Oh My Laird!: A Risqué Regency Romance (10 page)

Her brother should be getting the news shortly. After that was taken care of, she could revisit her own position. But until then, it was the new circumspect Amelia who peered around the door of the snug to see a woman clearing up some cups and saucers.

She recognized her as the face at the door of their room. What had Ian called her…Hetty. That was it.
Hetty
.

“Good morning, Hetty.”

The woman jumped. “Och, ye gave me such a jolt, Ma’am.”

“I’m so sorry. I was just wondering if I could possibly get some tea anywhere?”

“O’ course ye can, dear.” Hetty smiled and pointed to a seat at a table near the window. “Sit yersel’ right down and I’ll be back in a tick.”

Murmuring her thanks, Amelia sat, happy to be able to look through the window at the bustling goings-on in the square just below. It was fascinating to see the variety of wares on sale—everything from chickens to hand-knitted shawls.

She laughed as a piglet led a man on a merry chase.

“He’ll catch it.” Hetty leaned over Amelia’s shoulder and took a peek as she put a tray of tea things down on the table. “That’s young Michael McGuire. His Da’ has a fine piggery and that little one’ll be a good addition.”

“Goodness. How can you tell?” Amelia blinked, then held up her hand. “No, wait. Don’t tell me. Some things are best left to the imagination.”

“Aye,” grinned Hetty. “Might put yer off yer bacon.” She poured tea and then pulled up a chair and sat down. “Now, tell me all about yer weddin’ to young Ian.”

“Er…” Amelia floundered for a moment, but then her training rose to the fore and she recovered. “You know, there are moments in our lives that we like to keep private.” She lowered her gaze. “That’s one of mine.”

“Quiet then, was it?”

“You have no idea.”

“He’s a good lad, our Ian. We want the best fer him, o’ course.”

“Have you known him long?” Amelia sipped her tea.

“Since he was a bairn.” Hetty smiled affectionately. “Such a handful he was then. Grew into a fine man though. We all missed him when he took off fer London. But bound to have his adventures, he was.”

“I’m sure he’s had more than a few of them,” added Amelia.

“Nothin’ like gettin’ himself a wife, though, lass. That one’s a first fer him.”

“Ah.” She kept her comments on that to a suitable minimum.

Hetty tilted her head to one side. “No ring yet, then?”

“Um, no. Not yet. We wanted to wait until…until we had time to decide properly on the style.” It was a desperate ploy, and Amelia had no idea if it would work. She just wished this nice lady who made excellent tea would go away. Or that Ian would return and save her from this dangerous precipice of a conversation.

“So you’re Ian’s wife. ‘T’is hard t’ believe it.” Hetty shook her head.

“Yes, I’m Ian’s wife.” Amelia was getting more frustrated by the minute.

Hetty grinned. “An’ I’ll wager Ian told the lad at the front desk when you arrived?”

“Indeed, yes.”

“Anyone else?”

Amelia frowned. “As a matter of fact, yes. A lady from London and her daughters. I knew them. My legs were sore from the ride and Ian was…er…helping me to the room.”

“Carryin’ yer in his arms, was he?”

Amelia sighed. “Is there a point to this?”

“Aye, dearie.” Hetty patted her on the shoulder. “Even if the two of ye ne’er had yersel’s a church weddin’, yer well and truly wed.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Amelia’s heart thudded.

“Well, lass. Here ‘t’is. Yer in Scotland now. Scottish laws an’ everything. And our handfastin’ law says if yer declare ye’re wed three times in front of witnesses…well then it’s the truth.”

“
What
?” Amelia felt the blood drain from her head. “You must be jesting.”

“Nay, lass. ‘T’is true. Yer are indeed wed to our Ian. Congratulations Mrs. McPherson.”

“Oh my
God
.”

Amelia stared blindly around the room, noticing Ian’s things casually strewn on the bureau and her reticule next to it.

She vaguely remembered thanking Hetty for tea and excusing herself. She knew she’d come back upstairs, but that was a blank.

So here she was, a
married woman
through no fault of her own. What the hell was she to do? She didn’t want a husband—certainly not one of her own—and the thought of being tied to one man for the rest of her life sent shivers across her flesh.

Then she thought of Ian. He was something different, something special. He was an outstanding lover, possessed a clever mind, and somehow got his own way without being pushy or overbearing.

