Scandal in Scotland (11 page)

“You’re going to trust me with the secret your blackmailer holds over your head?”

She nodded.

“How do you know I won’t use it to ruin you?”

“Because that’s not your way.” She spoke simply and with an assuredness that surprised him.

Marcail raised a brow. “Well?
Would
you tell my secret if I shared it with you? Especially if you knew it could hurt others, far more innocent than I?”

He wouldn’t, damn it. “Perhaps not,” he replied grudgingly.

“I don’t think you would. William, when I give you that box, my family will pay the ultimate price, not me.”

“Your family? You told me you were an orphan. That your father was a blacksmith and—”

“I know what I told you,” she interrupted. “It wasn’t true. None of it was. My parents are very much alive.”

Anger, hurt, and bitterness sat upon his shoulders and whispered into his ear. “Why would you deny them?”

“Because I wanted to protect them from what I’d become.”

He frowned. “An actress?”

She nodded, her cheeks flushed. “I should have told you, of all people, but it wasn’t my secret to share. My parents and my sisters need me and—”

“Sisters?”

“I have four.”

“Damn it, was there
anything
you told me that wasn’t a lie?”

Marcail looked down at her hands. She’d been truthful about a lot of things when she’d been with William. She’d shared her dreams, and her desires, and her love … the only thing she hadn’t shared with him had been her past. “Before I came to London, I knew that I had to protect my family. The only way I could do that was to never mention them. Not even to you.”

His dark eyes flashed. “It’s no concern of mine.” He leaned forward and said in a silky-soft voice, “I don’t give a damn.”

Tears stung her eyes. She’d known he would be angry, but she’d hoped that time would ease the pain for both of them. “William, I’ve told you what you need to know, so there’s no sense in dredging up the past. It can’t be changed. Besides, we have enough problems today.”

“We wouldn’t have these problems if you had been honest from the beginning. Once your blackmailer demanded the artifact, you should have come directly to me and explained what had happened. Then perhaps I would have helped you.”

“I tried to do that!”

“When?”

“When I came to your cabin to fetch the artifact, I told you that I was being blackmailed. I-I’d hoped you would help me, but you were so cold.” Her gaze locked with his. “You told me in no uncertain terms that you
wouldn’t
help me.”

“I didn’t know what was at stake.”

“That would have made a difference?” She leaned forward. “
Really
? Because from where I sat, that wouldn’t have mattered one iota. You were determined to get rid of me no matter the cost.”

“At first, perhaps, but I could have been persuaded to assist—”

“I saw your expression, William. You didn’t care what happened to me; you just wanted me gone.”

She had a point; that was exactly how he’d felt. “Do you blame me?”

“No. I feared you wouldn’t help, so I added the potion to the port before you returned. I gave you a chance to change your mind, but you refused to even listen.”

Bloody hell, she is right. I didn’t give her a chance
. “I didn’t trust you.”

“So I drugged you.” Her lashes flickered and she said in a quiet voice, “I’m very sorry for that.”

He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “So what will you do about this blackmailer now? Unless I assist you, you will be stuck with him for the rest of your life.” William couldn’t believe the direction of his thoughts; the last thing he should do was offer his help, and yet, she couldn’t keep on paying funds to the blackguard; no matter what she paid, he would always ask for more.

Then and there, William decided he would help Marcail out of her predicament, and not just to keep her from being bled dry. He would help her because it pleased him that this was something she didn’t wish to take to Colchester, but to him. It would also be a good idea to find out who ultimately wished for the onyx box and why. “I will help you bring this blackmailer to justice.”

Marcail wasn’t certain she’d heard William aright. “What could you do?” She caught herself holding her breath, waiting for his answer. She desperately wanted his help. She just couldn’t bring herself to admit it aloud.

A smug smile touched his mouth. “There hasn’t been a blackmailer yet who could withstand me.”

He was so unabashedly certain he could manage the issue that for a wild, mad moment, the desire to put her problems into his large, capable hands was almost overwhelming.

The coach rumbled to a stop, and she realized with surprise that they were at the inn.

“We will finish this conversation inside.” William opened the door and assisted her to the ground, holding her elbow instead of waiting for her to take his hand.

The wind whipped about them, and Marcail tugged the cloak closer against the cold night air.

