When a Scot Loves a Lady (32 page)

K
itty dressed carefully in a modest habit of burgundy velvet with a high white collar, a simple matching hat with a black crinoline net encircling the crown of her head, and black gloves. She looked a bit like she was in mourning, and rather felt it. Her mother had spent the evening out late with her suitor; she was not yet awake when Kitty stole from the house at the indecent hour of half past eight. The groom met her with her horse and they set off for the park.

Few people of fashion could be seen across the expanse of green—elderly gentlemen taking the air at a slow pace, a barouche landau carrying a pair of ancient ladies in equally ancient lace, and nurses with their young charges, running off the morning's energies in the misty cold.

Kitty rode slowly along the waterside path. When two riders appeared across the green coming toward her at a canter, a pair of big gray shadows loping alongside, she drew in her mount.

The dogs came first, the larger one cavorting about in front of her horse, the other wagging its great shaggy tail from a wiser distance. She forced herself to look at both gentlemen as they approached, to greet Leam as civilly as Lord Gray. She wished to be angry with the Earl of Blackwood, to dislike him even, but she could not. She had come here only because he had asked and so that she could once again enact the role of a foolish girl devoted to a man who did not have her best interests at heart. Who had, in fact, none of her interests at heart.

“My lady.” Lord Gray bowed from the saddle. “You are generous to meet us here this morning.” He was an attractive man, with very dark blue eyes and a commanding air. “May we walk for a bit?”

She nodded. The gentlemen dismounted and Lord Gray came to assist her. Leam watched, his expression unremarkable, as when he had first come into her house the previous day, before he had gazed at her with longing and touched her.

The viscount took her hand on his arm.

“I would not be surprised were you anxious about this conversation, my lady.” He drew her along the path. “You needn't be. The prince regent and the ministers have great faith in you.”

He must feel the quiver in her hand, which she could not help, foolish woman that she was in the presence of a taciturn Scot.
Usually
taciturn.

“Lord Blackwood mentioned that yesterday,” she replied. “But, I assure you I am perfectly well. Why don't we simply get on with it so that I may then enjoy the remainder of my day as I had planned it? I daresay I have a knothole to be listening at or some such task awaiting me elsewhere. You know how it is with lady informants. Never a dull moment.”

Lord Gray did not bat an eye. “Of course, my lady. I understand your pique. We shall make this as brief as possible.”

She cast a swift glance at Leam. He was looking at the ground before him as he walked on the other side of the viscount, but the corner of his mouth tilted up. He had again donned his loose, unfashionable coat and careless neck cloth, and a shadow darkened his jaw. It seemed he had not given up his false role after all.

“I don't know that anything I can tell you will be of use,” she replied. “I haven't any idea of Lord Chance's involvement in politics. Indeed I have always believed him wholly disinterested in such things.”

“In point of fact, ma'am, we haven't come here to ask you about Chance.”

“Then the Marquess of Drake?”

“No.”

Leam's head came up. “Gray.” His voice was low on the single syllable. Kitty drew her hand away and halted on the path in the saturating mist.

“My lord, I am not fond of games. Not any longer, at least. You must speak plainly.”

“I should like to ask you several questions regarding another gentleman of your acquaintance. Douglas Westcott.”

Her gaze shot to Leam. His brow was drawn.

Kitty's eyelids slipped closed, sheer misery sweeping through her. She had not imagined she could ever feel again the height of betrayal Lambert had dealt her. But apparently she had been wrong. Quite naïvely wrong.

“Douglas Westcott, Lord Chamberlayne.” She could barely utter the words. “All this time you were seeking information about my mother's beau.”

Leam's lips parted, his frown deepening. “Your mother's—”

“Yes,” Lord Gray replied. “The Home Office has long held suspicions regarding untoward activities on the part of persons closely associated with Chamberlayne, principally his son, who is still in Scotland. He is known to be interested in fomenting renewed rebellion amongst the clans of the Highlands.”

She lifted her eyes to Leam. “How convenient for you that you chanced upon me in Shropshire, Lord Blackwood. Or perhaps it was not chance after all.” Her stomach hurt. Everything inside her hurt. “I am sorry I did not voluntarily offer up information concerning the man courting my mother. Perhaps if you had simply asked nicely as Lord Gray is now doing, I might have obliged and we would now be spared this unpleasant little interview.”

His jaw was like stone. “I had no knowledge of this.”

“Didn't you?”

“My lady, your compliance with our wishes would assist the crown immeasurably.”

“Damn you, Gray, this is unconscionable.”

“Compliance?” She swung to Leam. “
Did
you know of this?”

The viscount replied first. “Lord Chamberlayne's name was on the list I sent to Mr. Seton some months ago. But earlier this week when Lord Blackwood failed to mention your mother's connection to him, I began to doubt he had seen the list.”

“You might have
asked
.” Leam's voice grated.

The viscount held Kitty's regard. “I suspected he would be hesitant to arrange this meeting if he knew the whole of it.”

“Or even the half.” Leam's face was grim in the wintery morning. “Lady Katherine, allow me to escort you home.”

She shook her head, her mother's situation coming to her full force. “What untoward activities?”

“I am not at liberty to say,” the viscount replied. “But you may assist us by revealing what you know about him.”

“I know nothing except that he is a gentleman and very attached to my mother. And I certainly hope there is nothing else to know, for I like him.” She knew not what else to say. She turned about and walked swiftly toward her groom holding the horses, a tumble of confusion.

“Lady Katherine”—the viscount's voice carried to her—“the bullet that caught you in Shropshire was not intended for you. But the next one may be. Has my friend here yet told you that?”

She halted and turned. Leam stood very still.

