goose bumps.

  “What if Mr. MacTaggert tries to kiss you again tonight?” Millie asked, setting aside the brush for a pair of silver hair clips. “In order to further test your resolve, I mean.”

  “I do understand sarcasm, Millie. Please desist. This is to be a family gathering, and he’s to be my brother-in-law. Everyone, especially the MacTaggert brothers, will be on their best behavior. Eloise said having them here with her in London is like suddenly adopting three very large, overly protective lions. They adore her. And she’ll wish for them to make a good impression. We haven’t all met formally until now, Harris and MacTaggert.”

  “Of course, Miss Miranda. I apologize for being forward. He’s just so very…” The maid sighed. “Pleasant on the eyes.”

  Yes, he was that. “And dangerous to everywhere else,” Miranda finished. Oh, he had confidence in spades, to borrow a gambling term. But she needed to remind herself at every moment that charm and confidence only meant that it would hurt more when he reached beyond his grasp. Or if he wasn’t as skilled as he thought himself. In her experience, no one ever was. “Now, what do you think? Will the silver shawl or the brown o
ne go better with the green?”

  “Oh, the silver one, definitely.”

  “I agree. Will you fetch it for me? I can hear Father rumbling about in the foyer already.”

  At least Millie hadn’t commented on the green gown Miranda had chosen to wear this evening. Yes, it was lovely, trimmed with silver beading and a frivolous and exceedingly delicate silver lace overlaying the emerald skirt, but it was also much more fit for a formal evening of twirling about the dance floor and rubbing shoulders with the grandest of the grand. But if she didn’t wear it tonight, she would no doubt be urged by her mother to wear it tomorrow, and she simply didn’t want to debut it on an evening when she would be forced to waltz with Captain Vale. This gown wasn’t for him.

  Squaring her shoulders, she informed Millie that the maid wouldn’t be needed until morning. Then she opened her bedchamber door and made her way down to the foyer. “Good evening, Papa,” she said with a smile, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Ah, the one other Harris who knows how to keep time,” Albert Harris commented, returning the kiss. “I understand your mother wishing to look her finest, though she always does, but I have no idea what’s taking Matthew so long. I believe by now all three of Eloise’s brothers have met and threatened to murder him, have they not?”

  She laughed. “I believe so. Niall may only have mentioned removing a single limb, though I can’t be certain.”

  He nodded. “It’s your first time meeting all of them together, though. Your mother’s as well. Separately they are blunt-speaking in a rather refreshing way. Together they are … a force I should be happy not to have to face across a battlefield. And I include Lady Aldriss in that assessment.”

  Just facing one of them across a table was turning out to be quite tricky enough. “Eloise says they are quite unruly,” she put in, shifting to make room as her mother joined them.

  “That, they are,” Elizabeth Harris agreed with a smile. “But oh, so handsome. Don’t you think?”