A Scot to the Heart by Caroline Linden

The next day dawned like the beginning of a glorious new world.

Despite getting very little sleep, Drew was up early, fairly bouncing on his feet as he oversaw preparations for the journey. Ilsa had stayed in his bed until the first pale glimmers of gray lightened the sky, before slipping away with one last lingering kiss.

Three times they had made love, teasing, gently, focused, and hard and fast, that last time, trying to make the most of each stolen second together. She came apart under him with an expression of such rapture, he didn’t know how he would ever do without her.

“You’re too bloody cheerful this morning,” was Duncan’s greeting as he came out, still pulling on his coat.

Drew grinned. “Why not? ’Tis a fine day for travel. We should make good time.”

“Aye,” said Duncan sourly. “And a long day of travel never fails to put a spring in a man’s step.”

“Did you not sleep well?” asked Drew in exaggerated concern. “You’re right peevish this morning.”

Duncan gave him a dark glance. “You might guess why, you daft specter.” He paused. “Speaking of ghostly figures, I saw another one, early this morning. Flitted right down the corridor past my door in a flowing white gown.”

That made Drew pause. Duncan’s room was near his. If people had seen Ilsa leaving his bedroom . . . “I told you the place was haunted,” he said bracingly. “Whole regiments of ghosts drifting through, no doubt.”

Now his friend was smirking. “Fortunate me to have seen one! She was very fetching, too, and blessedly silent.”

The doors opened and his mother walked out, tugging at her gloves and calling over her shoulder to her daughters. Drew lowered his voice. “Aye, fortunate you. I’m sure ’twas a very gentle ghost, and not interesting to anyone else.”

Duncan snickered. “For your sake, St. James, I hope she wasn’t entirely gentle. But no, I’m sure no one else would be interested in the story.” He walked off, whistling toward the horses being led out by the grooms.

After that Drew did his best to be cautious, and did not sweep Ilsa into his arms for a morning kiss the way he wanted to do when she finally appeared, looking remarkably fresh and beautiful even though she’d had as little sleep as he had. She came out with Winnie and Bella, carrying a large hatbox whose lid seemed to bounce upward every few seconds, and the three of them were absorbed in conversation. Only as they passed him did she glance up with a tiny, intimate smile that set his mood soaring again.

It was an easy trip back, and they reached Edinburgh before dark the next day. During the ride, Drew endured his friends’ complaints about the ghost prank and teasing about his partner in crime with good grace; in truth he barely listened to them as they rode, preferring instead to steal peeks inside the carriage where Ilsa sat, sometimes talking to his sisters, sometimes leaning against the side with her eyes closed, sometimes sending him arch glances that almost caused him to ride into the ditch.

After the serenity of Stormont, the Edinburgh streets felt crowded, full of workmen hurrying to their dinners, carriages taking people to the theater, shops closing up, windows lighting with candles. The smells felt sharper and more noxious the closer they got, reminding everyone why the city was called Auld Reekie. After they crossed the bridge toward High Street, Monteith and Kincaid doffed their hats and called a farewell to the ladies before turning away toward their own lodgings.

Annag came out on the steps when they reached the neat little house off the High Street, fluttering her hands in happy welcome. The ladies climbed down, stretching and exclaiming at the long ride, and Louisa asked Drew to see that the luggage was carried in.

“And then I suppose you’d better escort Mrs. Ramsay home,” she said with a perfectly straight face.

Behind him Duncan coughed and wore a wicked grin until Drew thumped him vigorously on the back. “Aye, Mother,” he said. “Duncan, take up a trunk and be useful.” Conscious of Ilsa’s gaze on him, he heaved Bella’s trunk onto his shoulder and jogged up the stairs.

When he came back down, his mother was talking to Ilsa. He checked his step, then slowly came near, wondering what they were saying.

“We were delighted to have you, my dear.” Louisa clasped Ilsa’s hand in hers. “I’m pleased we were able to become better acquainted. I know my children are very fond of you.”