William had turned to say something to Poston when a luxurious, blue-trimmed coach started forward and began to move through the inn yard, the same one Marcail had seen arriving at the inn earlier.

As the coach passed, a woman leaned forward to close the window, her green eyes meeting Marcail’s.

Marcail suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Miss Challoner
. The lady was no frail flower of womanhood, but an Amazon built on tall, statuesque lines, her beauty defined by her bold, sensual mouth.

Something about the woman—her regal bearing or her rich clothing—made one think of long lines of queens. Her red hair upswept and fastened with a diamond clip that mirrored the flash of her green eyes, she projected an almost unconscious power.

Marcail knew she should alert William but she couldn’t move, her surprise and trepidation turning her into an ice statue.

Miss Challoner lifted a hand in a languid wave, then the window snapped closed.

That brought Marcail back to life, and she turned and clutched William’s sleeve.

He looked down at her, frowning. “What?”

Marcail pointed to the road, where the faint clop of horses receded into the dark night. “Miss Challoner! She was in the coach that just left!”

He spoke to Poston and almost immediately, the groom jumped back into the coach and hied the horses.

William turned toward her. “I don’t know if John can find the coach in the darkness, but he will do his damnedest to discover her direction and then return for us. I hope he—”

But Marcail had already hiked her skirts and, oblivious to the danger of running on the uneven cobblestones in her stockinged feet, dashed toward the inn.
Please God, don’t let it be gone. Please don’t let it be gone!

A letter from Michael Hurst to his sister Lady Caitlyn MacLean, written from a tent on an oasis in the Great Desert
.

I’ve enclosed two wooden tops for my rowdy nephew and spirited niece. I trust they are doing well. Last week I saw two children playing in the Nile, both chubby in the way that children are, and laughing that deep belly laugh that only the innocent can.

I don’t know which is more telling about a soul, their laughter or their tears. I suspect the latter, but hope for the former.

         
C
HAPTER 10

W
illiam ran up the stairs after Marcail, his boots thudding on the plank steps. He found her bedchamber door ajar and Marcail kneeling beside the bed, digging underneath it.

He winced at the destruction in the bedchamber. Whoever had been here had been thorough. The chair had been overturned, the cushions ripped and the goose down stuffing tossed about. Every drawer in the dresser had been removed and left in a mishmash stack near the doorway. The mattress was flipped to one side, the sheets and blankets on the floor.

He scowled at the mess. “Bloody hell.”

Marcail rocked back on her heels, her face pale. “William, it’s gone.” She raised stricken eyes to his. “I thought it was safe under the false bottom.”

Bitter disappointment rippled through him. “At least your worries are over. The artifact is on its way to the blackmailer.”

She winced. “William, don’t—”

“Don’t what? Don’t worry that once again that damned box has eluded my grasp? Damn it, Marcail, this is my brother’s
life
we’ve been talking about.”

“I understand that!” She sank upon the edge of the bed. “What do we do now?”

He wished he knew, his blood boiling at his lack of options.

Furious, he stalked about the room, kicking the goose down out of his way. It puffed into the air, then drifted back down to the floor. “I should have known not to trust you to put the damned thing in a safe place.”

She stiffened. “This isn’t about trust and you know it. It’s about the artifact and who stole it. Maybe Poston will find out where she went, and we can catch up to her.”

“This Miss Challoner.” William stopped in front of Marcail. “Tell me everything you know about her.”

“She’s very tall, a good six inches taller than I am, with red hair.”

“What else?”

“She’s very regal appearing in the way she moves and dresses.” Marcail grimaced. “I used her as my model when I played Lady MacBeth. It worked very well.”

“How fortunate for you,” William said drily. He raked a hand through his hair. “What else can you tell me?”

“Not much. She’s uncannily good at making certain no one follows her.”

“Perhaps it’s not her, but her coachman.”

“No, for she doesn’t seem the type of woman to wait for someone else to save her.”

Marcail expected William to sneer at her evaluation, but he nodded as if considering her words. “That’s good to know.” His gaze fastened on her. “There must be some reason behind all of this. When did your blackmailer first make contact with you?”

“I received the first letter a little over a year ago.”

“Sent by post?”

“No. It was put inside a book I had left in my carriage.”

“Your servants perhaps—”

“I thought of that, so I let them all go. Colchester was not happy about it.”

“
All
of them?”