He had touched something inside that she thought was dead; a feeling of pleasure that had nothing to do with his body and everything to do with the way he smiled.

She shivered again, a fear rushing through her at the enormity of what had happened.

She was married to Ian McPherson
.

The next five minutes were spent in creatively cursing the Scots, their traditions, their damn hand-fasting business and their heather. Not to mention their scenery.

She paced in time with her tumultuous thoughts, her mind darting hither and yon as she tried to grasp the full implications of her predicament. What would become of her? Would she…
could
she possibly be anyone’s wife?

She certainly didn’t have the history for that position. Her liaisons had been many and varied—and all of short duration. One or two had mattered, most hadn’t. And what kind of a background was that when it came to a lifelong commitment to a man who would expect fidelity?

Ian knew her, of course. He knew of her history and he knew her temper. Which raised the question of whether he had known of this hand-fasting and the potential results.

Had he known and done it on purpose? If so, she could only assume that he wanted her for his wife.

No, he wasn’t that stupid. Nobody would want to wed a woman who had a soiled reputation in London and probably half the Home Counties. And yet he’d lain with her and taken her so passionately. Had he meant it? Had his lust betrayed his desires for her?

She wanted to scream as her brain went from one supposition to the next with all the alacrity of a starving bee discovering a flowering wisteria.

She paced, paused, then seized her reticule and her bonnet. She had to get out, to leave to find a place where she could think clearly, without being surrounded by Ian. She looked at the bed and thought of him. She saw his overcoat and was reminded of him.

Their morning tea was still there, and the honey pudding bowls from last night. The room was redolent with memories of lying in the arms of Ian McPherson and those sensations were hampering her ability to put rational thoughts together.

There was only one way to deal with this. She must mount her horse and ride away from the market, away from Ian, and out into the countryside. There had to be a place where she could breathe and regain her usual composure. Once there, she could plan her next move and find her feet once again.

Ian had swept her off them. She had to decide what to do about it.

And what to do about
him
.

*~~*~~*

Unaware that Amelia was in turmoil over him and their situation, Ian strolled back toward the inn with an easy stride and a merry whistle.

The sun was shining, he’d found a quarry that would lead him to the end of his search and he’d found a woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

He’d always known he would have to settle down someday, but fancied none of the simpering young misses most commonly offered as potential mates. He wasn’t twenty-two and desperate, nor was he fifty and needful of an heir.

He was thirty-two years old and, for the first time in those three decades, he was ready to commit his life to one woman.

He’d chosen one who matched his strength and his determination. She was flawed—God knew he was no saint—and yet he sensed that the woman beneath the façade was everything he could ever want in the way of warmth and passion.

And he believed he could make her love him. He admitted to himself that he was already in love with her. It had probably happened when he caught her crying in the park and she’d so defiantly denied it.

She would see it as a weakness, where other women would have used the situation as a weapon. Perhaps that was when he’d begun to understand the true Amelia hiding behind the beauty, and discovered a strength that matched his own.

Their night together had sealed the outcome. And what wonderful children they’d have. He didn’t even want to think of the fun they’d have begetting them, since it was broad daylight and his breeches were snug.

So he wound his way back to the inn, ready to tell Amelia what had happened, what he believed was going on and perhaps come up with a plan to learn the source of the jewel theft through Royce and his crew.

At some point he’d have to tell her everything, but that could wait until his mission had concluded. Plenty of time for that.

It wasn’t until he’d found their room empty, her bonnet and bag missing and then discovered her horse was also gone, that he despaired of his earlier thought.

There hadn’t been enough time.

She’d gone and run away from him.

Now he was in a right mess. He had to remain at the inn to hear whether he’d won the auction for the ruby. That was vital. But every instinct he possessed was yelling at him to find Amelia.

He returned to the tap, only to find Hetty tugging on his arm. “Ian, a word wi’ ye.”

“Hetty, I’m in a bit of a hurry here…”

“’T’is about yer wife, lad.”

He stopped, looked around and grabbed Hetty’s arm, almost dragging her over to a small table at the back of the room. “Where is she?”

“She took off. Right after she learned ye’re wed.”

Ian gritted his teeth. “Damn it to high heaven. I was hoping she wouldn’t find that out until I had time to tell her properly.”

“I told her, an’ I’m not sorry. She’s beautiful and tough on the outside, all right. Very high-and-mighty Lady London. But she’s got everythin’ that’s right for ye, Ian. And she’s in love wi’ ye, but doesn’t know it yet.”

