“Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.”
THE THREE WITCHES, MACBETH ACT IV, SCENE I
“I don’t understand,” Eloise said, her tone exasperated. “First you want to know everyone who’s going to be attending Lady Fenster’s masked ball on Sunday, and then you ask me to describe half of them to you. Why not simply go and see for yourself?”
“They’ll be wearing masks.” Coll flipped through his notes again. “And I’m trying to find a wife, piuthar. I’d like to know with whom I’m entangling myself. Ye ken as well as anyone that a marriage isnae just two people. It’s two families.”
“You might ask Amy or Miranda; they know as well as I do. And I’m trying to find a hat, for heaven’s sake.” Sending him another glare, she moved off deeper into the milliner’s shop.
Following her, Coll made another note to himself. The half dozen other women in the shop parted before him like sheep before a shepherd, but other than trying to avoid knocking any of them over, he ignored them and their curious stares. “What about this one?” he asked, returning to the list of names that actually interested him. “Maria Vance-Hayden? She’s the Duke of Dunhurst’s granddaughter, aye?”
Eloise stopped so quickly he nearly ran into her. “Maria Vance-Hayden?” she whispered, sending a glance past him, no doubt to see if anyone might be listening. “She’s the one you’re … Her?”
“I dunnae know yet, lass. What’s her grandda like?”
She wrinkled her nose. “He’s a duke,” she commented, as if that explained everything.
“I know he’s a duke. Is he pleasant? Serious? What?”
Moving closer, she wrapped a hand around his forearm so she could lift up on her toes and reach his ear. “He’s not very nice. I haven’t spoken more than two words to him, but he’s married to Penelope Vance, who I think is the same age as Maria, and he always has a hand on her. It’s not like he’s worried she’ll run away, but more as if he … wants her beneath his heel or something.” She lowered herself to the floor again, releasing her grip. “I suppose one can’t actually blame him for that. He was supposed to marry Lady Temperance Hartwood, you know.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Who’s that?”
“My goodness, you don’t know any of the good gossip, do you?”
“Apparently. I dunnae.” Temperance wasn’t on his list, but he wasn’t about to pass up a chance to learn more about her. “Speak.”
“I only know rumors and such, since I was … ten or eleven, I think, when it happened. But she was supposed to marry Dunhurst, and instead she ran away from home in the middle of the night the evening before the wedding.”
It had been a week before the wedding, according to Temperance, but he only nodded. “Where did she end up?”
“No one knows. She hasn’t been seen since. I heard that she fled to the Americas and married a French trapper and dresses like an Indian.”
“How does anyone know that if she’s nae been seen since she ran off?”
“Oh, don’t be so logical.” Eloise grinned at him. “Imagining where she went is half the fun, don’t you know.”
Fun. Temperance hadn’t seen it as anything amusing, but at the same time, the wilder the speculation, the safer she likely was. “Do her parents have any other bairns?”
“No. Just her. I heard another story that she married a butcher up in York and has six fat children.”
“She’s nae sent word to her mama and da that she’s well?”
“I told you, no one’s heard anything. You would think that she would tell them where she is, because even though her cousin, Robert Hartwood, will get the title, she’s still the one who’ll get most of the money. After Mr. Hartwood’s marriage, though, he’ll probably push Lord and Lady Bayton to have Lady Temperance declared dead. I would; if she can’t be bothered to claim a hundred thousand pounds or whatever it is, the next marquis should get it.”
The tip of Coll’s pencil broke. A hundred thousand pounds? That much blunt—or half, or even a third of it—made for one hell of a motive to kill a lass. Why hadn’t she said anything? He’d been doing his investigating based on someone being embarrassed if she was discovered. “Are ye certain she’s worth that much?” he forced out.
“That’s the rumor. I think her parents haven’t disowned her yet because having that much money still attached to her might encourage her to return, wouldn’t you think?”
“Aye, ye’d think so.”
Abruptly, Eloise laughed. “If you’re thinking of finding her for yourself, Coll, you’d best get a move on—and hope the rumors about the butcher or the French trapper aren’t true.”
It took every bit of willpower he had to grin back at her. “That much money does make the lass sound a wee bit more attractive, doesnae?” He clenched his jaw beneath his smile. “Her cousin—what’s his name again? Have ye met him?”
“Robert,” she repeated. “Robert Hartwood. I’ve danced with him a time or two. He’s very serious. I’m not certain what Caroline Rilence did to get him to propose to her. Maybe she made him laugh, and that addled his brain.”
