“You lout!” Lucinda attempted to straighten herself, shooting dagger glances at everyone.
“Where’s the other?” Alexander asked.
Gregor jerked his head toward the door. Moments later, Dougal entered, shoving a beaten and battered Alan Campbell before him.
Jack’s jaw hardened. “You bloody bastard.”
“Yes,” Lucinda said, smoothing her hair. “He is a bastard. I heard what happened, but I am not a part of it.”
“Lucinda!” Campbell’s face was red.
She ignored him. “I was just passing through. Campbell had reserved a private room, and he invited me to share it with him.”
“Ha!” Fiona scoffed.
Jack had to suppress a grin. She had spirit, his lovely wife. He gestured to the chair beside Lucinda. “Campbell, take a seat.”
“I wish to sta—”
Gregor shoved Campbell into the chair with an audible thud.
Jack walked forward. “Which of you ordered Fiona shot, and why?”
Lucinda fluttered her hands, smiling appealingly. “Jack, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Campbell said nothing, his jaw set.
“One of you shot my wife, or had her shot. I will know who.”
“Ask Campbell,” Lucinda said with a shrug. “He is at fault here, not me.”
Campbell whirled on Lucinda. “Don’t you dare lie!”
Fiona stood. “Lucinda, you know exactly what happened to me. Hamish saw your footman in the woods. He also found this.” She held out her hand. In it lay a golden hairpin.
Lucinda’s hand flew to her hair. “How did—” She caught herself, then shook her head. “That proves nothing. Obviously, someone put that there to implicate me.”
“Perhaps you would prefer to hear the words from your own man’s lips.” Fiona turned to the door. “Hamish!”
The door swung wide, and the huge Scotsman entered. A deep purple wound marked him from forehead to ear. He carried a large sack to the center of the room and dropped it with a thud and an audible “Oof!”
Lucinda had risen when Hamish entered. Now she backed away, her gaze wide. “What’s in there?”
“A rat.” Hamish lifted his huge foot and kicked the sack. A spate of cursing met this. Hamish reddened. “Here, now, ye bloody fewl! Do not be talkin’ such in front of the lady!”
The bag froze in place. “Lady?”
“Aye.” Hamish turned his shaggy red head toward Fiona. “What’s to do now, mistress?”
“Open the bag, but do not let him escape. We must speak with him.”
“Yes, question him,” Lucinda said, breathless but composed, an odd gleam in her eyes. “Ask him whatever you want.”
Jack frowned. What was she up to now?
Fiona gestured to Hamish, who untied the heavy cord that held the sack. Seconds later, a head popped out of the opening. The man tried to lift his arms through the narrow mouth of the bag, but Hamish quickly tightened the ties, creating a noose around the man’s neck.
“Eck!” The man’s face reddened, his eyes bulged.
“Easy ’ere, ye maggot,” Hamish said calmly. “Ye can speak when ye’re spoken to and not before.”
Fiona swayed a bit, and Jack swooped her into his arms and carried her back to the settee.
“Jack, there is no need. I was just a little light-headed, and—”
“You’ve done too much already. You should be in bed.”
“No! I must see this through.”
He saw the determination in her eyes, and he nodded. “Very well. We will see this through.” He ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “Just as we will see to the birth of our baby.”
Lucinda’s laugh tinkled like shards of glass. “Oh, stop it, Jack. Everyone knows you were forced into your marriage. That she abducted you and poured whiskey down your throat and made the priest accept your vows by pretending to be with child.”
Alexander’s hands fisted. “Watch what you say about our sister, witch!”
Fiona reached for Jack’s hand and held it to her cheek. “She is right. We pretended I was already with child, so no one would demand an annulment. But now it is the truth.”
“Good God,” Campbell said, his face even more pale. “I didn’t know.”
Lucinda stood stiffly by, her jaw set, her eyes blazing.
“Aye,” Jack said, his gaze fixed on the two with dark intent. “My wife is soon to be a mother. And whichever of you intended her harm should thank the lord above you didn’t kill her.”
