Page 16 of Lyon of Scotland (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

“Are you sure about 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.

She smiled, realizing he had stayed to watch over her, falling asleep there. Grateful for that, she felt something more run warm and expansive through her. Affection, even love. It could be; she had hoped for that in her dreams all this time.

Ever since their first meeting in her father’s house, when he had smiled shyly and spoke quietly, she found him fascinating, felt drawn to him each time he visited. When she had imagined her life in the future, he was part of the dream.

He was a Highland laird, a peer, an official in the Scottish government—a man who scarcely knew her and need not spend time with her, yet he had kept vigil.

That was beyond obligation, even if her father had asked him to visit her in London.

It was devotion, kindness, and more. She was not certain why he would do that for her, but she was thankful he was here.

Stretching out her hand, she touched his, wanting to send him to find some proper rest. Though he did not wake, his fingers wrapped over hers. His touch was tender, familiar, as if her hand belonged in his.

Then she remembered more from the house where Dove had taken her. Strathburn had been there, his arms around her. She recalled his kiss, his touch, heat and flame, kindness and passion and safety, all at once.

She burned at the memory, cheeks hot, body hot, heart rippling in excitement.

His hand turned, his thumb soothing over skin. She did not pull away.

“Lord Lyon,” said a young woman. “Lord Lyon, sir. Pardon me.”

He woke, blinking. Georgina Gordon-Huntly stood in the doorway.

Early morning light filled the room. Wiping sleep from his eyes, he sat up, glancing at the bed.

Hannah Gordon lay like a sleeping beauty, honey-gold hair spread over the pillow, her body slim and straight under the coverlet.

One arm was extended toward him, her fingers wrapped in his—

He pulled his hand away and stood hastily. “Good morning, Miss.” He cleared his throat. “What time is it?”

“Good morning, my lord. Seven-thirty. I apologize for waking you so early. But the doctor came to the door with Sir Walter and Mr. Lockhart, asking for you.”

“Oh?” Surprised, he tugged at his coat sleeves, his loosened neck cloth, his kilt.

Across the room, he saw the housemaid drawing the curtains open.

Last he had seen, she had been snoring in the corner.

He had slept soundly too, even in the stiff upholstered chair.

He shoved fingers through his hair and tried to focus.

Georgina went toward the bed. “Hannah! How are you feeling?”

Hannah Gordon was awake, blue eyes blinking wide. “Good morning,” she said, her voice hoarse. She glanced at him, a silent message flashing there. Please do not say where we were, what we did….

“The doctor is here to see you again, dear,” Georgina said. “I will bring him up when you feel ready. Would you like some tea and toast first?”

“I would love it.” She looked at Dare again, eyes limpid, lovely, shadowed.

“How are you this morning?” he asked quietly.

She pushed back her hair, a cascade of gold. “Better. Hot tea would help.”

“I will bring it up,” Georgina said. “Let me help you. Will you dress?”

Dare stepped back. “I will leave you two. Where are my friends?”

“In the breakfast room, where the kitchen maid is setting up coffee and such. If you would like to freshen up, there is an empty guest room across the hall.”

“Thank you.” The fog of the drug had left him, and he felt alert and hungry. And the sight of Hannah Gordon sitting up, smiling, lifted his spirits.

“I will fetch tea, dear, and Flora and I will help you dress if you feel up to it. Lord Lyon, thank you,” Georgina said. “You have done more than we could ask.”

“No trouble,” he murmured.

“Hannah, you were so ill, it worried me,” Georgina said. “What was it?”

“Just an ague, I think,” Hannah said, glancing at Dare, then away.

He gave a flat smile. Last night he had confided the truth to Linhope, trusting his friend completely.

But Georgina knew only that Hannah had taken ill, having gone to the College of Arms that morning, and Lord Lyon had brought her home.

Oliver knew that Dare had been at the Dove-Lyon house and believed he had stayed there to rest. Neither of them would ask more, he was sure.

If the scandalous details got out, Dare feared for the reputation of this good Scottish family.

Truly, he was not sure Sir Frederic Dove would keep quiet—even if Dare met his demands and married Hannah in order to protect her from further humiliation. The man was unpredictable.

“How fortunate that your friend is a doctor, sir,” Georgina was saying. “Mama and my stepfather are away from London for a few days, and left Oliver and me to look after things. But Hannah needed urgent help, and you were so kind to make sure she got home.”

“I am very glad she is better. Let me leave you for now.” With a rueful smile, he left the room, aware that Hannah watched him, wide-eyed and silent.

Freshening up in the spare room, he headed downstairs, thoughts whirling. He was not a spontaneous sort when life presented change, preferring to be thoughtful and logical with an eye for the larger view. But within the hour, he must convince Hannah Gordon to marry him quickly.

Because he knew he wanted the larger view to stretch into forever.

“Good Lord, what a tale!” Sir Walter set down his coffee cup later as Dare concluded an explanation that was honest and blunt. “Others might run from such trouble, but you, sir, were a gentleman to do the noble thing for the young lady. It is commendable.”

“It’s a kerfuffle, to be honest,” Dare drawled. “The only choice is to do the right thing. I was alone with the girl for too long when we were both in a sorry state. But my memory is vague. I have had to piece some of it together.”

“The drug can have that effect,” Linhope said. “Likely you both slept through most of it.”

“Perhaps.” Dare shrugged. Seated with them for coffee and breakfast, he had recounted what had happened at the theatre and in the house at Cleveland Row, but he had not divulged all that had happened with Hannah. “I’ll do what I must, regardless.”

“This was foisted upon the pair of you in a most heinous way,” Lockhart said.

“Nonetheless, it will turn out well in the end,” Scott said, perpetually optimistic. “You could do worse than marry a talented and lovely Scottish lass of excellent family. And in the bargain, your office could gain an artist.”

“I am willing if she is—about the marriage and some heraldry work.” Dare smiled a little. “I do not want to do what the Dove fellow demands, but it is the best way to remove her from the situation—if she agrees to it,” he added wryly. “As for Dove, I will deal with him. Be sure of it.”

“A husband defending his wife will have even more effect in the courts if you take him there.” Scott, a lawyer of many years, shook his head. “The girl has little choice either in this, if she signed notes for the debt and the matchmaker’s fee.”

“I want to absolve her of all responsibility,” Dare said. “I will cover any legitimate fees, but I want justice for her.”

“Dove must be held responsible for such despicable actions,” Linhope said.