“I don't understand,” she managed, but she did.

“There is a slight possibility of revenge,” the viscount said as though reading her thoughts. “But we don't believe that Lord Poole is now in a position to provoke such an action, and it would be too easily traceable to him if he did. He is only in France, and our informants there are impressed with the rather modest lifestyle he has taken up. They are under the impression he hopes to someday win a pardon based on good behavior and to have his estates returned to him.”

“But you do not yet know who the shooter is, clearly.” She looked to Leam, and it was nearly painful to do so. “Is that so?”

His eyes said he did not wish to tell her, but he spoke. “Not entirely.”

“Lord Blackwood received a message from the shooter less than a fortnight ago in Scotland.”

“I don't understand.” Her voice quavered. “If someone wished to harm me, why would he tell you about it?”

A muscle flickered in Leam's jaw.

“My lady.” Lord Gray's voice remained firm. “Through his work for the crown in the past, Lord Blackwood may have displeased one or two persons intent on Scotland's disunion from Britain. We suspect you are being threatened to control his actions now, to ensure that he does not further impede these rebels' plans.”

Her heart pounded. She could not look away from Leam. “Is this true?”

“I don't believe it is.”

“You also said you aren't a spy.”

“I am not. But you are in danger.”

“And how shall I wrest myself from that danger?” An unfamiliar, sticky hysteria bubbled up in her with the fear for her mother, and that perhaps he had sought information from her in Shropshire, and that was all she had been to him—the same way Lambert had only used her to dishonor her brothers.

“Shall I admit to you and Lord Gray here everything I know of Lord Chamberlayne?” she continued. “Well then, I have found him partial to claret but truly fond of port. He prefers whist to piquet, and likes his matched grays overly much, although in my opinion they are too showy for a gentleman of his maturity. He recently gave my mother a lovely necklace, quite tasteful really, and I believe he intends to ask her to marry him shortly, although perhaps he already did last night, but I haven't seen her yet today as I was obliged to come out at an early hour to be lied to by a pair of men who insist they are not spies but who behave remarkably like one might imagine spies do.”

Lord Gray extended a placating hand. “My lady—”

“What do you wish to know? Ask me and I shall give you my considered responses. Then you can tell me what I must do to protect myself and my mother.”

“You needn't protect yourself,” Leam said quietly. “We will.”

She closed her eyes. Was this reluctant connection all that she was to have of him now? Someone threatened her and so he must remain involved with her?

“My lady,” Lord Gray said into the dreary silence. “We do not wish to detain you here longer this morning. Would you consent to writing down what you know of Lord Chamberlayne so that our agents may analyze it?”

These men were not playacting as she had once done in spying on Lambert Poole. This was real, and she should help, especially if it could exonerate her mother's beau. And if it did not… For her mother's sake, she could not imagine that now. Nearly thirty years with a husband who lived a double life should not be rewarded with another such man. But why would the crown suspect him otherwise?

“How are you protecting me?” she finally asked.

The viscount gestured beyond her shoulder. Fifteen yards distant, a hulking man stood with his back to the trunk of a leafless tree, hands in his trouser pockets.

“That is Mr. Grimm,” he said.

“A
bodyguard
?”

“My lady, we must make another request of you.”

“No.” Leam moved toward her. “Lady Katherine—”

“We wish you to interview your mother about Lord Chamberlayne, and to encourage her to share private information with you, as well as your servants and Chamberlayne's as you are able, then to write that in your report as well.”

“Goddamn, Gray.” He came very close but did not touch her. “Kitty, you must go now.”

Tears pressed at the backs of her eyes, and a horrid thickness in her chest and throat. “Yes.” She made herself look up into his face, and what she saw there twisted her insides—steel again, and anger, but also something else, that warmth and intensity that had been there from the first and drew her to him.

“Did you come back to London because of the message that threatened me? Is that the purpose you spoke of that keeps you here when you wish to be in Scotland?”

He took a tight breath and drew her hand to his arm. “Allow me to help you mount.”

“You wish me gone so that you can speak with your friend openly. You are very angry, so clearly this interview did not proceed as you expected. What are you going to do, Leam, hit Lord Gray now like you hit Mr. Yale at the inn?”

“It's possible.” He drew her toward her horse.

“I saw his bruise on the way to church on Christmas.” She spoke whatever words occurred to her because to feel now was too difficult. “I am all curiosity. What was Mr. Yale going to ask me that you found the need to ‘send him to the snow,' as he so colorfully put it? Did he want me to put my skills to use interviewing Mr. and Mrs. Milch, or perhaps Emily and Mr. Cox? That would have been wonderful. Just think, I could have learned all their secrets and begun playing them off one another right there trapped in the village. What a drama I might have precipitated.” Her voice was brittle, her heart in a welter.

“Yes, that was it,” he replied stonily. “You are very clever.”

“Mr. Yale does work with you and Lord Gray and Jinan, doesn't he?”

“Yes.” He set his hands for her to step into, then tossed her up. She leaned forward on the saddle and he assisted in adjusting her skirts as though he were any gentleman assisting any lady at such a mundanely courteous task. It was all quite normal, as nothing had ever actually been between them and most certainly would never be now.

“I wonder how he felt about being dragged into Emily's petty domestic troubles,” she murmured. “A spy pretending to court a girl to save her from a fish man.”

“I believe she called him a fish troll. And there is nothing petty about attaching oneself to the wrong person.” He finished adjusting her stirrup and his gaze came up to hers. It seemed for a moment that he would speak. Then he stepped away from the horse and smacked it on the flank. It started forward, and Kitty did not look back. At least this time she would not be obliged to watch him leave her.