Lucinda drew herself together. “I would never harm anyone, especially not a woman with a child. Ask my man who gave him his orders. I am certain he has the information you seek.”
Jack said, “Hamish, make the coachman sing for us.”
Hamish obligingly tugged on the noose he’d made. The man in the bag choked, then blurted out, “What th’ ’ell do ye want of me?”
“Did you shoot the lady?”
The man’s gaze flickered to Fiona, then away. “I—I—I—”
Hamish gave the rope a sharp tug.
“Gawd!” wailed the man, choking. “I’ll tell ye! I’ll tell ye! I only did what I was tol’ to do!”
“By whom?”
“By Campbell!”
Fiona’s brothers boiled over toward Campbell as one.
Campbell stood, his chair toppling over. “I never told him to do anything! I swear it! Lucinda is the one who gave the orders!”
“Halt!” Jack said, throwing up a hand, his gaze still on the coachman. “There is more to this. What exactly did Campbell tell you?” he asked the coachman.
“H-he said to follow the carriage and shoot the lady from the brush when I could.”
“And kill her?”
The man’s weasely eyes flickered to Lucinda for a second, then away. “I do as I’m tol’.”
“You lousy excuse for a human!” Gregor snapped. “I should—”
“Leave him,” Jack said quietly. He walked up to the man and stooped so that his eyes were level with his. “You know that I could have you hung with the information you have already given me.”
The man gaped. “Yes, but—I was tol’ to do it! I was tol’ to—”
“Aye. And see how the person who sent you to do this deed is now protecting you.”
The man’s gaze flickered behind Jack and then back. “I don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about.”
“You just admitted to shooting my wife. There is not a magistrate in the world who would not hang you. Especially with such august witnesses.” He stood. “Alexander, Hugh, Gregor, Dougal, would you testify against this blackguard?”
“If we did not kill him first,” Alexander snapped.
Outside, thunder rumbled.
The coachman glanced at the stormy sky and paled.
Jack looked at Campbell. “And you? Would you testify against him?”
“Aye, though he lies about my giving him orders!”
“And you, Lucinda?” Jack asked, his voice softening. “Would you testify against this miserable excuse of a man?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I do not know why you would need my testimony when so many others are available.”
“Answer the question. Will you testify to what you just heard? That this man shot my wife?”
Lucinda looked at her coachman, whose gaze was locked upon her face, his expression intent.
She swallowed.
“Well?” Jack asked, moving to stand between the two of them. “Will you?”
Her lips thinned. She tossed her hair, anger blazing out. “Yes, damn you. You know I will.”
“Argh!” The coachman lunged forward, straining against the rope around his neck, his face twisted with fury. “You tol’ me to shoot her! You tol’ me to kill her!”
Hamish restrained the man with difficulty, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Easy, muttonhead! Ye about cut yer own throat!”
Jack asked, “Perhaps you have more to say now?”
br /> “Aye! ’Twas Lady Featherington as gived me the orders,” the man spat. “She even came to watch. She said if we were caught, we were t’ blame it all on Campbell. ’Tis the only reason she brought him with her!”
Every eye turned to Lucinda.
“You bitch,” Jack said with quiet fury. “I suppose you also planted the thistle under Fiona’s saddle. Why did you do this?”
She paled but said nothing.
“A woman scorned,” Alexander said, his fingers flexed around his sword.
Lucinda flicked a look of utter disdain toward the lot of them. “I am not such a fool.”
Campbell said, “I don’t understand any of this. We had an agreement. We were just going to break up the marriage, cause problems to refuel the feud. She would get her revenge for being humiliated. I would gain the land that rightfully belongs to my family.”
“All of this for some property?” Jack asked.
Campbell’s cheeks heated. “Aye. I was trying to restore to my family what they had lost. I—I never thought Fiona would be harmed or—”
“Oh, for the love of God.” Lucinda’s bored voice cut through Campbell’s plea. “Be a man, for once in your life.”