Drew stood like a statue, wishing he hadn’t approached.

But Ilsa smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. It was entirely my pleasure.”

His mother patted her hand and released her. “Perhaps you will dine with us tomorrow evening.”

He caught the flicker of surprise in her face before Ilsa smiled again, wider this time, and accepted.

When his mother turned away, he told her he and Duncan would see Agnes and Ilsa back to her home. Then he lowered his voice, as he bent down to collect Agnes’s trunk. “Do you remember what you asked me, that day you took tea in the study?”

His mother looked startled. “Yes, I think so . . .”

Drew glanced at Ilsa. She wore a short pink jacket over her dark blue dress, and the new hat—a straw bonnet with white flowers and a bright red ribbon. As he watched she laughed at something Agnes said, and an answering smile bloomed unconsciously on his own face. “The answer is yes,” he murmured to his mother, and walked on, calling for Duncan to bring the other baggage.

“We could hail a porter,” said Agnes as they walked, Duncan behind him and the ladies bringing up the rear.

“No need,” Drew told her. “Unless it’s too much for Duncan?”

His friend growled something rude under his breath.

“’Tis very kind of you, gentlemen,” said Ilsa.

And just the sound of the warm appreciation in her voice made him feel taller, stronger, and able to carry this trunk another mile straight up the hill.

Mam, I think I’m already in love with her.

At her door the butler let them in. The pony came trotting out to receive a flurry of affection from both Ilsa and Agnes, and graciously let Drew scratch his nose. Ilsa invited them to come up to the drawing room, and Drew went without waiting for Duncan’s response.

Ilsa led the way but paused in the doorway. Her shoulders fell slightly, and then she took a breath and walked in.

Drew realized why when he followed. The walls and ceiling had been repainted a muted green, no more hints of Calton Hill. New draperies hung in front of the tall windows, closed against the twilight. The stern and forbidding painting still hung opposite the hearth.

Ilsa said nothing. Agnes was not so restrained. “Oh no,” she exclaimed, halting just inside the room.

“Respectable and elegant once more,” said Ilsa with a forced smile.

“Indeed it is!” said Miss Fletcher from the doorway, a complacent smile on her face. “The new drapes are much lighter, as you wished.”

Ilsa touched the heavy cream fabric. “Yes. Much lighter.”

Her aunt went to embrace her. “I am so glad you approve. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did,” Ilsa murmured. “Aunt, I hope you remember Captain St. James. Allow me to present Mr. Felix Duncan, who accompanied us to Stormont Palace. Mr. Duncan, my aunt, Miss Fletcher.”

“Enchanté, madam.” Mr. Duncan swept a grand bow, and Miss Fletcher bobbed a curtsy, her face alive with interest.

“You are both welcome, Captain, Mr. Duncan. I trust you had a good journey?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Drew bowed in turn. “Very fine weather for travel.”

“And now you must all be hungry.” Miss Fletcher rang the bell. “I shall send for a light supper—”

“That is most kind, Miss Fletcher,” put in Drew, “but you mustn’t trouble yourself. Mr. Duncan and I shall stop at a tavern.” He glanced at his sister. “Perhaps you and Mrs. Ramsay would like to accompany us, Agnes. It would be unkind to put out the housekeeper, feeding so many on short notice.”

Ilsa’s face brightened. Agnes gave him an incredulous look. “I—I suppose, if Mrs. Ramsay wishes to . . .”

“Of course.” Ilsa smiled directly at Drew, as if she knew exactly where he meant to take them. “I would be delighted.”

He and Duncan made idle conversation with Miss Fletcher while the ladies went to change their clothes. Ilsa’s aunt kept casting him contemplative glances, but said nothing exceptional. Still, Drew was relieved when his sister and Ilsa returned.

“Where are we going?” demanded Agnes as soon as they were outside.

“I’ve longed for a plate of oysters since we left town,” said Drew without looking at Ilsa. “What say you, Agnes?”

