Chapter 27

S imon sat on the edge of his bed at the White Horse Inn, clutching his pounding head in his hands, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Why the hell hadn't he listened to his mother and kept away from the demon drink like she'd ordered? A hangover was the last thing he needed on top of a bruised and scratched face, cut forehead, and bitten hand—all of which still pained him.

Devil take him, he was a mess.

He doubted he could stand, let alone fight a duel with his bloody brother. His only consolation was that if all went according to his mother's plan, it was unlikely he would have to lift a finger, let alone a sword.

He had no idea what the time was, but judged it was close to dawn. Baird, his valet, had woken him a short time ago before disappearing into the adjoining room to fetch his clothes and short sword.

Passed out in the chair before the spent fire snored his fair-weather friend and reluctant second for the duel, Sir Archibald Ramsay. Simple bribery had secured his services. The promise of covering Archie's substantial gambling debts for the evening as well as the inducement of visiting a brothel in the Grassmarket had eventually done the trick.

Thanks to the considerable amount of wine and brandy he'd imbibed, Simon had only vague recollections of the red-headed prostitute he and Archie had both used before they were tossed out into the street by the madam of the establishment and her henchman. Apparently he and Archie had been too rough with the wench. In Simon's mind, she hadn't been accommodating enough.

Just like Jessie .

A smirk quirked the corner of Simon's mouth as he envisaged how he'd treat Jessie when he finally had her all to himself.

It wouldn't be long now. If all went according to plan, his bloody brother would be locked up again in the Tolbooth before the sun even appeared over the Firth of Forth.

Baird's return roused him from his musings. Rising from the bed so he could begin to get dressed, Simon noticed his manservant was soaked to the skin.

"What the hell happened to you?" he demanded, clipping Baird around the ear with his uninjured hand. "And mind my clothes, you fool. You're getting them all wet."

"I'm verra sorry, Master, but it's been rainin' fit to drown the fishes in the Firth. I havena had the chance to change, seeing as I've only just returned from watching the main gate into Holyrood Park."

"Well?" Simon's voice was edged with impatience as Baird pulled up his master's buckskin breeches and laced them for him. "Don't dilly-dally about with the details. Was there any sign of the Scots Guard?"

The involvement of the Scots Guard was part of his mother's ingenious plan to entrap Robert. Last night, Baird had conveyed a message from the Countess of Strathburn to the dragoon regiment stationed at Edinburgh Castle about the impending duel. Simon was counting on the fact that the Guard would be in place to arrest Robert before the rogue even had a chance to draw his sword. He was not foolish enough to believe he could best his older brother in a physical confrontation, but he was certain that he and his mother could outwit Robert, hands down.

"Aye, Master," replied Baird, as he handed Simon a fresh cambric shirt. "I saw a Redcoat officer with six soldiers ride past not ten minutes ago, headin' toward Arthur's Seat."

"Good. Damned inconvenient this weather though." Simon grimaced as he shrugged into a heavy redingote jacket of broadcloth. "The bloody lobster backs had better be there, or I'll have your guts for garters, Baird. I don't want to brave these elements for nothing."

Baird simply handed him his belt and short sword. He was accustomed to his master's foul moods. "Shall I wake Sir Archibald?" he asked woodenly. "It's already half-past six."

Simon glanced over at his all but unconscious companion. "Don't bother," he snorted, throwing on the oilskin cloak Baird passed to him. "He'll only slow us down and you can stand in for my second just as well. Besides, there'll be no duel if the Scots Guard time their interruption at the right moment." Just then, a squall of rain hit the windowpane. "Bloody hell, what are the chances of rooting out a carriage at short notice, Baird? I don't fancy riding in this downpour."

"I'll see what I can do, sir. I believe there's a small hackney carriage in the mews runnin' beside the inn that can be hired. I saw it when I came back from the Park."

"Good. I'll meet you on the front stairs when you bring it round. And you had better be damned quick."

After Baird left, Simon splashed cold water onto his face to help clear his head. His hands were shaking as he dried his face with a towel—a pointless exercise, given he was about to get soaked through. He could hear rain drumming steadily against the window now. When he opened one of the shutters and peered down to the courtyard below, he could barely see a thing. It was as black as Hades.

A dark carriage appeared at the entrance of White Horse Close. Baird had been successful. At least the devil's own luck seemed to be working for him at the moment.

Simon trusted it would continue.

The entrance of the inn was deserted when Simon entered the vestibule and pushed through the front door onto the rain slicked portico. The carriage waited for him at the foot of the short flight of stairs, the door closed against the rain.