He colored hotly. “You are poison. I wish I’d never met you.” He turned to Jack. “I owe you and Lady Kincaid an apology.”
“You owe them more than that,” Lucinda said significantly.
Campbell froze.
“You owe them Callum’s life.”
Alexander’s hands balled into fists. His gaze locked with Campbell’s. “You…you killed Callum?”
Slowly, Campbell sank back into his chair. “No. But I saw—”
Gregor started forward, but Alexander caught his arm. “No. This we’ll leave for the constable. There has been enough bloodshed.”
“Please, Gregor,” Fiona added quietly. “Not for us but for Callum. He would not have wished you to dirty your hands.”
Gregor turned and walked away, staring out the window with unseeing eyes. Thunder cracked overhead.
Hamish tugged on the coachman’s noose. “Shall I take this weasel away now?”
“Aye,” Jack said. “And keep him tied well.”
Hamish unceremoniously shoved the man back into the bag, then tightened the noose once more, giving the bag a good kick when it began to thrash about.
The bag went still, and Hamish hefted it over one shoulder. “I’ll hang ’im in the stables and watch over ’im with a pitchfork. If ’e so much as sneezes, I’ll poke ’im.”
Alexander grunted his approval.
“I’m off to the stables, then. Lord Alexander, keep yer eye on this one.” Hamish looked at Lucinda with disgust. “She’s the worst ’un in the bunch.” He lumbered from the room.
Jack looked at Lucinda, burning to give her the same pain she’d caused Fiona.
“Well?” Lucinda’s mouth curled in a sneer. “What now? Will you turn me over to the court? If you do, there will be a huge scandal, and your precious wife will pay the price.”
Jack’s hands flexed into fists. God, what he’d give to—
Fiona’s hand slipped into his, her fingers warm and trusting. He looked down at her, some of his anger cooling, then turned back to Lucinda. “We are going to turn you over to the magistrate and let justice have its way.”
Lucinda’s smile slipped a notch. “There will be talk.”
Jack shrugged. “There always is when the MacLeans are involved. Besides, my wife and I will not be in London to hear any rumors. We are moving to Scotland, so that we may share our child with Fiona’s family.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “But you love London.”
“You belong here, my love. And I belong where you are. Now and forever.” Smiling, he gathered her into his arms. “In fact, we should discuss our new home.”
She placed her arms around his neck. “New home?”
“You don’t think we’ll live with your brothers, do you?” Jack glanced at them. “No offense intended.”
“None taken,” Alexander said bluffly. “We’ve barely room for ourselves as ’tis.”
“Aye,” Gregor said, grinning reluctantly. “’Tis too small even for us.”
“I’d rather not have my nephews and nieces running about under my feet,” Hugh said. “It would interfere with my fun with the upstairs maid.”
“Aye,” Dougal said, a smile in his eyes. “I’d rather not have to watch the two of you kissing on each other. Makes it hard for a man to keep his appetite.”
“There you have it, my love,” Jack said. “We would make your brothers ill if we lived in their house.”
Fiona smiled shyly at him. “I suppose you are right; we must build our own.”
Jack pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled. Finally, he’d discovered the secret of having a home. It wasn’t the place, or the time, or the people who lived in this city or that. It was the person you shared your life with.
And with Fiona, he knew that their house would be all the home he’d ever need.
Don’t miss
the next exciting
Hurst Amulet novel
from New York Times bestselling author
Karen Hawkins
A MOST DANGEROUS PROFESSION
Coming October 18, 2011 from Pocket Books
CHAPTER 2
Moira MacJames placed two coins on a black velvet cloth. She squinted at the second one, then lifted it to the light. “Athenian, but—” She tilted it to one side. “Ah. Just as I thought.”
“A fake, hmm?”
She jerked upright at the deep, masculine voice, her gaze flying straight ahead to the ornate gilded mirror above the table. Instantly, she found herself looking into the dark blue eyes of Robert Hurst.
