The Scot. Lyn Stone

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      No cause to believe a wife would react any differently than the rest. He liked women and they seemed to realize that. He also knew better than to love them. He’d made sure they understood that, too.

      He had loved his mother, of course. Yet he had remarked what love had done to him and to his father. That man had suffered like the damned in his efforts to please a wife who gauged success by possessions and how many people she could impress by showing them off. Ten years after their deaths, James and the entire clan were still reaping the results of his mother’s love of wagering and her extravagant spending. And his, as well, he admitted.

      The last four years of their lives, James himself had made a remarkable dent in the family fortune, gaining his useless education and traveling to acquire the polish of a worldly young noble like the ones his mother admired. He had foolishly believed that improving himself in such a way might gain him her approval, if not her love. Maybe she would point to him with pride one day, he’d thought at the time.

      The guilt over that conceit and the cost of it ate at him constantly, even though he hadn’t known at the time how dire the state of the family finances. Well, this marriage and his new position could go a long way in making up for that bit of foolishness.

      “Are you an optimist?” Eastonby asked him as if reading his mind.

      James rolled his eyes at the thought. “Hardly.”

      “Neither am I. But I do think you and Susanna will suit one another or I would not have suggested this. She needs a firm hand, but not a cruel one, Garrow. Most important, I want her out of the way of those trouble-makers in London. That Bodichon woman has nearly ruined our good name, using Susanna to spout all that nonsense about freeing women from their bondage or some such. The papers actually printed my daughter’s name, can you feature that? One knows a proper female is never mentioned in print other than at her marriage and her death! Her mother would have been scandalized.”

      “Embarrassed you, did she?” James asked, feeling faintly angry at Eastonby and rather defensive of Susanna’s courage in taking a firm stand, be it right or wrong. She didn’t strike him as being one who was easily led. Susanna was a woman of conviction and he thought that spoke well of her.

      “Not so much embarrassed as perplexed. And I have to admit, frightened for her. There are those in power who greatly resent a woman speaking out so publicly. Susanna is passionate when she takes up a cause, but she’s also a bit naive.”

      In his opinion, James thought the lass should be commended. It was not every woman who would dare speak out against injustice no matter what consequences she might face. But he remained silent. Now was not the time to engage in any debates on the evils of society.

      The earl’s expression looked grim as he splashed another dollop of liquor into a fine crystal goblet. “More?”

      James nodded and held out his glass. They were drinking brandy to seal their bargain while the lady rifled through her wardrobe in the next room to find something appropriate for a hasty wedding.

      It was to take place that very afternoon, accomplished without banns or fanfare, by a Presbyterian minister who owed Eastonby a favor. Apparently, the earl also knew one of the magistrates who would backdate a license. That had been sent for, as had a ring from one of the city’s well-known jewelers. Amazing what an exalted title could accomplish, not to mention wealth and the comradeship of former Oxford chums.

      “I must remain in Edinburgh for at least another week,” James told Eastonby. “I’ve a commitment to finish the portal of the building we’re close to completing. Then I’ll be free to take on your estate.”

      “Your estate now, my friend,” the earl reminded him. “As for your stone carving, I must say that pride in your work is to be commended.”

      James huffed. “Pride, indeed. I’ll not be paid for what I’ve done of that bas relief unless I finish it.”

      Eastonby smiled and raised his glass in salute. “Then do so. Before you know it, you will be bringing your children to Edinburgh so they may marvel at your handiwork.”

      The man was wrong, James thought. He was definitely an optimist if he was expecting grandchildren any time soon. Then again, life did have a way of springing surprises and the winters in Scotland were damned cold for sleeping alone.

      James took his time as he sipped the smooth French brandy, fully appreciating the way it slid down his throat like liquid fire. Tamer than his whisky, even when aged to perfection, but the taste was just as fine. “You’ll be leaving directly after the ceremony?” he asked.

      The earl nodded. “Yes. I regret I cannot stay longer and join you for a wedding supper. You and Susanna are welcome to stay here in these apartments until you leave Edinburgh, of course.”

      “I’ll be coming with you far as Solly’s Copse,” James announced, then polished off the brandy and set down the glass with a thunk.

      Eastonby looked surprised. “Thank you for the thought, but that should not be necessary. I can handle matters.”

      “You’re family,” James said simply, “or you will be by tonight. I’ll ride along.” When the earl would have protested again, James continued. “I’ve been thinking, if you hire a number of guards to ride with you, this assassin will stay his hand until he catches you unawares later on. If I go, concealed in your carriage, he and his man will carry through with their plan. We’ll have ’em, then and there.”

      “By jove, you’re right! I never thought of that. But what of Susanna? She won’t take kindly to her new husband haring off on guard duty while she languishes at the wedding supper alone.”

      “Nonsense!” the lady in question piped up as she reentered the room. “Pour me a jot of that, would you?” she instructed her father. “This beloved of mine must do what he feels is necessary to save your skin, Father. Will this dress do?” She twirled around.

      “Don’t be impertinent, Suz,” the earl growled, deliberately and firmly stoppering the brandy decanter.

      “Me?” Her wide-eyed look of innocence tickled James. She was a sly minx. “Why, I am the very soul of pertinence. Tell him, darling.”

      Susanna had been peppering every address to him with endearments, likely trying to stoke her father’s guilt for giving her away. One could hardly blame her for it. “She’s right, sir,” James said dutifully. “Pertinent in this instance anyway. I must go with you. Otherwise, we’d both be wonderin’ for weeks whether you’d made it home to London alive.” He turned his attention to her. “And that blue gown is right becomin’ to you, Suz. Matches your bonny blue eyes.”

      “Do not call me Suz,” she hissed with a brief glare at her father, probably for making James aware of the nickname. “I despise it.” With a jerk, she straightened a sleeve that didn’t need it, then tugged up her gloves.

      He just smiled. Suz suited her to the letter, short, sweet and soft. Her lips as she said it, pursed just right as if beckoning his kiss. He might never call her anything else.

      Reason was not the thing to put this woman to rights, he decided. Nay, he would need to use affection. No doubt with the right words in the right places, he could turn her up sweet within a fortnight, just in time for their homecoming.

      Susanna wished for her mother. In the three years since Anya Childers had died, Susanna had harbored СКАЧАТЬ