Where in Lucifer's name was Baird? Simon scowled. Had the cocky bastard taken the liberty of sitting inside the carriage, out of the rain? He certainly wasn't standing at the back of the carriage or hastening forward to open the hackney's door for his master.

Simon squinted through the rain and darkness at the driver, but he was shrouded in a hooded oilskin and wasn't making a move to assist Simon either.

With a low growl, Simon rushed down the stairs. He'd kick Baird's arse later for not doing his duty. He flung himself into the pit of the cab and slammed the door?—

Only to be met by the touch of something metallic and cold between his eyes. Then there was an unmistakable click.

Fuck. It was the sound of a pistol being cocked.

"Now then, Mister Simon Grant," came an unfamiliar, rumbling bass baritone from the dark recesses of the cabin. "Welcome to Purgatory."

As much as Robert would have loved to stay abed with Jessie until at least the middle of the next day, he lay with her in his arms for only a few hours. He didn't dare fall asleep and miss these sweet moments—and of course, he didn't want to miss the opportunity to serve Simon his long-overdue just deserts.

The ormolu clock on the mantel in the sitting room was chiming half past six when he at last gently disengaged himself from Jessie's warm embrace. She barely stirred as he moved the sleep tousled curls from her face and placed a tender kiss on her brow. As soon as he'd dealt with his brother, he swore he would return to her side. His wife.

His love and his life .

Careful not to disturb her, Robert moved into the adjacent dressing room and threw on a linen shirt that he left untucked and open at the neck, black broadcloth breeches, a silk brocade banyan, and black leather boots. He didn't bother to shave or even comb his hair. The greater his dishabille when the King's troops inevitably arrived on the doorstep of Strathburn House, the better.

He moved into his sitting room and rang for tea. Within a short space of time, the fire was restoked, the candles lit, and a tray of warm baps and a pot of tea was brought up from the kitchen by one of the footmen.

As Robert mulled over the plan he and his father had devised to expose Caroline's and Simon's treachery, he noticed the increasing intensity of the rain drumming on the casement windows. The gutters and cobbled streets would undoubtedly be awash and the common below Arthur's Seat in Holyrood Park would be a quagmire. It was definitely not the kind of weather in which to be fighting hand-to-hand combat with short swords. He almost felt sorry for the poor sodden Scots Guards who would be lying in wait for him and Simon to arrive—but not quite. How long would they stay in position before they realized the duel would not be taking place?

With cup in hand, he wandered to the window and flicked the curtains to the side. The square below was deserted for now. Over the looming bulk of the Salisbury Crags, he fancied that the heavy pall of dark gray clouds was beginning to lighten a fraction. He estimated that within the hour, there would be a mightily annoyed and bedraggled officer pounding on the door of Strathburn House.

Robert wasn't far off the mark. The clock was heralding half past seven when he heard the clatter of horses' hooves on the cobbles outside. He put down his second cup of tea and waited patiently for Gordon to summon him.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, the butler appeared. "Beg pardon, milord, but Captain MacBryde from the Scots Guard kindly requests yer presence."

"Indeed. I believe my father would like a word with the captain as well, Gordon. If you would be so kind as to send word to MacGowan to wake his lordship."

The butler's lips twitched with a smile as he bowed. "Of course, milord."

Robert ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it. Deciding he still looked suitably sleep rumpled, he descended to the vestibule.

Captain MacBryde stood in the middle of the entrance hall, looking both sodden and disgruntled in equal measure. Water streamed from his greatcoat onto the parquetry floor, and his boots were caked in mud. The front door was still ajar and Robert could see at least a half-dozen other Redcoats shivering on the portico outside. The rain was coming down in sheets.

Robert bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile as he greeted the officer. "Captain MacBryde," he said with an incline of his head. "What can I do for you at this early hour?"

MacBryde bowed but not before he had looked Robert up and down, noting his obvious state of dry dishabille . It was clear Lord Lochrose hadn't been out in the rain, looking for a fight in a muddy park. A look of resignation replaced the expression of annoyance on the officer's face. "My apologies, Lord Lochrose, for having roused ye from yer bed. It seems I've been led a merry dance by someone."

Robert feigned a look of confusion. "I don't follow you, Captain."

MacBryde sighed and swiped at a trickle of water running off his nose. "At ten o'clock last night, my commanding officer received a missive—written on paper bearing the Strathburn coat of arms—stating that ye'd instigated a duel with yer brother, a Mister Simon Grant. Said duel was supposed to have taken place half an hour ago in Holyrood Park. Given that ye'd only been released from the Tolbooth yesterday and ye're on probation—Lord Arniston's office informed the Guards of the terms of yer release yesterday—we were duty bound to investigate. But as neither ye nor yer brother arrived, I can only conclude that one of ye, or both, thought better of it and forfeited."

