Page 34 of Lyon of Scotland
Hearts in love.Dare smiled at the poet’s enthusiasm. He felt a dawning certainty about his own heart, but he was not sure how the lady felt.
“One hurdle remains,” he cautioned. “Miss Gordon is not yet aware of this mad dash to marry and race back to Scotland. She may see it as even more trouble.”
Scott grinned. “What’s a parcel of trouble to a parcel of rogues?”
“Marry you?” Stunned,Hannah set a hand to her chest and stared at Strathburn. “Today?”
“This morning, aye,” he said. His eyes sparked, warmed.
She stared, startled, breathless, taking in what he had just explained rather quickly. They sat together in the Gordon-Huntly library on two chairs beneath a window that looked out on the green square of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the fashionable neighborhood where many lawmakers resided within sight of the Inns of Court, the institutions supporting the law profession. The handsome townhouse was situated in a beautiful and exclusive area. But all Hannah ever wanted, each time she looked out on that green square in the heart of London, was to be home in Scotland.
“And go back to Scotland?” she asked softly. He nodded.
His news surprised and thrilled her, for she had dreamed of it long before this moment. Heart and hope surged, and she could hardly speak. “You want to marry me?”
“If you want to marry me,” he replied. “You signed a contract with the matchmaker. I am her choice for you.”
“Dove’s choice,” she said, glancing away. She shook her head, confused. “I hardly remember signing it. Surely, it is not binding. Surely, you are not obligated.”
“It could be disputed as under duress, but there are good reasons to marry.”
She looked up at him. “You know about the debt.”
“I do.” He was so patient, she realized, so unruffled and steady. Yet beneath the quiet exterior, she sensed a fire within that burned in those rich, dark eyes.
She glanced away, embarrassed. “This is my doing. You should not be pulled into this.”
“I want to do this.” He leaned forward, arms on his knees, the chair too small for his height, his plaid kilt a bright splash of color in the gray morning light. “It is a solution for both of us.”
“Marriage should not be just a solution. It should be more.”
“Perhaps it is more,” he murmured. “If you do not want to do this, say so.”
Hannah met his gaze, drawn there, yet still stunned by this revelation, this direction. She vaguely remembered being drugged and abducted by Frederic Dove, and she believed that Mrs. Dove-Lyon had been less complicit than frustrated with him. And she knew that Strathburn had been in that house too, with her. But until now, she had not realized that he had been drugged as well, both of them duped by Sir Frederic.
Strathburn had taken her out of the house and had sat with her through the night when she was ill. His mere presence was comfort, and she was grateful.
But there was something more—she remembered his arms around her, his lips tender on hers. Was that a dream, dredged up from yearning, or had it happened?
“Miss Gordon,” he said. “Hannah. We must decide and move ahead quickly.”
She nodded, smoothing the skirt of her demure gown of dark-blue wool. Seeing the family’s little cat, Athena, padding into the room, she reached down to gather her into her arms. Athena was a young creature with a sweet temperament, and Hannah scrunched her fingers over the little head, needing that calm comfort as her thoughts leaped about.
“I have made some dreadful mistakes, and they have come to bear,” she said. “Sir Frederic’s quarrel is with me, not you. You must not feel responsible.”
“Some of it is my doing.” His voice was mellow, and a beam of morning sun through clouds gave his eyes the color of chocolate and caramel. Sighing, feeling the quiet strength he radiated, she leaned forward, the little cat shifting under her hands.
“How is it your doing in any way?”
“Dove would take me down too if he could, I assure you.”
“What could he have against you? Oh!” She put a hand to her mouth. “Is it because of the new coat of arms?”
He raised his brows. “The what?”
“I made sketches for the king’s new designs. Sir George needs to approve the final drawings. But I—oh! My bag! Have you seen it?”
He frowned. “I saw a tapestry handbag when I took you out of that house. A fellow handed it to me with your shoes. Is that the one? It will be upstairs, I imagine.”
