Page 17 of Lyon of Scotland (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

“He has a grudge that goes beyond money. I suspect he despises Scots and sees Hannah as a target—me as well. He is about to discover his mistake. For now, I mean to get her far away from him. The whisky needs protection too, when it arrives,” he added.

“Which reminds me,” Scott said. “A letter was waiting for me when I returned from the theatre. From the Lord Provost’s office in Edinburgh.” Rummaging in a pocket, he withdrew a crumpled page and gave it to Dare. “Apologies, I sat on the thing. They say the whisky is delayed.”

“Delayed!” Skimming it, Dare nodded. “Due to storms, the steamship did not leave Leith Harbor on time. But judging by the date of this letter, it could arrive tomorrow.”

“I wonder if you could intercept it if you sail north today,” Sir Walter said.

“It’s possible. That could prevent Dove from pouncing on it. If a steamship leaves London today for the north, I must be on it. But—I must take Hannah with me.” Dare frowned. “She does not know about this yet. She will need convincing.”

“She will see reason, surely,” Linhope said. “I am taking a steamship up to Scotland this morning. It leaves at eleven. Tickets should still be available.”

“Excellent,” Scott said. “If you take that boat, you could catch the steam packet halfway along the coast. Steamers often stop at Hull as the halfway point between London and Leith. You may well find the ship with your cargo, and ask the captain to hold it or move it elsewhere.”

“A rogue’s plan,” Lockhart said with a smile.

“Interesting,” Dare allowed. He looked at the clock on the dining room mantel. “We have about three hours. Marriage or not, I must take the girl north. Dove will come looking for her otherwise. I cannot leave her here.”

“She should be well enough to travel,” Linhope said. “And she can rest on the steamship. You could use some rest too.” He gave Dare a knowing look.

“I’m fine.”

“A good plan,” Scott said, “but a young lady can hardly travel with two gentlemen—unless she is married. But I can help with that.” He looked quite pleased.

“How?” Dare asked. “Even with a special license, it could take days to arrange it in London. We can marry quickly in Scotland, but we would still have to travel there together unmarried. I do not mind, but she may not be pleased.”

“I know the minister of the Church of Scotland in Crown Court, not far from here,” Scott said. “I will ask if he can perform a simple ceremony this morning.”

“That would be excellent. I would gladly donate to his parish in return.” He felt his heart thump harder—marrying Hannah today, soon, suddenly became real.

“I will go then. And I will act as witness.” Scott stood.

“So will we,” Lockhart said, and Linhope nodded. “If we go directly from the church to the port at Wapping, we can make the steamer before it leaves.”

“My carriage driver takes roads like a hellhound, even in the city,” Scott said. “I shall give him his head. What a grand adventure. Justice—and young hearts in love—will be well served today. Exciting!” He tapped his cane on the floor.

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.”

“Oh, thank heaven. The sketches are there. I—think I stole them.”

“Stole them?” He looked astonished. “Do you mean armorial drawings?”

She nodded. “I did them on my own, not in the workroom. I had not told Sir George, but when you came to the College and wanted to take over the designs for the king’s Scottish arms, I meant to ask Sir George to give them to you for your office.”

“You made the designs on your own?”

She nodded “It is not permitted to take work home, but I started them at home and kept them there. I meant to show them to Sir George, but then Sir Frederic pulled me into his carriage and forced me to swallow that awful stuff, and I—and I forgot about them until this moment.” She tossed up her hands, flustered. “Is he upset about the sketches?”

“Enough to drug both of us? I doubt it. They are in your satchel?”

“Aye, if no one took them. I must give them to Sir George, but I do not want to go there in case Sir Frederic is there. The debt, you see.”

“Of course.”

“All I’ve wanted for months was to go back to Scotland,” she rushed on. “But I have made a dreadful kerfuffle of things.”

“You are not at fault here. We will sort this out, I promise.”

She rubbed Athena’s buttery soft ears. “It was Whitworth’s debt, you see.

He signed my name.” She lifted her chin.

A muscle punched in his cheek. “Forged it and fled, did he?”

“So you see, this situation is not your doing, and you need not feel obligated to marry me and help me out of this mess. I will find a way to repay the debt and the matchmaking fee too.”

“I want to marry you. Listen to me.” Still leaning forward, elbows to knees, he clasped his hands. “We were drawn into a situation not of our making, but it is ours to resolve. The marriage fee will be seen to. And you do not have to pay the larger debt once you marry.”

She startled, and the black cat under her stroking hand roused, looked around, then resumed its nap. “Not pay it?”

“The law of coverture gives a wife’s debt to her husband.”

“But I do not want you to pay it! Why would you do that for me?”

“I have my reasons.” He straightened, watching her with those whisky-caramel eyes, black fringed, his face framed by dark hair in glossy waves, a scruff of beard shadowing the lean lines of his jaw. He was breathtakingly handsome, a strong, calm, dark angel just when she needed one most.

“It is unfair for you to have to pay my debt. But I am honored by your offer to marry me. Still, I cannot accept it.”