Robert looked at the captain squarely. "It is true that my brother and I had a disagreement last night over a somewhat…private matter. Harsh words were exchanged and in the heat of the moment, my brother did propose that we settle the grievance at sword point at first light in the Park. But to go against him in a duel…that would be foolhardy to say the least, considering my current situation. I decided it was not worth it, as my forfeiture clearly demonstrates."

Just then his father appeared on the landing. "What is the meaning of this?" Lord Strathburn demanded before MacGowan assisted him down the stairs to stand beside Robert. It was obvious he'd only just emerged from his bed as well—he wore a velvet banyan over his nightclothes and his periwig was slightly askew.

A masterful touch , thought Robert.

Anger fairly radiated from the earl as he skewered the captain with a gimlet stare.

Captain MacBryde gave a creditable bow in the face of such noble ire and again explained the situation.

"What rubbish," declared his father. "And before my morning coffee, too. Show me this letter purporting there was to be a duel between my sons."

The captain pulled a somewhat soggy piece of parchment from the folds of his greatcoat and handed it over. Lord Strathburn ran his gaze over the missive quickly before glancing up at Robert.

"What is it?" Robert asked with what he hoped was deceptive mildness. He was already certain what it was his father was about to announce, but it wouldn't hurt to feign ignorance.

His father cleared his throat and looked at the captain, a suitably embarrassed expression on his face. "Well… As much as I hate to say it, I believe my wife, Lady Strathburn, penned this. This is her personal stationery complete with wax seal. I would recognize her handwriting anywhere."

Robert had difficulty suppressing a wry smile. His clever Jessie had been right about who had masterminded the plot against both of them. He addressed the officer. "But then… What I find strange, Captain MacBryde, is the fact that my stepmother sent this letter to the Guard well before Simon and I had even had our altercation. It was close to midnight when the duel was called. I wonder how Lady Strathburn knew it was going to happen."

MacBryde looked thoughtful for a moment. "Lord Strathburn, would ye mind if yer wife was summoned so that I might have a word?"

"Of course, Captain. I completely understand. In fact, I insist," replied the earl with a heavy sigh. "Gordon, please wake her ladyship and make it clear that I expect her in the library in ten minutes. If she isn't, tell her I will send several of the Scots Guards upstairs to assist her."

Gordon bowed, his mouth twitching as he said, "Aye, milord."

A short time later, a visibly pale and shaken Lady Strathburn appeared in the library. She was wearing a crumpled morning gown a la polonaise and her hair had been pushed roughly beneath a lace mob cap.

Robert watched her from the darkened corner of the room where he had installed himself in a brown leather wingback chair. She was so flustered, she had barely acknowledged his presence, other than to cast him an uncharacteristic nervous glance.

This interview would be interesting indeed.

His father directed her to a chair before the fire. A stony-faced Captain MacBryde stood by the hearth, hands behind his back. In his full officer's regalia with a sword at his hip, he was a truly imposing presence.

Lady Strathburn looked wildly from her husband to the glowering Scots Guard. "Wh-What is it? Why isn't Simon here with this…soldier? Has something happened to him?" she asked, voice quavering.

"Now why would you think that, my dear?" asked Lord Strathburn, leveling his steely, dark blue gaze upon her.

"B-Because of the duel…"

"And how would you know anything about that?" queried the earl in a studied tone. "I believe you were abed when it was called last night."

Lady Strathburn swallowed and wrung her hands, her gaze darting between her husband and the captain. "The servants… You know how they gossip?—"

His father thrust the letter toward her. "Balderdash. You detailed the event in this letter you addressed to the Commanding Officer of the Scots Guard. Do you deny that this is your stationery and handwriting?"

Lady Strathburn barely even glanced at the page. "All right then, yes. Yes, I did write it," she admitted with defiance. She raised her chin, a hint of her usual acerbic manner reemerging. "A crime was going to be committed by your traitorous, good-for-nothing son." She then turned in her seat to face the captain. "I hope you are going to arrest Lord Lochrose after his recklessness at Holyrood Park. If he's injured my poor Simon?—"

His father waved the page at her. "How did you know about the specifics of the duel, my lady? A duel I might add, that has turned out to be a non-event."

Lady Strathburn's mask of belligerent confidence slipped a little. "What…what do you mean?"