“Yes. It was difficult, but I had to protect my family and it was the only way to make certain the blackmailer wasn’t inside my own residence.”

“But the demands didn’t stop after you changed the household staff?”

“If anything, they increased. The letters just show up; sometimes they’re in the mirror frame in my dressing room, sometimes they’re tucked into my reticule, or left on the seat of my carriage. The last one was under a plate on my breakfast tray.”

“Inside your own house?”

“Yes. That frightened me.”

“It should have. You said that until now, all of the demands had been for money.”

“Yes.” Her gaze darkened. “And I paid it all.”

William noted the steely note in her voice. “This family of yours must be something indeed, that you’d protect them even though it costs you so much.”

She met his gaze directly. “My career has cost me more than you could ever know.”

He wondered briefly if she meant that her career had cost her their relationship, then decided that couldn’t be it. Her greed alone had done that.

He waited, but she didn’t offer any more information. Though it was irrational, it hurt that she still refused to share her past without prodding.

The noise of an arriving coach sent him to the window. He pushed aside the curtain. “John Poston is back.”

Her shoulders slumped as if she bore the weight of the world. “He couldn’t find her.”

“Care to wager on that?” William lifted the window and leaned out. “Poston!”

The groom, who had already climbed down and was yelling for the postboys, looked up. “Aye, Cap’n! She took the North Road. She has a light coach and four. While our coach is heavier, we have a six-horse harness.”

“We could catch her, then.”

“Yes, Cap’n. She may be faster in the short term, but if we have a stronger team we can wear hers down. The only problem is finding a fresh team. Ours is already worn.”

“Are there any horses to be had?”

“The stable here is too small to be of much help, but the innkeeper says most people lodge their horses down the street at the Bull and Bush.”

Marcail bit her lip. Her carriage, horses, and coachman were at the Bull and Bush. She owned a prime set of horses, too. She had to do
something
to help. She pushed beside William and leaned out the window. “Poston, I have six excellent horses at the Bush and Bull. Tell my coachman, Burghman, that I sent you and that he is to assist you in any way possible. If he questions you, send him here and I’ll explain things to him.”

Poston’s gaze flickered to William, who nodded.

Marcail withdrew from the window and looked around the room. “It will only take me a few minutes to pack and be ready to leave. I’ll need some—”

“Stand down. I’m not taking you with me.” William shut the window as if that settled everything. “I will travel faster without you.”

“Nonsense.” It felt right; she was certain that this was the proper direction for her to take.

She began picking up her garments, shaking the goose down off of each one. “I have only the trunk, my portmanteau, and a smaller case. It will all fit on the coach roof.”

“Marcail, you are not going.”

“You have to take me with you;
I’m
the only person who can identify Miss Challoner.”

“There can’t be that many tall redheads in England.”

“No, but she headed north. Once she gets to Scotland, redheads will be plentiful.” She tossed some of her gowns and chemises onto the bed.

William crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you had to return to London.”

“I do, but surely we’ll catch up to her within hours.”

“I’m not so certain. She has the benefit of knowing where she’s heading. We could be chasing this woman for several days.”

“Then I shall write and inform the theater that I will be late returning. They’ll wait for me.” She gave him a calm smile. “They have to;
I’m
the leading lady.”

She expected him to be pleased by her support, but he appeared annoyed. “Why in the hell are you doing this?”

“I suppose I feel responsible, since I stole the artifact to begin with.” Somewhere along the way, she’d gotten so focused on her goals for her family that she’d lost her moral compass. “Furthermore, I can’t keep paying this blackmailer. He is obviously far more unscrupulous and dangerous than I realized, as evidenced by his attack on your ship. He must be stopped.”

William’s jaw tightened. “You think that’s who set the fire?”

“Who else had anything to gain?” She began to sort through an assortment of shoes the thief had dumped in a pile. “I think Miss Challoner and her minions knew you were here trying to regain possession of the artifact, and she used the fire to draw you away and give her time to recover it herself. If she waited until you were onboard, you could have sailed away with it.”

He didn’t agree but he didn’t disagree, and she was encouraged by that.

She placed her last pair of shoes in the bottom of the empty trunk. “The time has come for me to confront Miss Challoner and whoever she takes her orders from, and I’d rather do that with you than alone.”

Before he could object, she added, “Come, William. Admit that having me along would be beneficial. I’ve allowed you to use my team. Surely that shows you how sincere I am in this venture.”