Her heart pounded in her throat as her gaze traveled over him. His fashionable coat was smooth over his broad shoulders and cut to reveal a narrow waist, while well- fitted trousers were tucked into ornate riding boots that encased long, powerful legs. He was wearing his black hair longer now, and it fell over his brow, emphasizing his eyes.
“How are you, Miss— Oh, it’s Mrs. now, isn’t it?” His voice and eyes mocked her.
Her cheeks burned and she struggled to calm her scattered thoughts. Damn it all, he knew I’d be here. But how? Until two weeks ago, I didn’t even know that.
The desire to run for her horse had to be tamped down. If she wished to escape from this man, she’d need a good head start and a lot of luck.
If there was one thing Moira was very good at it was judging the best way to make an escape. She not only had a talent for it, but also plenty of practice.
The first step was to keep him from knowing how much she wanted to run. She turned and gave him a smooth smile. “What a surprise to see you here.” She gestured to the artifacts lined up for display. “Among dusty treasures, just like old times.”
“Actually, it’s nothing like old times. For one, I now know who— and what— you are.”
She quirked a brow. “Bitter?”
“No, no. I’ve merely become a realist, my dear.” He leaned gracefully upon an ornate silver- handled cane, his expression cool. “You can’t be surprised to see me; I was invited to the sale.”
Robert wouldn’t carry a cane without a purpose. A hidden sword, perhaps? “I knew you’d be here. I just didn’t think you’d arrive before the doors opened.” At which time she’d be long gone, her pockets lined with a few particularly sellable pieces. Since she hadn’t found the object she was searching for, she’d have to settle for something else to make her time worthwhile.
“I take that to mean that you planned to leave by the time I arrived. It’s a good thing I came early.”
Blast you, Robert. How do you always seem to know my intentions? I hate that. “If I had planned to leave, no one would blame me, since you were so unpleasant the last time we saw one another.”
“Me?”
“You had me arrested.”
“You were a spy and pretended to
be Russian royalty. What else could I do?”
“I wasn’t spying. I was simply collecting information about some business ventures for a foreign investor.”
“Who was gathering information to manipulate the market and devalue our currency. And the information you passed on was stolen right from the desk of the Home Office. If you hadn’t escaped you’d have gone to prison, and you know it.”
“But I did escape, so there’s nothing more to be said about it.” Yet she thought about it frequently— especially the way Robert had coldly turned her over to the authorities, as if he hadn’t cared for her one iota.
She reached down for the small velvet-lined box that sat on the table. “Would you like to examine some of the items? These coins are quite rare. They’re Athenian.”
“And fake.”
“One of them.” She picked up the one in question. “It’s an ancient fake, just as old as the original, which gives it value on its own.” She caught the flicker of interest on his face.
“Rare, indeed. Not unheard of, but very unusual.”
She held out the coin in the palm of her hand. “The condition is astounding.” He sauntered forward, produced a monocle, and regarded the coin.
He was so close, the scent of his soap tickled her nose. Like him, it was sophisticated, masculine, and elusive. The fragrance sent her memory tumbling back to a time when she’d held those broad shoulders, straddled his powerful thighs, and lowered herself onto—
“Fascinating.” His deep voice sent a shiver straight through her. He turned his head so that his gaze was level with hers. “How much is the opening bid?”
Her fingers closed over the coin, aware that her nipples had betrayed her, beaded in anticipation. How can he still affect me like this? It’s been years. This won’t do at all.
She turned and replaced the coin, then stepped to one side to put some space between them. “If you wish to bid on it, you should begin low. Most collectors won’t recognize the value of a fake that is this old.”
“Trust me, I know the value of a good fake,” he returned drily. “Better than most.”
Her cheeks heated, and she forced herself to look away from his eyes. Her gaze took in his French cuffs, and the immaculate stitching of his coat. Many men used corsets to fit into their clothing, but Robert was blessed with an athletic body that didn’t require such measures. She knew that body far, far too well.