Page 31 of Lyon of Scotland
“And I will marry Miss Gordon—for her sake and welfare, not yours.”
“And you will pay me,” Dove said. “I also need a guarantee of prompt payment.”
Dare shot him a lethal glance. “Prove she owes the debt. Then we shall see.”
“She has a copy of the note. You will find it all in order. And as for the whisky—”
“As for the whisky,” he said, “if you attempt to claim it or take me to court, or if you even think to lay a hand on Miss Gordon again, you will reap the consequences.”
“We shall see,” Dove purred.
Anger blazed in him. Nostrils flaring, he brushed a bit of lint from his black coat sleeve, measured and simmering. Then he stepped toward Dove, grabbed him by the lapels, and pushed him against the wall. Though it sapped his strength, he held him there.
“You, sir,” he growled, “will be grateful for your sorry life when this is done.”
Dove stared, pale, mouth slack. Letting go, Dare yanked the door open and left.
“I do like a fiery Scotsman,” Bessie Dove-Lyon remarked as he strode away.
Seeing Lockhart in the hallway, Dare raised a hand, and went to the stairs as Titan carried Miss Gordon down the steps. Dare held out his arms and took her from the big man without a word. Cradling her to him, he went outside as Lockhart held the door and then followed.
“Strath—Strathburn?” Hannah murmured. Her fingers clutched at his lapels.
“Hush, lass,” he said. “I have you now.”
Chapter Six
“Are you sureabout this, Dare?” the man murmured low. “How well do you know the lass?”
“Better than you think,” came the reply.Strathburn.Hannah knew the deep, warm tone of his voice.
The men spoke quietly in the shadows beyond the bed where she lay, but she heard bits of their conversation.Whisky, blackmail, debt.Her debt? She felt sick at the thought.Scotland, very soon. Marriage? Must hurry—
Marriage—that had been Dove’s threat. With a gasp, she squinted past a blur of candlelight to see two men in shadows near the bed, one tall and dark haired, the other blond. Strathburn and another. Recognizing the dark curtain pulled halfway around the bed, she knew she was in her bedchamber in the Gordon-Huntly home, and she sighed, relieved, safe, and Strathburn was here.
She remembered him carrying her, recalled leaning against him in a carriage. Heard him tell someone to fetch a doctor. After that, she had no awareness until just now. She tried to sit up, pushed at the bedcovers.
Footsteps, a hand on her brow, then her shoulder. The blond man nodded. “No fever. The breathing is better. Miss Gordon, you are awake.” He smiled.
“Aye.” Her voice was hoarse, throat dry.
“I am Linhope, a physician. Here, take some water.” He slipped a hand under her head. Cool glass, then cool water touched her lips. She sipped, sank back.
“She’s awake?” Strathburn came near. Dark, deep eyes, and a hint of a smile. “How do you feel, lass?”
“Tired. Thank you for bringing me home. Almost home,” she whispered.
“You will get there. Sleep now,” he said. She closed her eyes, and the men left the room, voices fading.
“What a relief you were still here in London. Thank you,” Strathburn said.
“Fortunate timing. Tomorrow I am taking a steamer back to Scotland. Make sure someone watches her through the night. Send for me if—”
Turning her head on the pillow, she dozed.
She opened her eyes next to find the room drenched in darkness, the air chilly, a faint glow emanating from the hearth. Blinking, feeling more alert, Hannah glanced around the room. In a corner, illuminated by the firelight, the housemaid Flora sat blanketed and asleep in a chair.
Just beside the bed, Strathburn sat in a chair. In the fire’s glow, his eyelashes were thick black crescents on his cheeks, his dark hair messy waves, his jaw was shaded dark by a scruff of beard, and he snored slightly. He slumped in the chair, legs extended, head dipped toward one shoulder. One arm, sleeved in dark wool, rested on the coverlet near her.