Captain MacBryde spoke at last. He eyed the countess with obvious disapproval. "Neither Simon Grant nor Lord Lochrose were in Holyrood Park at the designated time or place ye described. It seems ye have sent me and my men on a wild goose chase, milady. In the rain."

Lady Strathburn was twisting her hands again. "I don't understand. Perhaps the weather prevented Simon from attending…" Her next words were uttered with considerable venom. "I was so sure Robert"—she turned her head to his corner and sent him a pointed look—"would have made a show to defend his strumpet's honor."

"I take it ye mean me, Lady Strathburn?"

Dear God, it was Jessie. Robert whipped his head around to the doorway as did everyone else in the library. What on earth was she doing here? This hadn't been part of the plan. Robert couldn't bear the idea that she would be exposed to further trials. Had she not endured enough already?

And yet Jessie took his breath away. She looked nothing like the strumpet his stepmother had just declared her to be. She stood just inside the door, looking as fresh and lovely as a summer's day in a silk gown of periwinkle blue. It was another of the creations which he'd persuaded the modiste to sell to him yesterday. With her red-gold hair arranged in a becoming, loosely bound style that cascaded down one shoulder, Jessie was undeniably the Viscountess Lochrose, his wife. At least in his eyes.

Robert stood, and across the room, his gaze met Jessie's. He hesitated to introduce her for a moment, trying to gauge what she would be thinking. They had pledged themselves to each other, become man and wife last night, but did Jessie want him to announce that fact to the whole room? Even though they'd exchanged legitimate vows and consummated their union in accordance with the common-law practice of Highland handfasting, he had no doubt that Alasdair Munroe would prefer that his daughter was wedded before God in a kirk. As would his own father.

As if sensing the reason for his indecision, Jessie gave him a brief but knowing smile before she turned her attention back to Captain MacBryde. "I am Jessie Munroe, Lord Lochrose's betrothed," she said clearly.

MacBryde introduced himself then addressed Robert. "So…is that what this is all about, milord? Defense of this young lady's honor?"

Concern furrowed Robert's brow as he looked back at Jessie. He wanted to spare her from whatever public humiliation he could. But how could he do that, yet make it clear that his stepmother and Simon had instigated the heinous attack on her?

"It's all right, milord," Jessie said, returning Robert's gaze steadily as she stepped farther into the room. Even though the library was only dimly lit by firelight and the weak morning light filtering in through the windows, it was enough to reveal the shocking bruises around her throat. She'd tucked a fichu of a fine diaphanous fabric into the low-scooped neckline of her gown; no doubt she was attempting to hide the evidence of Simon's assault. Nevertheless, Robert saw Captain MacBryde's gaze flicker to the telltale marks. "It is true that Lord Lochrose sought to defend my honor," she continued, "but he was sorely provoked by his brother."

"I would appreciate it if you could describe exactly what happened, Miss Munroe?"

Both admiration and a sharp pang of sympathy penetrated Robert's chest when his brave Jessie did not blush or look away from the captain. "Shortly before midnight, after the household had retired for the evening," she said, "Simon entered my bedchamber uninvited and attempted to force himself on me."

Caroline snorted. "A likely story. This hussy of a servant's daughter has been throwing herself at Simon ever since she first darkened our doorstep."

"Enough!" her husband commanded. "Don't you dare utter another lie against this lovely young woman."

Lady Strathburn paled but the remonstrance did not prevent her from throwing Jessie a baleful glare.

Captain MacBryde inclined his head. "Please continue, Miss Munroe. If you can."

Jessie drew a steadying breath before she resumed her account. Meeting the captain's gaze again, she succinctly recounted each harrowing detail of her ordeal. Robert couldn't help but admire her bravery.

"Thankfully, Lord Lochrose heard my scream and came to my aid," she concluded, casting Robert a grateful glance. "If…if it hadna been for him…" Her hand rose to her bruised throat and she closed her eyes for a moment before looking back at MacBryde.

MacBryde nodded, understanding and compassion in his eyes. "I can see how difficult this is for ye to talk about, Miss Munroe. Ye do yerself credit with yer forthright explanation." The captain turned to Robert. "I can also see why ye would have been compelled to defend yer betrothed's honor, Lord Lochrose. But ye obviously thought better of acting so rashly come the cold light of day. I commend ye for that."

"Indeed," Robert replied with a sardonic lift of one eyebrow. "Believe me, Captain, it was not easy to pass up the opportunity to make my brother pay for his transgressions. But in the end, I realized my desire to be free to wed Miss Munroe was stronger than my desire to exact revenge. The Tolbooth or the gallows are hardly the places to begin married life, wouldn't you agree?"