“When are they to wed?”
“At the end of summer, I think. I’m sorry I don’t know all the gossip, but I’ve been planning my own wedding, you know.” She took his arm again, squeezing it. “And I need a new hat to wear for Aden and Miranda’s wedding. I thought I had one, but it’s very like the one Miranda said she’s wearing, and I don’t want to look like I’m aping her.”
“Aden said the wedding was to be a wee affair with nae but family and the pastor.”
“And a few of mama’s friends. And luncheon afterward. People always talk about weddings, regardless of who they’re for, Coll. I don’t want anyone to be talking about my poor choice of hat.” She put her hands on her hips. “So either help me look for one, or go away.”
“A few of mama’s friends” could mean anywhere between five and five hundred people. He hoped Aden knew that, though his crafty brother likely did. Which meant Aden had agreed to it, and he and Francesca were well on their way to making amends.
Cursing under his breath, Coll kept pace behind his sister and continued looking through his notes. Aden might have forgiven their mother for fleeing Scotland, but he had no reason to do so. The woman hadn’t helped him with anything but frightening off lasses at the theater. And as for her claim that she’d sent letters he’d never received and that she’d never received the letters he’d sent her, he didn’t believe it. That would mean someone—his da, Angus MacTaggert—had taken hold of them.
He slowed his charge through the milliner’s shop. Earl Aldriss, Angus MacTaggert, was a damned stubborn man. He clung to the old ways and had raised his three sons to be wild, independent, and suspicious of anything English. Especially their own mother. Did it make a difference if she’d written? Letters didn’t change the fact that she’d left the three of them behind, or that she’d never returned. If any letter contained an explanation for that, he wanted to see it, by God.
For the moment, though, returning to the Saint Genesius and having another word with Temperance was more urgent. She’d given him perhaps two dozen names, half of which he’d already crossed off thanks to Eloise and her knowledge of the ton. Most of them would have no reason in the world to wish her harm, even if she did have a large inheritance waiting for her. That still left four or five names, though, and with what Eloise had just told him, dear cousin Robert Hartwood sat directly at the top.
Comparing Temperance’s list with the one he’d made of the guests attending Lady Fenster’s idiotic masked soiree, it looked like six people Temperance had known before her flight would be in attendance—including her parents and, more significantly for her safety, her cousin Robert.
He’d used the list as a way to ask questions of Eloise, but now it looked as if he’d be attending. With every damned guest in a mask, though, he had a flea’s chance in the ocean of figuring out who it was he needed to watch.
“—new patron of Persephone Jones,” one of the other lasses in the shop was saying to her companion. “Didn’t you know? And he’s supposedly after a wife.”
Coll looked over at her. A petite blonde lass with curling ringlets framing her face and pouting lips she likely practiced in the mirror for hours. “I am after a wife,” he said. “Are ye offering?”
The young lady squeaked like a mouse—and fainted to the floor. The other lasses rushed to surround her like a herd of cows protecting a calf, and with a short grin, he turned and left the shop.
The proper set, then, called him Persephone’s patron. He wasn’t her damned patron. He didn’t help her find roles or shop her about to other theaters. He was her damned lover, and her friend. And for the moment, her protector. Whether he wanted any or all of those things to continue indefinitely didn’t signify at the moment, because firstly he needed to keep her alive, and to stop whoever was trying to murder her.
The name he’d circled, the one most likely to try to kill her, had to be her cousin. In the Highlands, he’d have ridden to the man’s house, called him outside, and either beat him to a bloody pulp or outright ended him. But this was London, where people were civilized and family only tried to stab a relation in the back, not in the front. And so he had to be patient and careful, and figure out how to get himself close enough to Robert Hartwood to determine whether he was a villain—all while he didn’t even know what the man looked like.
Putting the list back in his pocket, he swung up on Nuckelavee. Identifying a man at a costume party without letting anyone else, including said man, know he was being tracked—that would be tricky. But he did happen to know one person who could point him out and who wouldn’t ask too many sticky questions, because she already knew the secret he’d promised to carry.
Would Temperance attend a ball in Mayfair, though? Even a masked one? If she wouldn’t do it for him, perhaps he could convince her to do it for herself. For them, because he damned well wanted to dance with her.
