My Highland Lord (Highland Lords)

My
Highland Lord

Highland
Lords Series

Tarah Scott

Broken Arm Publishing

Copyright © 2013 by Tarah Scott

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Melissa Alvarez at Book Covers Galore

Acknowledgements

My deepest thanks to Nikki at
Close Encounters with the Night Kind
for being my first official beta reader. You rock, girl!

My undying gratitude goes to Evan Trevane, my good friend and critique partner, who read this book with an eagle eye
.
My hero wears a kilt, and you made sure no one mistook it for a skirt.

Thank you to Kimberly Comeau, who brainstormed with me and read the tough sections—many times over!

No book is complete without a spectacular cover. Thanks to Melissa Alvarez at
Book Covers Galore
for another beautiful cover.

Reviews

Welcome to the Majesty that can only be Tarah Scott. Be prepared to be swept up in the intrigue and wonder of her newest addition to the
Highland Lords Series.
This books was completely engrossing and enraptured you from start to finish, and what an ending indeed!! A must read for all Historical Romance lovers. This book is sure to capture your heart and leave you in breathless anticipation for the next edition!!
Close Encounters with the Night Kind

My Highland Lord is
a hilarious and intriguing adventure in which all kinds of mysteries and romance surround our heroine. I give My Highland Lord five Stars out of five because it was supremely interesting and captivating.
The Romance Reviews Top Pick

CHAPTER
ONE

London, September 1837

“Please, Frederick,” John Stafford rasped. He lifted his trembling hand from the bed’s coverlet. Light from the candle on the nightstand flickered with the small disturbance. “Bring me that chest.” John pointed at the desk in the corner of the bedchamber before his hand dropped back down beside him. He dragged in a heavy breath.

Frederick
's mouth thinned in concern. “John, you must—”

“The chest,” John cut in with a small measure of his old vigor.

His friend sighed, turned, and crossed the room. He lifted the small chest from its two-decade-long resting place. When last the chest had been moved, John was Sheriff of Bow Street and supervisor of the Home Office spies. The chest's contents proved the innocence of one of the conspirators in the most daring assassination attempts of their time.

Frederick
returned to the bed, set the chest on the nightstand, and gave John a questioning look.

“Remove the documents,” John said.

John closed his eyes in anticipation of the familiar creak of hinges as Frederick opened the chest. How many times had he raised that lid only to slam it shut again without touching the contents? The rustling of papers ceased and Frederick gave a low cry of surprise.

John opened his eyes. “Yes,” he said as
Frederick laid the stack of envelopes on the bed. “That is, indeed, Lord Mallory of the House of Lords.” John pushed aside envelopes until he uncovered the one he wanted. He tapped it and whispered, “Read this aloud.”

Frederick
removed the sheets of paper from their envelope, sat beside John on the edge of the mattress, and began.

April 26, 1820 

In early February of this year word reached me, John Stafford, chief clerk at Bow Street, and head of the Bow Street officers, that Arthur Thistlewood, leader of the radical Spencean Philanthropists Society, planned on February 15 to assassinate the king's ministers. Thistlewood had been reported as saying he could raise fifteen thousand armed men in half an hour, so we feared riots would break out, which might allow him to carry out his assassinations.

I sent one of my officers George Ruthven to infiltrate the Spenceans, and then recruited from within their ranks, John Williamson, John Shegoe, James Hanley, Thomas Dywer, and George Edwards. Edwards was such an adept spy that he became Thistlewood's aide-de-camp. Little did I know the terrible part Edwards would play in this operation.

When I had investigated Arthur
Thistlewood and the Spenceans in 1816 at Spa Fields, Home Secretary Lord Sidmouth sent me spies, and he was apprised of the men I now used—in fact, George Edwards reported not only to me, but to Lord Sidmouth. So I was surprised when Lord Mallory dispatched another spy from the Solicitor General's office, Mason Wallington, Viscount Albery.

