Scandal in Scotland by Karen Hawkins Page A

from the theater, riding most mornings with Colchester to remind the world that they were supposedly a couple, and visiting Grandmamma. She simply didn’t know anyone well enough to have an enemy.
    She shifted restlessly. This whole situation reminded her of one of the mystery plays that the theater put on for the afternoon and early evening crowds for a penny ticket.
    She rose to pull the script from her bag and then returned to her chair to read.
    Two hours later, just as Marcail was beginning to doze, a knock sounded on the door, startling her. “Finally,” she grumbled as she rose to her stockinged feet. She tossed her script on the bed, grabbed her boots, and stepped into them. Not bothering to lace them, she hurried to the dresser to repin her hair.
    The knock sounded again, more insistent.
    “One moment!” Miss Challoner certainly was anxious to get her hands on the artifact.
    Marcail glanced at her portmanteau. What is the value of that thing, anyway? I wish I knew .
    The knock sounded again, even louder this time, and she called out in an exasperated tone, “I’ll be right there!”
    She slipped in just enough hairpins to keep the hair off her shoulders and then went to the door. She undid the lock and swung it open. “Miss Challoner—”
    William Hurst swooped her up like a sack of sand, tucking her under his arm, against his hip. Her hair immediately fell from its few pins as his drenched clothes soaked hers. “You’re wet! Damn it, William, put me down!”
    “Like hell.” He crossed the room while she squirmed and kicked. “Hold still or you’ll hurt yourself.”
    That made her madder and she squirmed even harder, kicking with all of her might. Her toes slammed into the dresser, one unlaced boot flying off. “Owww!” she yelled.
    “I warned you.”
    “ Put me doooooooown! I swear to heaven, if you don’t—”
    He tightened his hold until she could only gasp, no other sound fleeing her lips. She fisted her hands and pummeled his thigh as hard as she could.
    “Stop that at once.”
    William’s voice cracked the order and Marcail instinctively stopped. Perhaps it was just as well, for her toes throbbed. There was a time to fight and a time to scheme. Now was a good Scheming Time.
    He reached the bed and tossed her onto the mattress, then returned to the door and locked it.
    Marcail took the moment to sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the portmanteau on the floor, by her feet.
    She quickly spread her skirts as if to shake them back into their intended folds. Hidden by this gesture, she shoved the portmanteau under the bed with her heel. It went partway but then stopped, blocked by some unseen object.
    She’d just have to keep her skirts over it.
    William tucked the key into his waistcoat pocket and leaned against the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he regarded her with a self-satisfied smile. “Well, here we are. I’d offer you some drugged port, but unfortunately I don’t have any.”
    She pushed her hair from her face and pulled it all to one side. “So … here we are. We can’t seem to stay away from each other lately.”
    “I’d be happy to stay away from you, if I could. I want that artifact.”
    “That’s too bad. I already delivered it to its rightful owner.”
    “Who happens to be my brother. He purchased it in Egypt several months ago.”
    “He stole it, so he was not the rightful owner.”
    “Is that what you were told?”
    She opened her mouth, and then closed it. “It’s the truth … isn’t it?”
    He sent her a look of such disgust that her face warmed. “You don’t even know for certain, do you? What in the hell is going on, Marcail?”
    Her heart sank to her stomach as she read the truth in William’s face. It was a lie. It was all a lie . She shouldn’t have been surprised, for her blackmailer was anything but honorable. Feeling as if she might be ill, she smoothed her skirts and said in a tight