Page 16 of The Scot Beds His Wife

She knew better.

And that knowledge was hard-won.

“Coincidentally,you’llfind, Mr. St. James that—”

“LordThorne is the correct way to address me.”

Thorne,she thought wryly. How apropos. “If you say so. You’ll find that—”

“The queen says so.”

She snorted. “Notmyqueen.”

Both men behind him gasped in audible distress, and evenLordThorne dropped her elbow in dismay.

“My dear Miss Ross.” The solicitor—another Mackenzie, she hadn’t been remiss in noticing—gently stepped in front of the flummoxed lord and said in a careful, if nasal, voice, “I ken ye’ve lived a great deal of yer life in the American West, and that country is rather… infamous forits lack of… governance.” He cast furtive glances at the mildly interested passersby, and then lowered his voice further. “However, I’d beg ye to keep in mind that so long as ye’re a citizen of this empire, and yer feet are on this soil, ye’re indeed governed by our queen, Parliament, and her appointed agents. Even in these modern times, to declare otherwise is still considered treason by those subject to Her Majesty’s crown. Which ye are.”

Well. Shit. Not two minutes off the train and she’d already stepped in a steaming pile of sedition.

She decided to blame Lord Thorne-in-her-side.

Samantha had never really considered the consequences of relocating from a democratic republic to a monarchy. No Constitution. No Bill of Rights. She’d do well to remember that.

“Understood.” She gave a noncommittal shrug, not willing to either excuse or apologize for her behavior to self-important men. “I’m also given to understand that you English folks pride yourselves on custom, tradition, and upholding a certain code of gentlemanly conduct.”

“Aye, that we do, lass.” The solicitor nodded congenially.

“Wouldn’t an agreed-upon appointment in an office or my home be considered more appropriate for business dealings such as this? Rather than an ambush on a train platform, I mean.”

The two businessmen glanced at each other uneasily, while Lord Thorne concealed an increasingly malevolent expression behind a charming one. “Well, it’s the Highlands, lass, we’re only barely less barbaric than the Americans, all told.”

That had to be the first honest statement he’d uttered thus far.

“Well, since we’re being forthright and all, we Americans are also notorious for fighting to keep what’s ours.”

“Not to mention violently taking what isn’t,” he muttered.

“Let’s not measure the sins of our respective empires onthatscore.”

Though his features remained impassive, Samantha recognized the familiar set of his perfect jaw, and the corresponding tic at his temple.

Her husband had been afflicted with the selfsame expression when they were about to row. This time, she realized with relish, she didn’t have to stick around for the event. She didn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Gavin St. James wasn’therman, which meant his displeasure wasn’therproblem.

And didn’t she have enough of those? Problems. Not men. Thank the Almighty.

“Erradale Estate ismine,” she said firmly. “And I plan to keep it.”

“To do what, exactly?” Thorne asked mockingly. “Ye’ll find Erradale neither properly staffed, secured, nor well kept. The cattle have spread for miles with hardly anyone to herd them, and it hasn’t turned a profit or annuity in nearly a decade. No one in yer family has much bothered with it for twice that long. So I’ll ask ye again, lass.Why now?”

She stepped up to him, uncomfortably close. Face tilted to meet the jade fire in his eyes, simmering behind his deceptively relaxed façade. Nose to perfect, aquiline nose. “Because, Gavin St. James,LordThorne. No matter what you call yourself, Iknowyou’re still a Mackenzie. Which means your father killed my father, and I’ll see you inhellbefore I let anyone in your family have what is rightly mine.”

She turned and did her best to stalk away, painfully aware how ridiculous she looked in her tottering heels.

A low growl drifted from behind her and she thought she heard, “I’m no Mackenzie.”

She didn’t look back as she silently answered,And I’m no fool.

CHAPTERFOUR