His sister looked like she couldn’t believe her ears. “I—I may go to an oyster cellar?”

“Is that a good idea?” blurted Duncan, which earned him a poisonous glare from Agnes.

“As your brother and guardian, I see nothing wrong with it, and I shall be there to provide any assistance necessary. Don’t you wish to come?”

For a moment Drew thought his sister might embrace him in the public street. “Yes!”

They went to Hunter’s tavern again, finding a place at a long table in the cellar. Drew ordered punch for the ladies, porter for him and Duncan, and oysters and other food for everyone.

Agnes, sitting beside him, gazed around with wide eyes. “Mama won’t be pleased you brought me here,” she told him in a low but happy tone.

“She won’t say anything about it.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “She won’t mind you being here!”

“Then she can’t mind you being here with me,” he returned. “I’m a proper chaperone, ain’t I?”

“No!”

He shrugged and gave her a wink. “Just don’t cause a scandal, and all will be well. Everyone deserves a bit of fun now and then, aye?”

Reluctantly she smiled. “Yes. Thank you, Drew.”

He pretended to choke on his porter. “God bless me! A kind word from Agnes St. James! Glory be . . .”

She was still laughing at him when the food arrived, deposited by fast-moving servants with large trays, swooping in to slide platters across the table and then spin away into the crowded room. Everyone ate with relish, until—as Drew had expected—someone pushed aside a table and a man with a fiddle leapt atop it.

This time there was no mistaking it: he danced with Ilsa. Other women took his hands and he swung them around, but his eyes stayed on her.

And when the night was over, it was Ilsa to whom he offered his arm for the walk home, leaving Duncan to make the most of Agnes’s good temper. He had never felt such—such lightness, as if everything were right in the world and he was equal to any challenge. They parted on her doorstep with a kiss on her hand and a husky “Good night” from her that made him wish he didn’t have to go home with Duncan.

“You’re in a pathetic state,” Duncan remarked as they strolled toward Burnet’s Close. “Pretending you wanted to give your sister a night out and bribing us with oysters, all for the sake of getting Ilsa Ramsay to dance with you.”

Drew grinned. “Envy, is what that is. What did you do to make my sister hate you, by the by?”

Duncan cursed him the rest of the way home, and Drew enjoyed it immensely.

Ilsa fairly floated down the stairs to breakfast the next morning. She had slept extremely well, blissfully tired from her last few days of making love to Drew and dancing with him. If this is ruin, I shall never be respectable again, she thought as she went into the dining room to find her aunt poring over the latest gossip sheets. “Good morning,” she all but sang.

Jean looked up, her lips tight. “Did you know this?”

And thus ended the happiest fortnight of her life, with a breathless account splashed across the front page of the Edinburgh Tattler of Captain Andrew St. James, future Duke of Carlyle, roving through town unrecognized and unnoticed. The author of the piece mused at some length on his intentions and plans, as well as how very eligible this young, handsome, and single heir must be considered.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Yes, I did know.”

Jean’s face grew dark with disapproval. “My dear! Why didn’t you tell me? I must speak to your father at once.”

“What?” Ilsa demanded, shocked. “Papa? Why?”

Jean held up one hand and Ilsa fell silent out of long habit. “He’s been very suspicious about this man who’s been chasing after you, even before you went on holiday with him—”

“With his sisters,” Ilsa protested. “Who have been my friends for many months!”

Her aunt ignored her. “When did you learn of his expectation? How could you not tell me?”

“The family asked me not to.”

That made Jean turn deep purple. “And your loyalty is to them over your own family?”

Ilsa began breathing deeply. This was degenerating into one of their confrontations of old, where Jean scolded her for an hour and then sent her to her room.

She was not a child any longer, though. This was her house now, where she was undisputed mistress, and she had promised herself that she would never sit and suffer an underserved rebuke again.

“I chose my own conscience,” she said, clearly and deliberately. “I was asked to keep a confidence, and I did.”