Temperance took the tray of glasses out of Gregory’s hands. “I can manage,” she told him, chuckling at a story Flora was telling about her early days working backstage at the Saint Genesius. “You stay and attempt to explain our general insanity to your brother.”
“I doubt anyone could do that,” her footman returned, but resumed his seat on the long couch.
“They all adore ye,” a deep Highlands brogue came from behind her as she entered the quiet kitchen.
“We’re family, I suppose. Lord knows everyone else thinks us mad.” Setting down the tray, she turned to face him. “Thank you for coming tonight. The little ones are very impressed with your title and accent.”
“And my kilt. The littlest bairn, Michael, tried to pull off his trousers and wrap a napkin about his waist.”
“Well, it’s a very attractive kilt. I can hardly blame him.” The kilt was far from the only attractive thing about him, but he’d probably already overheard both Flora and Beth refer to him as a Scottish god enough times tonight.
“Are ye truly worth a hundred thousand pounds?”
She was immediately glad she’d already put down the tray. “And where did you hear such a thing?” she managed, fluttering one hand.
“My sister. Dunnae fret, I wasnae talking about ye. But she said ye were worth a hundred thousand quid, and that yer parents likely havenae cast ye off because they hope the money’s enough to convince ye to return.”
The pleasant face her parents continued to produce for public use constantly amazed her. Perhaps they were where she’d gotten her talent for acting after all. “I imagine the reason my parents haven’t had me declared dead or disowned me is because then my cousin Robert would know he has the title and money coming to him, and he would cease to bow to their every whim. By dangling that money, they keep control.” She sighed. “And no, last I knew, it wasn’t a hundred thousand pounds. It was closer to fifty thousand.”
“That’s nae a thing to scoff at, lass. Th—”
“It’s how they attempted to control me, as well,” she interrupted. “I would have the money under my own name after they died. Until then, I’d best do as they say, or it would all go to Robert.”
“Eloise thinks that after Robert weds, he’ll press yer parents to have ye declared dead.”
“He probably will. I doubt he’ll succeed.” She picked up a dishcloth, wiped her hands, and tossed it down again. “I don’t want the money. And I certainly don’t wish to be valued for it, as I was with Dunhurst.” Temperance eyed him. Of course she hadn’t mentioned the money. It always came down to that. Even with Coll, who needed money to keep Aldriss Park funded. If he had her, he wouldn’t need to respect his mother’s wishes. And while the idea that he had a legitimate reason to want to marry her had a certain appeal to it, despite what the rest of Society thought of her, she didn’t want to drag him into that game. No one ever won, except for her parents.
“Temperance,” he began, lowering his voice so no one beyond the kitchen would be able to hear him, “fifty thousand pounds equals fifty thousand reasons for someone to kill ye, if they thought it would give yer parents leave to hand over the money.”
She stared at him. “You think…” Choking on the words, she fetched the bottle of cooking wine and took a swig from it. “You think Robert is trying to kill me?”
“It’s the best motive I can see,” Coll returned mildly, “unless there’s someone else who’d inherit it after him.” He shrugged. “Ye know he’s betrothed, aye? Set to wed at the end of the summer.”
“Yes. To Caroline Rilence. We went to school together.” Temperance grimaced. “I keep up with the Society pages. I like to know who’s in Town, who’s marrying whom, and whether I’m still alive or not.”
“It’s a smart thing to do. I’d expect it of ye.” Stepping forward, he took the wine from her hand, set the cork back, and returned it to its shelf. “I need to take a look at Robert Hartwood, both in person and on paper. But I also need to be subtle about it.”
Her own cousin, trying to murder her over money? Such a thing wasn’t unheard of, of course, but for heaven’s sake. She’d been gone for nearly eight years. “I’ve been missing for a long time,” she said aloud. “If it’s Robert, why now?”
“He’s here in London. Mayhap he saw ye onstage and recognized ye. Rather than go to yer parents, he reckoned he’d see to it that ye nae reappeared. And he’s to wed, so blunt’s likely on his mind.”
“No. I can’t believe it. We were never close, but he’s not some devil.”
“The truth doesnae care if ye believe it or nae. It just is. We only need to find it.” Approaching her again, he pulled a small vial from his pocket. “Take a whiff of this, lass, but dunnae touch it.”
Scowling, she waited while he uncorked it, then leaned in to take a tentative sniff. “Garlic,” she said aloud.
“Like that whisky ye didnae drink?”
She sniffed again. “Yes. What is it?”
