Page 25 of Lyon of Scotland (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Rain brought a dreary gray light to the steamship lounge even at midday.

Hannah curled on a sofa reading, her feet drawn up under a tartan blanket against the cool, damp air.

Delighted to have discovered a copy of Jane Austen’s Emma in the selection of books, she was eager to reread it; she and her sisters had shared it avidly between them last year.

Now she breezed through it swiftly, while Dare and Linhope sat at a table playing backgammon and talking quietly.

Hearing Dare laugh at something his friend said, she smiled to herself, blushing to remember that early hour together in the hotel.

As if he sensed her thoughts, he looked over at her and smiled.

Caught in that dark gaze, she burned for him again, and sent him an impish, flirting smile to tell him. Then she went back to the book.

She gasped to see the next words on the page. The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream was perhaps the most prominent feeling…

She was also immersed and content in the happiest dream just now.

But the words also reminded her that a threat still existed outside the perfect, peaceful bubble in the steamship lounge.

Once they docked in Scotland, their idyllic hours could end if Frederic Dove pursued them north, bringing havoc and even danger.

Happiness was not guaranteed until any last issues with Dove were resolved. She stared out the lounge windows at the rippling slap of gray waves. Worry pressed on her again. She tried to focus on the story once more.

Later, when luncheon was served in the lounge, she sat with Dare and Linhope and said little.

Dare sent her a puzzled look. After the meal, they took a brisk walk around the damp, breezy deck.

When she tripped briefly on a wet curl of rope, Dare caught her arm and teased that she should come down to earth.

Laughing, she caught his hand, his firm, wonderful grip easing her fretfulness better than the sea breeze.

Inside again, they claimed their usual sofa and chairs.

Linhope disappeared briefly, returning with a fiddle.

He stood and began to play, coaxing sweet, lilting tunes with such skill that Hannah listened and watched, rapt.

All around the lounge, others paused in their games and conversation to listen as well.

When the doctor launched into a livelier tune, a few rose to dance, and Hannah tapped her foot, loving the rhythms.

Strathburn stood and brought her to her feet, swaying with her while she danced on light feet. He claimed his dancing feet were made of lead, and she laughed, twirling around him as he circled her. When Linhope stopped and others applauded, she went toward him, delighted.

“Lovely! How long have you played the fiddle?” she asked.

“My father and grandfather taught me when I was a wee bit lad. I come from a family of musicians. We all play something—bagpipes, fiddles, drums, flutes.” He shrugged, humble yet pleased to tell her about it.

The cards came out again, and Hannah joined them for a game.

Dare laughed that she was far more adept at cards than he could have guessed.

She won three of four fast games of piquet, a game she often played with her sisters.

Leaning toward him, she plucked and rearranged his cards in equally teasing fashion.

“There,” she said. “Now you might win.”

Linhope sat back, smiling as he watched them. “Lord Strathburn, you are a cheerful lad for losing as badly as you did. Something is different with both of you.”

“Oh?” Hannah blushed, and wished her skin did not reveal her thoughts so easily.

“Warmer,” Linhope said. “Peaceful.”

“We, ah, found peace with our situation,” Dare said.

“Well, it suits you both.”

“Another game, sir. Deal the cards,” Dare answered.

Later, following a generous high tea that left her replete and sleepy, Hannah yawned as she read further in Emma.

Though the story kept her attention, she kept glancing at the shoreline, hoping for some sign of Scotland’s coast at last. As the rainy light diminished toward dusk, the shoreline faded behind mist.

“I hope we are near Scotland by now,” she said.

Dare sat back as Linhope picked up the fiddle to play a soft and mournful tune. He gestured toward the wide windows of the lounge. “I believe we just passed Newcastle, so we will still be in English waters. We’ll reach Leith by evening. Safe at home at last.”

His affectionate smile sent a thrill through her. Linhope was right; something indeed had changed. “Safe at home, aye, or so we hope.”

“No need to worry,” Dare said, as if he knew her thoughts.

Linhope was setting the fiddle back in its case. “Once we reach Leith,” he said, “I’ll stay with a friend in the Canongate. We can share a hackney into the city.”