“They are Colchester’s, not yours.”

“No,” she said sharply. “I purchased that team myself.” She paid for many of her own possessions. It wasn’t necessary and it made Colchester grouse, but it allowed her some independence.

She shook out her best pelisse, a sage wool trimmed with bronze silk ribbons, and frowned when she noticed a footprint on the hem. She brushed it and then hung it on a peg by the door. “Well, William, what do you say? Will you take me with you or do you prefer to chase every red-haired woman in Scotland?”

He scowled. With his dark look, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and tattered clothes, his feet planted as if he stood upon a ship, he could have been any handsome pirate from a Drury Lane play. “You’re a foolishly stubborn woman.”

Her chin lifted, but before she could reply he threw up a hand. “I don’t want you to go, but … damn it, you make a good point.” He let out a sigh that was more of a growl. “Pack your bags. I’ll give you twenty minutes, less if Poston returns sooner with that team.”

She sent him a glowing look that made his breath catch.

William hated that she could still ignite such heat in his traitorous body.

Anger edged his voice as he replied coldly, “It makes sense that you should come along. You started this and you’ll finish it.”

He stalked toward the door. “Pack. I’ll send someone for your things.”

She nodded and started to turn away, her shoulder brushing his sleeve.

William didn’t know what made him reach for her. Perhaps it was the way her loose hair revealed the delicate line of her neck; or perhaps it was how her lips turned down in faint disappointment, a sight that tugged at him though he tried to deny it.

Whatever it was, he pulled her firmly against him, surprising her.

She tilted her head back to see his face, her eyes wide. “William?”

“Just a word of warning, my little liar: I am in charge of this expedition and what I say goes.”

She arched a brow, but shrugged. “Fine. You can be in charge if it makes you feel better.”

“It does. And when we recover the artifact, it is mine and you are not to get grandiose ideas of stealing it for your own benefit. Are we clear on that fact?”

She jerked free of his hold, her eyes flashing with indignation. “I would never do such a thing.”

“We shall see.” He turned toward the door and left.

Marcail fought a very unladylike urge to stomp her foot. With a low growl, she marched to the door and slammed it. She went to turn the key, but it was gone.

Muttering under her breath, she turned back to her things. In a satisfyingly short time, the small trunk and portmanteau were neatly stacked in the center of the room.

A soft knock sounded on the door. At her call, the door opened and the porter stood in the doorway holding a bucket of steaming water.

“I was asked t’ bring ye some fresh water, miss. Is the washbowl broken?”

She glanced to one side of the dresser where large pieces of glass announced the broken pitcher, but the washbowl was intact.

The porter set down the bucket and fetched the bowl and replaced it upon the stand, finding the cake of soap and some towels in the process. He tsked as he rearranged the items on the stand. “It’s a heavy bowl, miss. I daresay whoever ransacked yer room couldn’t break it, though he tried.” He poured the hot water into the bowl. “I’m sorry this happened, miss. We’ve ne’er had such behavior here at the Royal Hotel before.”

“I’m sure you haven’t. Please thank the innkeeper for the water.”

The porter headed for the door. “Oh, ’twasn’t Mr. Clabber who ordered the water, but the captain. He said ye helped fight the fire at the quay and would want to wash. Do ye need anythin’ else, miss?”

“No, thank you. That will be all.”

The porter closed the door and Marcail swiftly removed her gown, chemise, and stockings. She washed as well as she could. The warm water was blissful, the feeling of once again being clean making her sigh with happiness. Though the water and soap stung her raw hands, she staunchly hurried through it.

It was so kind of William to send her the water. She didn’t understand the man at all.

Shouting arose in the courtyard along with the tramping of horses’ hooves. She hurriedly pulled on new stockings and slipped her chemise over her head. She’d just tied it when she heard William’s voice at the bottom of the stairs.

She quickly twisted her hair into a knot and pinned it in place, then reached for her gown. She yanked it over her head and was attempting to lace it up when a sharp knock echoed on the door. Before she could answer, William stalked in.

She spun around, her ties forgotten. “Blast you, William! What’s the point of knocking if you’re just going to storm in?”

He gave her a wolfish grin, his dark hair damp, water droplets sprinkled on a multicaped overcoat that was susprisingly fashionable.