Corking it again, he returned it to his pocket. “Arsenic.” His expression grim, he put his hands on her hips. “That wasnae bad whisky, lass. It was poison.”
Good heavens. All those little things she’d wondered about in passing—they weren’t simply coincidences or accidents. Someone had been trying to kill her for at least a fortnight.
“Persephone,” Coll said, and she blinked.
“Yes. I’m listening.”
“I need someone who can point your cousin out to me, who can tell me what he’s about without half of London noticing.” His grip on her firmed. “There’s to be a ball on Sunday, at Lady Fenster’s house. A masked ball. If ye—”
Ice shot through her. “No! I will not go there with you!” Making a fist, she pounded against his unyielding chest.
He only drew her closer. “I need ye to help me help ye,” he went on in the same even tone. “I’ll nae let a thing happen to ye. I swear it on Scotland, on my own family’s blood.”
“And what if my p-parents are there, and they recognize me?” Blackness edged her vision, surrounding her.
“Then we’ll go to the Highlands,” he whispered. “Ye and me. Nae a soul would dare come for ye there. Nae with me and all of the MacTaggerts and Clan Ross standing with ye.”
Shutting her eyes, she lowered her cheek against his chest. The hard beat of his heart sounded steady but swift—he wasn’t nearly as calm as he pretended. That realization actually steadied her a little. She wasn’t the only one having difficulty with this plan of his.
“I can’t, Coll. I’m sorry. It’s … Ask me to do anything else.”
She felt his sigh. “Dunnae fret, my lass. I’ll figure out another way. I’m sorry to upset ye.”
“Please don’t make any of them suspicious. I don’t want them back in my life. Any of them. Promise me, Coll.”
His arms enfolded her. “I promise ye, mo chridhe.”
“Thank you.” Whatever he’d called her in Gaelic, it sounded lovely, and she left it at that. The last thing she wanted to know was that he’d called her a fool or an idiot.
“Do ye think Beth or Albert would object if I brought a wee kilt for Michael to the theater tomorrow?”
Albert, Beth’s husband, would likely faint at the idea of a viscount bringing his youngest son a gift. “I think that would be lovely.”
“I’ll do it first thing; I’ve Aden’s wedding to attend in the afternoon. I reckon I’ll leave my men with ye and come back here before dinner.”
“Your brother is marrying tomorrow. You need to be there for as long as he wants you about. And I imagine your men will want to be there, as well. You said they came down from Scotland with you.”
“Aye, they’d prefer it.” His sigh felt warm in her hair. “Ye could come with me to the wedding. It’s to be a small ceremony, with just family and the lass’s dearest friends.”
“I don’t seem to fit in either of those categories,” she said dryly, deeply surprised at how tempted she was to spend the day with him, despite all the glares and snubs she was likely to receive. In a sense, she even welcomed the insults, because that meant none of them had any idea of her true identity.
“Ye’re my friend, I reckon. And I’ve nae upset the household for days. Hell, I’ve barely set foot in Oswell House for days. They’ll all be thinking I’ve gone soft. Come with me.”
She would be safer in his company. And it would allow him to focus his attention on his brother and the wedding. Yes, it would be quite the magnanimous gesture on her part—or so she could tell herself. “Very well,” she muttered. “But only because I’ve kept you from causing an uproar for days.”
He chuckled. “Mostly, anyway.”
When she looked up at him, he bent his head and kissed her, soft and slow and achingly gentle. She’d seen him angry, though with her he’d never shown more than frustration. Coll MacTaggert would be a formidable enemy, and she was glad—more than glad—that he’d taken her side in this mess. She could claim it was gratitude she felt toward him, but she’d been grateful on occasion before, and these deep yearnings and longings had never been part of it.
“Just don’t expect that your mother will be unexpectedly delighted to see me,” she warned, for her sake as much as his. It would be easy to sink into that daydream, where Persephone Jones could marry Lord Glendarril and she could continue acting while he … well, in her daydream, she supposed he would decide that he did actually prefer London to the Highlands, and he would have no qualms about her continuing to act while he simply stayed by her side at the theater all day and pleasured her all night. Surely that would be enough to keep a man accustomed to hard work and authority more than occupied.
“This isnae about Lady Aldriss,” he replied, kissing Temperance again.
Good heavens. With a last kiss, she pushed at him, and he released her. “I’ll come with you tomorrow,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “But you still need to find a wife.”