MacBryde nodded once, a slight smile cracking his seemingly implacable facade.

Robert crossed the room until he was standing before his stepmother. Now was the time for her to be made accountable for her perfidy. She visibly shrank back into the wingback chair, her hands plucking at the sleeves of her robe. It was satisfying, after all this trouble, to see her squirm.

"Now, dearest stepmother , would you care to explain how you came by such detailed knowledge of the duel well in advance of it actually being called? Simon didn't propose the time and place until close to midnight. He was then forcibly ousted, for the second time this week, from Strathburn House. As you clearly weren't present during the confrontation, how is it that you were able to inform Captain MacBryde's commanding officer about the precise terms of the duel at least two hours before the challenge was actually made, madam?"

Caroline gawped like a fish out of water. "I… Captain MacBryde must have been mistaken about the time he received the letter."

MacBryde cocked an eyebrow. "Indeed, I am no', Lady Strathburn. It was precisely five past ten last night when I was handed the letter by my commanding officer. There can be no mistake."

"Well, it hardly matters about the timing," scoffed Lady Strathburn. "Lord Lochrose has clearly broken the terms of his probation by challenging his brother to a duel. Duels are against the law, are they not? He should be arrested for attempting to murder my son! He was going to commit an act of out-and-out violence!"

Lord Strathburn stepped forward. "That is not the case. Robert has forfeited the duel, therefore no crime has been committed. But you, madam, and Simon seem to have been party to a conspiracy against both Robert and Miss Munroe. I should have the good captain here arrest you for the crimes of conspiracy and incitement to commit violence. You instigated, aided, and abetted Simon's attack on Miss Munroe, a scheme clearly designed to provoke Robert into committing a crime of passion for which he would be arrested. I'm sorry to say so, but you disgust me, madam." Robert's father turned to Captain MacBryde. "What do you think we should do from here, Captain?"

MacBryde frowned. "There is certainly enough evidence to warrant further investigation into both Mr. Grant's and Lady Strathburn's involvement in the attack upon Miss Munroe. There definitely appears to be an element of premeditation on both their parts. Would ye like me to refer the matter onto the Lord Advocate's office, Lord Strathburn?"

Ignoring the horrified gasp of his wife, Lord Strathburn looked to Robert and Jessie. "How would you feel about this being taken further? Especially you, my dear Miss Munroe."

Jessie's brow pleated as she considered the question. "I rather think that you and Robert have had to deal with enough scrutiny and hardship, milord. I dinna feel the need to take things any further."

Robert crossed to Jessie's side and reached for her hand, raising it to his lips. His brave, brave woman. "Are you certain, my love?"

Jessie nodded, a faint flush brightening her cheeks. "You and I are safe. That's all that matters," she said softly, her eyes glowing.

Robert tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and addressed MacBryde. "As much as I would personally enjoy seeing my stepmother and half-brother charged for their crimes, my wife-to-be and I have no wish to add to the infamy already associated with our family's name." He glanced at his stepmother; her face was now a sickly shade of green. "And by the looks of Lady Strathburn, perhaps the threat of prosecution has been punishment enough for the time being. Wouldn't you agree, Father?"

His father's gaze was decidedly cool as it came to rest upon his wife. "Perhaps. I will think on it. At this point in time, I will say that I'm decidedly less inclined to be as magnanimous as I have been when it comes to the allowance I bestow upon her. As for our younger son, I have a mind to disown him completely."

Lady Strathburn's jaw dropped. "You—you've already banished Simon from this house," she gasped. "Surely you wouldn't cut off his only source of income. He would be ruined. Think of the scandal, William!"

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you and Simon both embarked on this foul scheme to ruin my eldest son and his future wife," snapped the earl. "I've had quite enough of your carping presence for one morning. I suggest you retire to your room."

Lady Strathburn rose unsteadily to her feet and turned to leave. However, by the time she reached the door, she'd managed to dredge up enough anger to fling one final barb Robert's way. "You play the innocent, but I don't trust you at all," she hissed. "You wouldn't let Simon get away with this. There must be a reason he didn't arrive for the duel. What have you done with my son?"

Robert kept his expression perfectly neutral. "I've done absolutely nothing, my lady. I have no idea where Simon is. If he isn't passed out drunk in his room at the White Horse Inn, he's probably holed up in a house of ill-repute somewhere. You know as well as I that the rain would be enough to put him off setting foot outside. I'm sure he'll turn up."