Oddly, Thistlewood unexpectedly abandoned the idea of the assassinations planned for February 15. We feared he would make an unexpected move to murder the Privy Council, so we quickly set a trap. Thistlewood snapped up the bait like a starving lion. He believed that Lord Harrowby was to entertain the Cabinet in his home at
Grosvenor Square Wednesday, February 23, 1820, and, as we anticipated, decided to assassinate the entire Cabinet while they dined. The Spenceans chose the Horse and Groom, a public house on Cato Street that overlooks the stable, as their meeting place, so we dubbed the operation 'The Cato Street Conspiracy.'

God help me, at the time, I felt no compunctions about entrapping Thistlewood and his men. Thistlewood was mad—he believed God had answered his prayers in finding a way to destroy the Cabinet—and his followers were, at best, murderers. The reform they claimed to be fighting for was nothing more than an excuse to seize power. However, given what I learned in the years since The
Cato Street Conspiracy, I have questioned a thousand times our methods in bringing these men to justice.

On the day of the intended assassinations, I positioned
Bow Street officers near the Horse and Groom. I had readied my own pistol when, at the last moment, a message from the Home Office deterred my participation in the arrests. How many times I have wondered at this bit of 'providence.' It was all too convenient that I was absent during the arrests that day.

I directed Richard Birnie, a
Bow Street magistrate, to take charge, and left him with my officers to watch for the conspirators. Thistlewood’s men soon arrived and, at seven-thirty that night, Birnie ordered the arrests.

A fight ensued and Thistlewood escaped. Several of the top conspirators were apprehended, but our spy Mason Wallington mysteriously disappeared. While making the arrests, Richard Smithers was run through by Thistlewood, and I was frantic at the possibility we had lost another good man. We arrested Thistlewood the next day, and eleven other conspirators were apprehended within days. Then, to my shock, Barry Doddard, a young officer from a neighboring magistrate, named Mason Wallington as the twelfth and only major conspirator to elude capture.

Upon hearing Doddard’s accusations, I immediately wrote Lord Mallory informing him of the mistake. Mallory replied that Wallington had long been suspected of dissident actions and was believed to be in league with Thistlewood. I simply couldn't believe this. Wallington had a reputation as a devoted Englishman and spurned the tactics employed by the Spenceans.

I informed Mallory of this, but he countered that Wallington had openly criticized the government and had even quoted Thistlewood’s philosophies concerning the lower classes and the rights of women. I couldn’t accept this, but Lord Sidmouth intervened, ordering me to desist. Wallington was a wanted criminal and if he was found, Sidmouth ordered me to turn Wallington over to him.

I considered paying a visit to Thistlewood in Coldbath Fields Prison, but realized my visit would be reported to Sidmouth. Besides, Thistlewood was reported to have said that he had hoped it was me he killed instead of Smithers. I had no recourse but to obey Lord Sidmouth's orders. At the age of thirty-six, Mason Wallington became a fugitive.

Frederick lowered the document and John pointed to the envelope farthest from him. “Now that one.”

Frederick
picked up the second envelope and removed the letter. He cleared his throat and began again.

July, 1824

Four years have passed since Mason Wallington was branded a traitor. Despite Sidmouth's orders that I forget the matter, my conscience demands I act. Whether guilt or innocence is the result of my findings, I shall, as always, record all matters true and faithfully. I begin with Wallington’s superior, Lord Niles Mallory.

Frederick
looked at John, the short letter finished.

"Wallington has a daughter,
" John said. “She has been a victim of the lie too—" A heavy cough cut him off.

“John!”
Frederick leapt to his feet and filled the glass on the nightstand with water from the pitcher.

Frederick
slipped an arm beneath his back and lifted him forward until his mouth met the lip of the glass. John took several small sips. He breathed deeply, nodded he was finished, and Frederick settled him back onto the pillow.

Frederick
set the glass on the nightstand. “Rest. We will finish later.”

John grasped his friend’s hand. “The girl has a right to the truth. I cannot go to my peace knowing I leave her in turmoil.” John closed his eyes, remembering the day she had come to him.  He couldn’t escape her questions or the pain in her eyes when he turned her away without answers. He looked at
Frederick. “See that she gets the letters.” His voice weakened. “Swear.” He tightened his grip on Frederick’s hand in one final squeeze. “Swear.”

“I swear,”
Frederick promised, and John lay back on his pillow and slept.