Coll tilted his head. “Tem—”
She put a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you try to charm me. Go find a damned wife. The sooner, the better. For all of our sakes.”
“Ceannairceach boireannach,” he murmured, his voice muffled beneath her palm.
“What does that mean?”
“I called ye stubborn and rebellious, because ye are,” Coll said, pulling her hand down. “We’re a good pair. At least think about that, before ye prance off to the theater again. I know ye dunnae want to hear it, but there it is.”
“I am not prancing anywhere,” Temperance stated, scowling. “I have an occupation—a job where I work and am paid—and that is how I afford this house, my clothes, and my meals. Simply because you live off your mother’s charity and then justify it by turning around and insulting her doesn’t give you the right to insult me.”
For a long moment, he glared down at her, his green eyes nearly black in the dim light of the kitchen. “I do live off her charity, I reckon,” he said, his voice flat. “And I’ll continue to do so, because her charity also keeps crops in the fields and thatching over the heads of my cotters. Most other lairds have turned their lands over to sheep-grazing and burned out their own people. The MacTaggerts havenae, and we willnae. Even if it means bowing to the will of a Sassenach countess when she tells me I have to marry.” He turned and headed for the door leading to the narrow alleyway and the street beyond. With a yank, he opened it, strode through, and slammed it behind him.
Now she’d done it. She wouldn’t have to fret about choosing between him and the Saint Genesius any longer, at least, and she wouldn’t have to keep her heart locked inside her chest so tightly it ached whenever he walked into the room. She picked up the tray of glasses, grasping for a heroine she’d once played whose heart had been as wounded—but frowned before slamming it down again. This was not a stupid play.
She’d railed against being everyone’s heroine, being some fabled fictional female, and then when she met a man who liked her for herself, she drove him away. Yes, she liked her life, and yes, she’d found a safe place to live and to … be. But the most idiotic thing of all was that she wasn’t safe. All she was now was alone.
The door opened again. “I’ll be by for ye at noon,” Coll said. “Two of my lads will sleep in yer front room, and the other two will stay on watch. They’ll trade off, and ye’re nae to leave the house without all four of them. And lock this damned door.”
This time the door clicked shut in an almost civilized fashion. For a moment, Temperance felt frozen on the outside, while her insides caught fire.
He wasn’t gone. He hadn’t left. Coll, the amazingly stubborn man, had bent. She’d insulted him in probably the worst way anyone could—accused him of choosing to live on an Englishwoman’s charity—and he was still taking her to a wedding tomorrow. A wedding where her presence would do nothing but cause him more trouble.
Abruptly, her bones unlocked, and she sagged against the table. She’d known he would be trouble for her, but she hadn’t given more than a passing thought to the idea that she could also cause a great deal of trouble for him. That she had been, from the moment he’d mentioned her name, or her faux name, to his family. And still, he remained.
“Miss Pers—goodness, are you all right?” Flora said, hurrying into the room to put a steadying arm around her shoulders.
“I’m fine,” Temperance lied. “Just a dizzy spell. Would you lock the kitchen door, if you please?”
“Good heavens, yes. Gregory should have locked it an hour ago. Foolish man. How he manages to keep his head on his shoulders, I’ll never know.” Releasing her, the maid stepped over to secure the door. “Do you wish for some water? Or something stronger? I do notice the giant man isn’t here any longer.”
She shook her head. “Give me a moment to catch my breath. Coll is taking me to his brother’s wedding tomorrow.”
Flora blinked at her. “That would make me tumble to the floor myself. His mother is Lady Aldriss, isn’t she? One of the Saint Genesius’s patrons? Oh, dear, I hope she doesn’t send an angry letter to Mr. Huddle. Not when you already have Scotsmen swarming all over the stage.”
Temperance had forgotten that Lady Aldriss not only had a seasonal box at the Saint Genesius, but that she contributed to the theater’s annual upkeep, as well. Charlie wouldn’t like it at all if one of his troupe made her angry, even if she was his lead actress. The countess wielded a great deal of influence in Mayfair. If she turned her back on the Saint Genesius, others would, as well. “I shall be humble and grateful,” she decided. “I’m curious to see an aristocratic wedding.”
“I would be curious myself,” Flora agreed. “Just don’t be too curious, or she’ll think you’re digging your hooks into Glendarril.”
Oh, it was too late for that. She hadn’t dug in her claws, but somehow, they’d both gotten tangled up in each other. And she was halfway to hoping that neither of them found a way out.