A Bewitching Bride by Elizabeth Thornton Page B

shut and their speculations to themselves.”
    Her hand went to her throat, and she rubbed it distractedly. “People have such filthy minds.” She spoke under her breath, then heaved a sigh. Raising her eyes to his, she went on, “Thank you for thinking of my reputation. You’re more farsighted than I am.”
    “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” He touched his index finger to the dimple in his jaw in a half hearted attempt to conceal his grin. “Your thanks are unnecessary, though. You see, Miss Cameron, I have as much to lose as you. Should it become known that we spent the night together, I might feel obliged to make an honest woman of you.”
    She lifted one brow. “Why should you? From what I hear, you make a practice of spending the night with women who are practically strangers to you. You haven’t tried to make honest women of them.”
    “That’s because they don’t have cousins who would break my arms and legs should I be so bold as to refuse. At heart, I’m a fearful coward.”
    She gave an impish grin. “Don’t worry, Hepburn. It will never come to that. I have enough courage for the two of us. Now, where is this coat you promised me?”
    He watched her dress with a kind of grudging respect. There were more facets to this woman’s character than showed on the surface. He swallowed a sigh. He might as well have been a knight in shining armor entrusted with her care. It would have helped had she been twenty years older and running to fat.
    A spear of guilt twisted inside him. Why had he been sent to save this woman and not Alice? What indifferent deity had decided who should live and who should die?
    “Ready?” she asked, then raised her brows when she saw his expression.
    His face cleared. “You’ll do,” he replied.
    In her tattered dress and borrowed coat, she should have looked like a scarecrow. Maybe it was her haughty smile or the way she held herself that made him feel like a supplicant in the presence of a duchess. Opening the door was easy; closing it was hard. The duchess and his dog did not spare him a glance as they sailed into that twilight just before dawn.
    The sun had risen a little higher by the time they reached the hotel. It wasn’t deserted as they’d hoped it would be. Several gillies in their deer hats and cradling their guns in one arm were fanning out as they made for the snow-covered moors.
    “Dalziel!” Gavin called out, recognizing one of the men who wasn’t dressed as a gillie. It was Will Rankin’s man of business. “What’s going on?”
    Dalziel quickly crossed to him. He was a young man, not much older than thirty, with dark, receding hair. His usual bland expression had vanished, and worry lines puckered his brow. “It’s Dr. Rankin, sir,” he said. “He asked me to waken him early this morning, in case the trains were running, you know. His bed hasn’t been slept in, and he is nowhere in the hotel.”
    Kate’s hand had gone to her throat. She looked at Gavin. All the color had drained from her face. He clasped her hand. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” he said softly. “Say as little as possible until we have a chance to talk things over.” He motioned to Dalziel and said something she could not hear.
    Dalziel nodded and offered her his arm. They entered the hotel together, leaving Gavin with the gillies.

Five

    Mr. Dalziel escorted her to her room. He was discretion itself. Not one awkward question passed his lips. However, Kate was aware that he was a keen observer. “Nothing much gets past Dalziel,” Dr. Rankin frequently told her. But he was referring to his business affairs, keeping track of the clinics’ funds and supplies. Dalziel had no contact with the patients.
    He was murmuring soothing inanities in her ear. She wasn’t listening and brusquely broke into his monologue. “Tell me again, Mr. Dalziel. Dr. Rankin parted company with you last night. Then what happened?”
    “He asked me to wake him early if the trains were running again. I