Page 56 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
Coll sighed. “Aye. I am. And for Niall. It’s just nae the way I’d planned any of this, and now I’m the one who’s stuck.” Clearing his throat, he downed the rest of his lukewarm tea. “That doesnae signify now, though. I made an agreement with ye, and I need those names if I’m to hold up my end of the bargain.”
“I’m only agreeing because I don’t want to leave London, and I would have to do so if I were on my own.” Pushing back from the table, she rose gracefully. “I have two hours before I need to be at the Saint Genesius. I’ll be in the morning room writing out a list if you need me.”
“Keep the curtains closed.”
“Ah, yes. We don’t want anyone shooting at me, do we?” With a smile that looked entirely forced, she glided out of the room.
Coll sat back in his chair. She lived in a modest house but employed two servants, had an abundance of nice clothes and wigs aplenty, and from the look of it, didn’t lack for food or money. And she’d done all that on her own. He meant to ask her why a proper lass with a proper education had decided to make her way in the world as an actress, but he imagined it had to do with her wanting literally to disappear—to become someone else, which she’d done onstage and off.
And she was good at it. The toast of London, famous and successful enough that his own younger sister had been near giddy with excitement at the idea of meeting her, and Eloise had made the acquaintance of Prince George and Queen Caroline in her short time being out.
All morning, he’d wracked his brain, trying to recall if he’d met Lord and Lady Bayton. He didn’t think so, since they hadn’t flung a marriageable daughter at him, but then he had to wonder how he would have reacted to a proper introduction to one Lady Temperance Hartwood. At eight-and-twenty she would have been considered on the shelf, her parents no doubt desperate to find her a husband and a title—and he likely would have run in the opposite direction.
If he and she managed a word or two before his flight, though, he preferred to think that she would have caught his attention—and his interest. The sound of her voice, the way she used words… Was that because of her training on the stage, or was that something she’d come by naturally that made her so well-suited to acting? Whatever it was, he found it mesmerizing.
He foundhermesmerizing. And only the fact that hewas loathe to leave her this morning kept him from pounding on every door in London until he’d discovered who it was trying to take her away from him. Even though it had been seventeen years since he’d last experienced being abandoned, it wasn’t anything he wanted touching him again. At least with his mother, hope had lingered for a time that she might return, that he might see her again. If he lost Temperance to someone else’s scheming, though, it wouldn’t be anything temporary.
Cursing, he went back upstairs and pulled on his waistcoat and coat, not bothering to button either of them. The cravat went into a pocket, and then he headed downstairs to wait for help to arrive—and to make a plan to save his lass, even though he didn’t know who might be after her.
Chapter Twelve
“But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
And we’ll not fail.”
LADY MACBETH,MACBETHACT I, SCENE VII
“Ye shouldnae have let him ride off alone, Niall.”
At the sound of Aden’s hard voice, Francesca Oswell-MacTaggert gripped her morning newspaper more firmly and kept her gaze trained on whatever it was that someone had written about. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize that she had a much better chance of figuring out what was going on if she occupied herself with overhearing bits and pieces, rather than asking direct questions.
Her sons weren’t accustomed to being second-guessed or explaining their actions. Their father had allowed them to run wild from the moment she’d left Aldriss Park. And while under calmer circumstances she could admit that they’d become confident, competent, resourceful young men, there hadn’t been much calm since they’d arrived in London.
“I sent Gavin off with him,” her youngest son protested.
“And Gavin would jump off a roof for him, if Coll asked. Ye should’ve joined them. Ye do recall what happened last time Coll stomped off on his own.”
“Aye, I recall. I found a wife.”
“And he spent a day drunk in a fighting pit while I rode all over London looking for him. Sweet Saint Andrew,Niall. At least tell me ye ken where he went. I’m getting married in four days. I cannae be chasing Coll through the Midlands.”
“I recall. And nae, he didnae stop long enough to tell me. I reckon Gavin knows, but that doesnae help us.”
“Damn it all. I’ll give him another hour to get his arse back here. If he doesnae, I reckon we begin looking at the Saint Genesius. If the lass is there, Coll will be as well.”
Their voices faded as they headed toward the kitchen and the stable beyond. Francesca sat back and lowered her newspaper. After her initial panic, she’d figured her oldest son had been lying about making plans to wed Mrs. Persephone Jones. It had been too close to the very opposite of her expectations for it to be a coincidence. If someone had asked her to name the very last person in London she wanted for one of her sons, the least respectable name she knew was that of the actress.
Of course, there were lightskirts about, and beggars and thieves, but he’d chosen a name that every Londoner knew. It made sense that he’d done it with the express purpose of hurting her—she’d been the one who demanded he marry, after all.
But she’d been looking at his face last night, when Niall and the groom had interrupted her attempt at reasoning with him. All the blood had fled his face when Gavin had told him about the carriage overturning. Yes, the MacTaggerts looked after their own, and if he’d involved the actress in something dangerous, he would have felt some responsibility toward her safety. But even if he had made some sort of agreement with Mrs. Jones to induce her to go along with the marriage nonsense, Francesca didn’t think his reaction would have been so extreme.
His brothers expected to find them together. That meant he’d either lied to them about his intentions and completely fooled them, or none of it had been fake. She put a handto her chest. Her oldest son, Viscount Glendarril, after an actress. But not just in pursuit.
He cared about her. And that changed several things.
Picking up the newspaper again, she turned to the Society page. Currently, the Saint Genesius was hosting a traveling troupe for one of those bawdy plays that actors loved to perform. In just a few days, though, the renowned actors of the Saint Genesius Theatre would be performing… Ah, there it was.Macbeth. With Mrs. Persephone Jones playing the part of Lady Macbeth.
Hmm. She’d always been partial to the Scottish play. “Smythe,” she said, turning her head to the butler.