Jean did not like that. “This is the thanks I’m to have—”

Ilsa glanced up with fire in her eyes. “I do not owe you their secrets! I am not sorry, Aunt, and I will not apologize.” Her aunt’s mouth formed a tight line, an expression Ilsa knew too well. “When you came to stay with me, we made an agreement.”

Jean gasped. “Are you accusing me of breaking it?”

“You know you are.” Ilsa kept her gaze cool and steady. “I am not a child. I do not need to be managed. You do not have the right to know everything about me. You promised not to pry, not to nag, and not to undermine me.”

“I never—!”

“The drawing room was painted while I was away, without my permission.”

Jean shot to her feet. “Instead you would shame me before all my friends who come to call, painting the sky on the ceiling like some sort of sybarite! Your father would be cruelly disappointed in you, lass.”

Ilsa was fighting back tears, half fury, half guilt. Jean had always been able to do this to her. “Perhaps our arrangement is no longer satisfactory. Perhaps you would be happier with Papa.”

The color fled Jean’s face. “You’ve grown so headstrong. I can’t imagine what your mother would think but ’tis glad I am she’s not here to see it.” Chin high, she marched from the room.

Ilsa sat, vibrating with tension. Abruptly she jumped up from the table and rushed out of the house, barely waiting for Robert.

She was still shaking when they reached Calton Hill, Robert trotting to keep up with her. Headstrong! Sybarite! As if she were a wicked child. As if she weren’t entitled to some privacy and independence. As if a painted ceiling was decadent and sinful. She was a grown woman, and her aunt had promised to respect her wishes. She paused, breathing hard, and Robert snuffled gently at the edge of her sleeve. “How could she?” she burst out to the empty field.

Robert gave her a sympathetic look before heading off to crop the tall grass.

“Have I not been clear to her?” she demanded. “Can she just not help herself?”

Robert shook his head with a jangle of his halter, and Ilsa sank down into the grass beside him. “I know,” she said quietly, squinting up at the peak of the hill, the sun rising behind it. “She still sees me as a child in need of discipline. Not as a grown woman, capable of choosing her own friends, deciding where she goes, managing her own money, painting her own drawing room . . .”

And taking her own lover.

Jean would be horrified if she knew Ilsa had kissed Drew, played pranks, ridden astride, and spent the night in bed with Drew. Proper ladies, she would say, treat their reputations as if they were made of cut glass: delicate, valuable, and impossible to repair if damaged. That was certainly how Jean tried to live, never one toe out of line.

Ilsa didn’t aim to thumb her nose at propriety—indeed, she didn’t think she did, much. Skipping church for golf wasn’t well done, perhaps, but it happened only once. Jean’s notions of propriety, though, were twenty years old; she thought everything Ilsa enjoyed was a ghastly affront to decency, from walking alone on the hill to not finding another husband the moment her mourning for Malcolm was over.

“She’s old-fashioned.” She plucked at the grass. “And strong-willed. I knew it, and still I let her live with me. ’Tis my own fault, aye?”

Robert gave a low whinny and nibbled at her hair. She swatted him away with a reluctant smile.

And now everyone knew Drew would be a duke. Everyone would be watching him, and with whom he interacted. If they were seen in company before he left for England, people would whisper that he’d thrown her over—that he might bed a woman like her, but never marry her. Malcolm’s friends had never accepted her, a tradesman’s daughter, even before the nightmare of the trial. This would only stir up those whispers again.

She’d known she wasn’t going to be a duchess, but she’d thought her affair with Drew might last until he left. Now she would have to give up his company entirely, for his sake and hers.

She was still sitting there, unready to return home, when something made her look up. Drew stood some fifty yards away, watching her. He looked so familiar and dear, so much not like a duke, that a lump sprang into her throat. For a long moment they simply gazed at each other, and Ilsa was suddenly gripped by the strangling fear that he would turn and walk away—that this was farewell, that the distance between them wasn’t mere rocks and heather but something far less passable.

