Scandal in Scotland by Karen Hawkins

the porter added as he crossed the threshold.
    “I shall remember that, thank you.” With that, she closed the door and turned the key in the lock.
    After the porter’s footsteps faded away, she hurried to her portmanteau. She removed all of the clothes from the bag and dislodged the false bottom, revealing the carefully wrapped artifact. “Good,” she murmured, repacking the bag and returning it to the floor.
    Now all she had to do was wait. If this was like her other exchanges, Miss Challoner would show up when she chose, which often left Marcail waiting for hours and sometimes days. The whole thing was most unnerving.
    But the worst part was behind her. She’d procured the artifact; now she could deliver it and be done with it.
    Yet she couldn’t forget the blaze of William’s eyes as he watched her, condemning her every move. Don’t be silly; he was drugged. He probably wasn’t fully aware of what occurred .
    The thought should have reassured her, but it just made her heart ache a little more. Blast it, she should be done with feeling bad about things that had happened, especially about things that had to happen. Perhaps I should have just told him why I’d come, that I needed the artifact to protect my family .
    But even as she had the thought, she shook her head. He’d been too angry to listen to her. If she’d been on fire, he wouldn’t have spared a glass of water to save her. I had no choice; I did what I had to .
    Heart heavy, she removed her veil and bonnet and set them on the bed. She pulled out all of her hairpins and placed them on the nightstand, then threaded her fingers through the mass of waves that fell about her shoulders.
    She was tired, worn, and ached from head to foot. Southend-on-Sea was almost a twelve-hour ride from London. Why had her blackmailer chosen this town? It was in the middle of nowhere, which made her uneasy.
    She ruffled her hair and then went to look out one of the windows. The town sat on the North Sea at the mouth of the Thames, built upon a graceful slope that led to the sea’s edge. The rainy street below was nearly empty, except for a man in dark clothing who appeared to be waiting for someone and a stray dog that was digging under a stoop.
    Beyond the street, she could see a long pier jutting out into the water. Several boats were tied there, including a large ship. In the distance, two more ships slowly sailed toward the pier. It was a pretty scene, worth painting.
    Sighing, she dropped the curtain and looked about the room, suddenly feeling very alone. “Just come and take the blasted thing,” she murmured sourly. “I don’t have all week to wait for you.”
    Not to mention that the longer Miss Challoner waited to claim the artifact, the longer William had to find her. She was safer here, away from London, but still … He had been so very, very angry. She would have to face him when she returned home. She’d been extremely careful that no one knew she was coming here. Except for three of her servants, everyone thought she was at home in bed, ill with the ague.
    Still, she couldn’t linger too long; she was due to begin rehearsal on a new melodrama entitled Ali Pasha . The script was in her portmanteau, as she’d planned to read it on the way, but the bouncing of the coach had prevented it.
    Impatient, she went to the dresser and poured herself a glass of water, then sat in a chair and stretched out her legs.
    It was as if the blackmailer was purposely trying to grind her spirit into dust. That was a silly thought, for it suggested that the person had a personal grudge against her, and she had no real enemies.
    That is true, isn’t it? Is there any reason someone would want my life disrupted in such a fashion?
    She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair, considering all the people she knew well enough for them to wish her either harm or true good, and realized that the list was short indeed. Over the years she’d become very private, only going to and