Page 15 of Lyon of Scotland (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

“I want the money owed me,” Dove snapped. “I want that whisky shipment. Let your government send more—the king is not pacing the floor for it. And I want the Gordon girl away from here. Away from my son. Else she goes to prison, and so do you.”

Trying to control his rising temper, feeling a new wave of dizziness, Dare leaned heavily on the chair. He began to reply, but the woman stepped forward.

“Lord Lyon, do sit down. You are not recovered from whatever you were given.” She turned a sweep of black skirts.

“What were you thinking, Freddie? Now we are both owed money, you are accusing an important gentleman who could bring the authorities down on us—and I must find that sorry girl a husband. You have made a cake of this!”

“Calm down, Bessie.” Dove lowered his voice. Dare listened, tipping his head, just able to hear him. “We will each have our money and I will have that whisky too. And the Scottish girl will go north and away from Charles. Trust me.”

Find that sorry girl a husband. What did that mean? As Mrs. Dove-Lyon came toward him, he leaned close. “Do not trust him,” he said.

“I know him better than anyone. Sit, Lord Lyon, before you fall. You look spent.”

He did feel awful again, and sat just for a moment, so he told himself. When the woman produced a tiny vial from a hidden pocket, he leaned away.

“Salts, sir. It will help.” She waved the opened vial under his nose.

Recoiling at the ammoniac smell, he drew a sharp breath and felt immediately, oddly alert.

The vial held what ladies called “vinaigrette” to ward off fainting spells; he was familiar with it from the field hospitals, where it was used to good purpose.

“Better,” he said. “You mentioned finding the girl a husband. Why?”

“My lord, I want you to know I did not plan this.” Speaking quietly, she glanced at Dove, who looked at some papers on her desk. “I agreed to help my cousin. Now I am invested and am owed my fee.”

“For what?”

“Tsk, he knows nothing about this? Tell him, Freddie!”

“Aye.” Dare stood, wavering, to lock his knees and stare down at Dove, taking advantage of his greater height. “Money, you say. How much?”

“Nearly five hundred pounds with what she owes me and my cousin now.”

“What fee, madam?” He looked at her.

“I am a matchmaker, a service I provide for select clients. Miss Gordon signed a contract for a marriage arrangement. My cousin brought her here in poor condition.” She glared at Frederic Dove.

“Marriage to whom? When?”

“To you,” Dove told him. “Soon. Today.”

“What?” He was stunned.

“This is what we shall do,” Dove said. “You will marry the girl and take on her debt, as the law requires. Then you will pay me and my cousin as well.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon slid open a drawer to extract a folded page.

“The girl signed a contract for my matchmaking services, and Freddie promised he had a suitable fellow. He meant you. I must say, Lord Lyon, you would be an ideal match for many young women—a noble Scot with means and position, and very attractive too. Will you agree to the match?”

“He agrees,” Dove said. “We can all avoid inconvenience.”

“This is despicable,” Dare muttered.

“My lord, I did not know half of this.” She shot Frederic Dove a dark look.

“Do not play the innocent with me, Elizabeth Dove. I know you too well.”

“If you think the doctrine of coverture will solve your problem, it will not, I promise you,” Dare growled.

“Simply take on the responsibility of her debt and take her back to Scotland. What you do after that is your concern.”

“Your scheme depends on compliance.”

“She does not want to go to prison. You are the better alternative.”

“He certainly is,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon murmured.

“Comply or the girl will be consigned to prison tomorrow and you will be charged with smuggling. And I will have the whisky either way. Turn it over to me or face charges. Troublesome Scots. You see, many here easily believe them to be smugglers, savages, and unsophisticated. I know the judges in our London courts. I am confident of support if you care to pursue it.”

“How did you come up with this cruel nonsense?” Dare asked.

“It makes perfect sense! Birds with one stone, you see. When I realized you and Miss Gordon knew other, and then heard about the whisky, I saw what could be done.”

“Why? It cannot be the money she owes—if she owes it,” he added.

“Oh, she owes it. Ask her. My son is smitten, did you notice? He will not listen to reason. A Scottish girl will never do in our family, never. And you—bringing that whisky here to give our king! He should have English whisky. It should have been my father’s whisky in the king’s glass, but for the Scots. ”

Resentment and prejudice had poisoned him, Dare was sure of it now. “You, a lawyer, know that drugging someone without consent or medical need is assault.”

“No one was harmed. You are hearty enough to have twice the amount. I may have given the girl too much. Slight thing. She will be fine.” He shrugged.

“Freddie, you dosed that girl?” his cousin demanded. “You said she had a habit!”

“I gave her a little. She went out like a babe in a cradle.”

Dare resisted a powerful urge to throttle him. “She could stop breathing. Or die.”

“True,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “I know something of medical matters.”

“One problem,” Dare said. “Neither I nor the girl have agreed to this.”

“You will see reason.” Dove handed him a page that lay on the desk. “Here. You will need this.”

Scanning the paper, Dare blinked. “Special license to marry? When was this prepared?”

“As soon as I met you and saw the solution, I had it drawn up. Just in case. Get before a vicar, then up to Scotland, and we can all be quit of this. And you will have yourself a pretty little bride, if you want to keep her.”

Oh aye, Dare thought, he wanted to leap up and throttle the man and then haul him into court on several charges. He folded the paper slowly, about to boil over.

He wanted a wife someday, but he had not given it much thought after the heartbreak of a few years ago.

When he met Hannah Gordon in her father’s parlor, something shifted inside him, some lock and key turned in his heart and opened his capacity to hope and love again.

But he had not acted on the pull he felt toward her.

He should have courted her. Married her by now.

In a way, this situation was partly his doing—his innate reserve hardened to a fault, preventing happiness, his and hers now. He regretted ignoring the small voice inside him that had urged him to step beyond himself earlier.

“Well?” Dove said. “I have other things to do.”

Dare glared at him in silence. He did not want to acquiesce to these unconscionable demands. But he realized something that sent cold shivers through him.

If he did not marry her, Dove would put her in prison—or marry her off to anyone who would pay her debt and take her away from here. Or he could do worse than that.

Dare had promised Archibald Gordon to look after his daughter. He had gone far beyond that promise. A hasty marriage was needed, Frederic Dove or not.

And he could not walk out of here and leave her in Dove’s talons.

Still silent, he stood and tucked the folded license in the sporran suspended over his kilt. A knock sounded at the door and he looked up.

A bruiser of a man peered into the room. “Madam, a gentleman is at the door looking for Lord Strathburn. I do not know that name. This fellow calls himself Lockhart. Shall I send him away?”

“I am Strathburn,” Dare said. “Tell him to wait.” He turned to the others. “I am leaving and taking Miss Gordon with me.”

“Titan, ask Mr. Lockhart to wait,” the woman said. “Then go upstairs and bring the girl.”

“Madam,” Titan said, and left.

“You cannot leave without a promise,” Dove said.

Dare ignored him. “Madam, your vinaigrette, please. The lady may need it.”

She handed the vial to him. “If you are leaving with her, I require a guarantee.”

“So do I,” Dove growled.

Dare walked to the door, each step honing his decision.

He turned. “I will pay the matchmaking fee,” he said.

“You will have a bank draft drawn on Drummond’s, the Bank of Scotland here in London.

” The president of Drummond’s was kin to him.

He was inordinately pleased to see the Dove cousins blink at the shared name.

“Fine.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded.

“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.”