“My home is on Northumberland Street,” Dare told Hannah. “Is that agreeable, my lady? If you prefer to stay with your family, I will go home.”

She paused, knowing where she wanted to be, but uncertain where she should live now that she was married. “Papa and my sisters are still traveling. And there are others staying at Papa’s house just now.”

“Others?”

“Some of Papa’s art students will be at the house. Three of them live in the garret, and the others are nearby. They continue working in the studio whenever he is gone. The butler and housekeeper and servants are there, and the house will be quite busy.”

“Do you want to stay there if it is full of art students and no family?”

“They can be a rambunctious lot, but I am used to them, and fond of them—well, most of them.” She thought of Baird, her father’s assistant, who had doggedly pursued her sister Maisie despite her rejection of his courtship.

He still worked with her father, and she found him an unpleasant fellow, but harmless enough.

“My home is yours.” Dare met her gaze.

“Thank you. I should go to the house to tell Pringle and Mrs. Pringle—our butler and housekeeper—that my situation has, ah, changed. And if I go to your home, I need to collect some fresh things. Besides, I want to see the Pringles. They have been with us a long time.” She smiled, rueful.

“Whatever you prefer, my dear.”

She nodded and did not reply, not knowing quite what to say to his generosity of spirit.

She was not entirely accustomed to it. After the long months with Whitworth and the devastating blunders she had made, she was not sure she deserved so much kindness.

As Dare and Linhope returned to their game, she found her place in the novel and began to read. Then caught her breath again.

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

And she understood why she felt reticent as well as eager to be with him.

The dark waters of Leith Harbor sparkled under twilight, starlight, and the golden plumes of gas lamps along the quay as Hannah stood beside Lord Linhope. They waited for Strathburn, who had gone searching for a hackney coach for the short trip into Edinburgh.

“Soon, madam,” Linhope said. “I know you must be tired after that long journey.”

“We are all weary, sir. This has all been so—unexpected.”

“Aye. But you seem to be feeling better. Headache and fatigue gone?”

“My head is clearer now, aye.”

“Good. You’ll only improve. And I wish you and Dare both much happiness.”

“Thank you again for your help.”

He shook his head, dark-blond hair catching golden lamplight. “I did not do much. There is little to be done in such cases but watch the breathing and make sure the patient is alert and hydrated. We are at a loss in treating for opiates. Strathburn did more for you that night than I did.”

“Strathburn?” Surprised, she looked at him.

“He sat with you the entire night.”

“I know he was there.” She tipped her head, remembering his hand wrapped over hers. “But I did not realize it was all night. He must have felt ill too. He was also dosed.”

“He’s a big lad and shook it off quicker than you could. He refused to leave your side despite my orders that he get some rest.”

“I owe him even more than I thought.”

“May I speak as your friend now, not as your doctor?”

“Please.”

“I have known Strathburn since schoolyard days. He is very smart, careful in all he does. A good man with a good heart that he guards well, considering what he…” He continued before she could ask more.

“I have seen him in plenty and content, and also in war. I have seen him seriously wounded, yet quick to help others once he was recovering. And I have also seen him in love—what he thought was love—and grieving.” He shook his head thoughtfully.

“I have seen that lad as low as he has ever been, and as happy as he will allow himself to be.”

“Allow?”

“A guarded and cautious soul, is Dare.”

She glanced at him. “He said you met in school and were in the regiment together. He mentioned a broken heart and a girl who died. But he said little about it.”

“It is not in his nature to reveal much. That will take time,” he added.

“We have that.”

“You do. I will say—in all the years I have known him, I have never seen him like this. Devoted. Determined to be there for you. Pleased and steady and more himself than he has been for a long while. He is far more than smitten.” Lifting a brow, he gazed at her. “He loves you.”

She drew in a breath. “If you worry that I might hurt your friend, you need not.”

“I know. Dare sees something in you that he has not found before.”

“A lass in terrible trouble, in need of his help? I hope he does not regret it someday. This all came about so quickly.”

“When he does something, he means it. He is rarely impulsive and never false. He acted quickly on this for a reason, lass. And I can tell you he meant never to risk his heart again. But he has, with you. That is not a caution. It is a compliment.”

She nodded. “He said he was engaged before.”