“Do you think so?” He could have slapped himself upside the head for asking that question. He sounded like a love-struck teenager.

And Hetty knew it. “I do, lad. I know that look. She’s the one fer yer,” she grinned. “So here’s what happened. We talked, she found out she was Mrs. McPherson—“

“You didn’t—“ Ian shot her a quick frown.

“Nay, lad. That’s fer yer to tell.” She patted his arm. “Anyways, she was all for runnin’ back o’er the border. But I told her to go north. Follow the Jedburgh road. Plenty o’ nice spots to stop and think along the way. Told her thinkin’ was what she needed right now. A little time fer hersel’.”

“Good advice. Did she take it?”

“Far as I know, aye, she did. An’ right after she left, I sent word to yer ma.”

“
Mother
?” Ian’s eyes widened. “Hetty…
why
?”

“Woman needs another woman at times like these.” She stood and gave him a look so intense his guts shriveled. “Ye’re a mon, lad. Yer canna know what’s in a woman’s heart or her head. Another woman can, ‘specially one with a similar backgroun’. An’ the young lass is yer wife. She’ll have to meet yer ma at some point. Might as well be now.”

Hetty gave him another pat on the shoulder and walked away, leaving Ian with the strongest urge to lay his head down on the table and bang it a few times to get it working again.

The thought of his mother and his new wife together, without him present—well he wasn’t sure how to view that meeting. It could go either way.

His father was a good and solid man, but not given to much in the way of emotional outbursts. Getting a smile was an accomplishment, getting a laugh out of him a rarity.

He had an excellent sense of humor, but it was well contained, and that ability had manifested itself in Ian. Most of the time, especially when he was working on a case, he could keep his feelings concealed.

Perhaps he’d sensed that same talent in Amelia. Lord knew she had it in abundance.

His mother, on the other hand, was everything that was passionate, vocal, explosive and vibrant. Sometimes all at once. And she was—or had been prior to her marriage—English.

Yes, it would be an interesting meeting, without a doubt. And Ian sighed mightily at the notion of his two favorite women sitting together and tearing him into tiny pieces. Although perhaps his mother might be a little gentler.

He laughed at himself. His mother was quite likely to hack off the first bit of him and feed it to Amelia. She was possessed of exactly
that
sort of humor.

His gloomy prognostications were interrupted by a small stable lad who had slipped into the inn and hurried to his side. “Hey mister. Yer McPherson?”

“I am, lad.”

“Yer wanted out back in the yard. Big man wi’ a brown coat…”

Ian’s mind snapped back to business. It had to be Smith’s message about the auction. “Thanks.” He tapped his knuckles on the lad’s head, grinned, and tossed him sixpence, which made the boy’s eyes widen with glee as he ran off.

Now he would at least find out if he’d bought himself a rather expensive piece of his new wife’s jewelry. There was something oddly ironic about that idea, he thought as he left the inn for the stables in the rear.

But then again, life tended to be ironic, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Since his guess as to the identity of this visitor had been right on the nose, he walked to the large figure who waited in the shadows between the stables and the storage barn.

“Hallo again.”
Might as well be sociable
.

A mammoth fist disappeared inside the brown coat and Ian tensed, every muscle on alert in case what emerged was a knife or a pistol.

It was neither and his heartrate slowed as he was offered a folded and sealed note.

“From Mr. Smith?” He glanced at the servant’s face.

“Aye.”

Ian nodded and broke the seal to unfold the paper.

And smiled.

“Thank you. Good news indeed.” He refolded the note. “Please tell Mr. Smith I shall wait for instructions at Kilmalochan. He knows where to reach me when he is ready to deliver the item.”

A dip of the head was the only acknowledgement as the man lumbered away.

Ian took a sigh of relief. He’d won the auction—as he’d hoped he would. Since his researches had given him a good idea of the worth of such stones, he was able to bid quite a bit more than it was worth, banking on the other bidders trying to get a piece like that for less than the market price.

So he now owned his wife’s ruby, for which he had paid more than he could get back for it.

He shrugged. He’d try and come up with a way to explain it a bit better before seeing her again. She’d laugh in his face and he’d deserve it.

Still, at least they’d have the damn thing. Even if they
still
didn’t know who stole it in the first place.