Then he started toward her, and her lungs worked again. “Good morning,” she murmured when he reached her.

“Good morning.” He held out a hand and helped her to her feet. Robert trotted over eagerly, and Drew fed him a piece of carrot without looking away from Ilsa.

She wet her lips. “I expect you saw the papers.”

“Aye.” He sighed. “It wasn’t meant to be a state secret, but I didn’t wish for it to be the talk of the town.”

“I told no one,” she said quickly.

He nodded. “Thank you. My family didn’t, and my mates think it’ll turn out to be a lie in the end, so they didn’t trouble themselves to tell.”

“Mr. MacGill knew,” she said quietly.

A frown touched his brow. “Would he announce it?”

She lifted one hand. “In my experience he delights in being seen in the orbit of important and powerful people.”

“Ah. Well, it cannot be undone, so it hardly matters who did it.” He seemed to shrug it off. “I’m glad to find you out here.”

Her heart fluttered. “Oh?”

“I hoped we might have a chance to talk.”

Ilsa took a deep breath. “Of course. I shall go first.” He looked startled but gave a nod. “I want to assure you that I expect nothing from you,” she said. “I have known for some time that you have . . . obligations that will require you to leave Edinburgh and settle in England. I know it is your duty to find a wife who can stand by your side and support you in your future role.” She paused, not looking at him. “Someone who will know intimately, and be accepted by, the society you are to join, who will be able to guide your sisters in their new lives as sisters of a duke, and help them make respectable, proper marriages. Marriage is the currency of the aristocracy. It is no secret that your own marriage will be of signal importance, and while some women might have schemed to take advantage of our—our attraction, please believe I have not.”

There. She was pleased with how reasonable that sounded. Only one betraying little quaver on the words our attraction—as if they shared nothing but a passing flirtation.

It was so much more than that to her. But she knew what had to be done, and she’d done it.

“I see,” he said gravely. “Attraction.”

Ilsa flushed at the way he growled the word. “Did I misspeak?”

“No,” he said after a moment. “’Tis merely a mild word for it, in my opinion.”

She tried to ignore the rush of pleasure that gave her. “No matter how strong, there are many factors that overrule it.”

“Indeed.” He folded his arms and gazed across the rocky slope toward town. “Did you enjoy yourself last night at the tavern with me?”

Ilsa blinked. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Were you glad to see me this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sorry you spent the night in my bed at Stormont?”

“No!” She blushed at the quick glance he shot her way.

“Are you frightened of what people will say if you are seen with me?”

She stiffened. She didn’t look forward to the whispers, but she wasn’t frightened. “Of course not.”

“Are you firmly resolved never to marry again?”

“I—” She bit her lip, suddenly unsure. Resolved? “No . . .”

He gave a firm nod. “So, if I have the right of it, you enjoy my company—in bed and out of it—aren’t put off by salacious gossip, and haven’t renounced all thought of marriage.”

“You’re not going to marry me!”

“Well,” he said sadly, “not if you’ll never have me.”

Without thinking she poked his shoulder because he was threatening to make her laugh again when she had resolved to be very detached and assure him she was a worldly, modern widow able to have an affair without losing her head, not someone scheming to be a duchess. Quick as a blink he caught her hand.

“Ilsa.” He brought her hand to his lips, then pressed her knuckles against his cheek. “Stop thinking of Carlyle. His Grace might live another thirty years, and I’ll remain just as I am now—a simple Scot wanting a wife to love and cherish, and perhaps a child or two for my mother to dote upon.”

“People will expect things of you,” she began.

He watched her, running his thumb over the back of her hand in absentminded affection. It made her want to lean against him and let him drape that arm around her. “People,” he said with mild disdain. “I’ve no duty to obey the wishes of a fickle mob of people. Surely you’re not so cowed by them?”

She stood in silent indecision. Yes, she did like being with him—beyond any other person she could think of. Yes, she had seduced him because she wanted him—rather madly, and the feeling had not abated after a single night in his bed. Yes, she thought she could fall in love with him—might even already be in love with him.

