Scotsman of My Dreams by Karen Ranney Page A

speed than sense. Thankfully, he didn’t encounter any wayward ottomans or misplaced chairs.
    At the door, he stopped. “If you return, Miss Todd, I’ll notify the authorities.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, you hope Neville is dead?”
    â€œDid you hear me?” he asked.
    â€œAnd me, Rathsmere? Did you hear me?”
    Mrs. Thompson said something calming, but he was already out the door and heading for the stairs, his whiskey be damned.

 
    Chapter 6
    D alton was seated in his library, in front of the cold fireplace. He’d taken the right-­hand chair, leaving the other one vacant for his soon-­to-­be arriving guest. James Wilson would be the first person who saw him outside of his servants and medical attendees.
    He had traveled from America with two ­people, Duane Abernathy and his wife, Constance. Expatriates, they had been convinced to return to Scotland by way of London first. Mrs. Abernathy had proved to be a skilled nurse, and her husband was a general oddsbody, a man of all work and a capable protector.
    Once they brought him home, he had offered them both positions either in London or Gledfield. They had, to his surprise, refused, saying they were all for seeing their homeland again.
    â€œIf you change your mind,” he said, feeling a warmth for the ­couple who had made it possible for him to return to London, “the offer is always open.”
    They had thanked him again, Mrs. Abernathy startling Dalton by kissing him on the cheek.
    â€œAnd I can’t think of anyone I would rather work for,” she said, further surprising him.
    He was fortunate in his London servants as well.
    Mrs. Thompson had been selected by his mother from a phalanx of candidates. She’d been more maternal toward him ever since he returned. No doubt it was his blindness that prompted her attitude. Howington had been with him for years before he left for America. The man had opted to stay behind in England to oversee his affairs. A good thing, as it turned out, since Arthur had gone and gotten himself killed. Between Howington and Arthur’s staff, nothing had fallen by the wayside.
    The MacIain fortune was well served and growing by the day, he was told. His solicitor, however, had been hinting that Dalton should be like his older brother, overseeing it all. Pulling strings here, opening a factory there, hiring and firing and being an observant puppet master.
    He couldn’t imagine a worse steward for the MacIain wealth. He’d never before been responsible for anything other than himself, and look how well he’d handled that task.
    What would James Wilson think to see him? He’d never had to question whether his appearance scared another human being and it irked him to do so now.
    Should he tell James the entire truth or hold back certain details of his expedition to America, the better to appear less of an idiot?
    No, the whole truth must be told. Nothing less would suffice. And his full measure of arrogance must be revealed as well.
    Howington announced his visitor in his usual abrupt manner. His secretary crept on soundless feet to the door, never even seeming to breathe to give his position away. Then, when Dalton was lulled into thinking he was alone, Howington burst into speech.
    â€œMr. Wilson is here, sir,” the secretary said in an unnecessarily loud voice.
    He’d lost his sight, not his hearing.
    A second later he felt Wilson’s hand clamp down on the shoulder.
    â€œJames,” he said smiling. “I would say it was good to see you, but I can’t quite manage that right now.”
    â€œI hadn’t heard, Dalton,” James said. “What the hell happened?”
    He waved toward the chair then turned his head slightly, not having heard Howington leave the room. It was possible the man had slithered out as soundlessly as he entered.
    Bells—­that was most definitely the answer. A necklace of bells if Howington refused to