And no, she hadn’t set her mind against marriage. She had no interest in Mr. Grant or any of the other gentlemen Papa kept prodding her toward, but she couldn’t say the same about Drew. She kept telling herself they weren’t meant to be together, but every minute they spent together made her wish they were.

Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. If he wanted to court her, could she turn him away? No, she didn’t think she could.

So what was stopping her? The gossips had done their worst a year ago, and she had survived. It was hard to tell herself she and Drew had no future when he was standing in front of her, because anything seemed possible when he was near her.

Perhaps there wasn’t anything to lose by risking it.

“Well,” she asked, her heart racing, “what precisely are you asking?”

His lips curled in a slow, devastating smile. “Nothing more than to spend time with you.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. The Assembly Rooms. One of Edinburgh’s fine coffeehouses.” His brows arched suggestively. “Perhaps an oyster cellar now and then.”

She smiled. “It won’t be like at Stormont Palace.”

“Sadly no,” he agreed, looking wicked now. “I vow it would frighten Duncan fair out of his skin if you slipped into his lodgings like a ghost.” She bit back a laugh. He sobered. “My mother hopes that you will be able to keep our engagement for dinner this evening. I also hope you will come.”

That made her breath catch. This was sounding very much like courtship. “Yes, of course I will . . .”

“Excellent.” He glanced around, then lowered his voice. “If there weren’t some people impinging on our hill, I would kiss you. In the interest of propriety . . .” He offered his arm. “May I escort you home, my dear one?”

With a warm flush of happiness welling within her, she accepted his offer and his arm.

Dinner was wonderful. Bella and Winnie had won over their mother about Cyrus the kitten, even when he tried to climb the tablecloth during the dessert course. Agnes was in excellent spirits and whispered that Drew had told their mother about their visit to the oyster cellar, and Louisa had only cast her eyes heavenward and sighed. Mrs. St. James welcomed Ilsa warmly, and made a point of conversing with her at length, something Ilsa could never have imagined a month ago.

It was so amazing, she couldn’t help but mention it to Agnes after Drew had escorted them home. Her friend gave her a gleaming look. “You know why, don’t you? She sees how Drew looks at you.”

Ilsa’s mind jumped to that last night at Stormont Palace; someone had seen something. She could only stare, mouth agape.

Agnes nodded. “Mama’s no fool. She didn’t dislike you before, but now she most certainly wants to like you.”

“Oh—” Ilsa flushed with anxious happiness. “I do hope she can—”

“Would you accept him?” Agnes prodded.

“Hush! There’s been no question asked to accept.”

Her friend laughed. “But if he were to ask, would you consider it?” She clasped Ilsa’s hand. “Selfishly, I hope so. You must know Winnie, Bella, and I would adore having you as our sister.”

Ilsa had no memory of her mother. She had never had a sister, and Malcolm had been the only surviving child of his parents, as well. She had not thought of the fact that marriage to Drew—and it still felt dangerous even to think those words, as if they tempted Fate to spite her again—would give her a new family, with beloved sisters and a caring mother, a family who teased and laughed and annoyed and loved each other. Again she could only stare at Agnes, dazed.

It ran round and round inside her head as Maeve brushed her hair before bed that night. It was too good to be real, she told herself, but as she lay in her bed and closed her eyes, she dreamt of Drew tangled in the sheets beside her, looking at her with heat in his eyes and a wicked smile on his gorgeous mouth.

In the morning she came down early to breakfast, the image lingering in her mind and somehow becoming more possible with every passing hour. She drank her tea and gazed out the window, daydreaming of what might be, if it were real.

It lasted until just before the clock struck nine, when Winnie hammered on the door of her house and burst into the room, hat askew and cloak barely tied.

“Winnie,” cried Agnes, leaping out of her seat. “What’s wrong?”

“The shop,” gasped Winnie, gulping for breath. “The shop has been robbed!”