Page 31 of The Highlander’s Unexpected Wife

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Alison jerked awake. She winced at a sharp pain in her neck, then reached back and massaged the kink. Lord, she’d fallen asleep in the bay window. A noise outside caught her attention. She sat up and started at sight of the unfamiliar carriage on the street below—Lord Weston’s street, she realized—and the night’s events returned in a rush.

She wasn’t home. She wasn’t in her room.

After they’d arrived at the viscount’s home—nae, his father’s home, though she had not seen his father—Alison had gone directly to the chambers assigned to her and hadn’t ventured out. Dinner had been sent up, which she shared with Mrs. Cummings, then she sat in the bay window and eventually fell asleep.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. What was she going to do? What was Robert going to think when he returned home to find her betrothed to another man? She had stood firm that she would marry Robert because he trusted her and would believe that there was no basis to the scandal. But she had been in the viscount’s bedchambers in the middle of the night.

What man would believe his fiancée hadn’t been having an affair with a known rake—and a future earl? Everyone would believe that she chose Lord Weston, the future 8th Earl of Weston, over a lowly solicitor. She hadn’t seen Robert since his last visit a year ago. Six months from now—after the viscount proposed marriage—the scandal would be even more believable.

What would she do if Robert broke off their engagement? Viscount Weston was right, no other reputable man would want her after such scandal. Perhaps the proposal would give her some respectability, and if Robert didn’t want to marry her, the scandal would be forgotten. Nae, she thought bitterly. The mere mention of Viscount Weston’s name would remind those gossipmongers who lived for a juicy ruination. Alison drew her knees up to her chest. She’d never considered marriage to anyone except Robert. What would she do if he wouldn’t marry her?

She thought of Erin, who had not responded to any of the three messages Alison had sent. Surely, Erin understood that Alison had only intended to help when she’d gone to the viscount’s home. Her heart squeezed. Erin was a good person, kind at heart. But she was more child than woman and would likely take some time to accept that Lord Weston wasn’t the sort of man she truly wanted to marry. Perhaps a visit to see Erin was in order before she left for the country. She simply couldn’t leave knowing this rift existed between them.

Two men came into view, headed down the walk from the house. Alison’s attention snapped onto them. They stopped on the front walk several feet from the curb and began talking. Enough moonlight shone to reveal the viscount. Who was the other man? Might he be the same man the viscount met with the other night? Cameron asked her to trust him. Yet, he was conducting another clandestine meeting. She’d recently discovered that no good came from meetings held under the cloak of darkness.

The two men continued to talk and didn’t seem in a hurry to separate. If she could get close enough without being seen, she might be able to hear their conversation. Alison scanned the grounds. Bushes outlined the front lawn. She might be able to eavesdrop if she remained within the shadows of the bushes.

Alison leapt to her feet, grabbed her cloak from the wardrobe, then hurried from the room. She descended the stairs. She couldn’t leave through the front door, for they would see her. The home likely had a side entrance, but she had no idea where it might be located. There had to be a rear entrance, perhaps from a pantry.

Alison reached the rear of the house and found a pantry with a rear door and stairs leading down to what had to be the kitchen. She opened the door into a large garden. On which side of the house might a side gate be located? Left, she decided. Clouds hid the moon and she was forced to inch along the side of the house. She reached the wall separating the garden from the front lawn and breathed a sigh of relief upon discerning a gate close to the house. Slowly, she lifted the latch, then slipped out of the garden and hurried to the edge of the house.

She halted and peered around the corner into the front yard. The men still stood talking in tones too low to hear. A carriage pulled up in front of the house and halted. The driver sat facing away from her.

Pulling her cloak tight about her shoulders, Alison scurried the short distance from the house to the bushes. She squeezed through the branches. Her cloak snagged on a limb and she yanked it free. She hurried along to the front walk, then peered at the carriage. The driver still sat in his seat, his back to her.

Her heart pounded as she eased around the corner, then hugged the shadows and crept forward. A few feet from the carriage, she still could discern no more than the murmur of the men’s voices. She dared not advance any closer, for she would be discovered once the visitor stepped onto the curb where the carriage waited. Alison yanked her gaze onto carriage. Dare she? Could she live with herself if she didn’t do everything possible to learn the truth? Could she risk even a fake engagement with a man who might be selling young women? Her stomach turned. She had to know if he was lying about his involvement in the kidnapping of women.

Alison darted from the bushes to the rear of the carriage. For several seconds, all she could hear was the thunder of her heart in her ears. Once her heartbeat slowed, she discerned the other man’s voice and realized he was the same gentleman she’d heard speaking with the viscount four nights ago.

“I need to go. Napier expects me in twenty minutes,” the man said. “The four girls have been delivered. All is progressing as planned.”

“You are certain he is going to make the first payment?” Lord Weston said. “You know this is the best opportunity we’ve had.”

Fury caused Alison’s insides to tremble. The viscount said he wasn’t kidnapping women. This conversation certainly sounded as if he was.

“I do not like it,” the other man said.

“We have no choice, James,” the viscount said. “If he wants the merchandise, this time he will have to get his hands a little dirty. You had better get going if you are to arrive at his home on time. I will await your return.”

Bootfalls approached. Alison backed up three paces to the opposite edge of the carriage. She had learned very little, but it was clear that whatever Lord Weston was caught up in was very bad.

Perhaps she should call a constable. But what would she tell him? I overheard two gentlemen speaking—one of them my fiancé, the future 8th Earl of Weston, and the other a strange man named James. I believe they are kidnapping women. Without proof, the accusations would only reveal that she had not accepted Lord Weston at his word. How was she to prove anything? He’d asked her to give him a week. Could she do that?

Gravel crunched as the man reached the carriage. The carriage shifted as the man stepped inside. Alison grasped the handle on the right edge of the carriage and lightly stepped onto the foothold as the door clicked shut. She flattened herself against the back of the carriage and hung on with all her might as the carriage lurched into motion. She said a silent prayer the viscount wasn’t watching as the carriage rolled past his home.

The carriage left the viscount’s neighborhood and the main part of town, and soon passed through estates situated on bigger tracts of land. As she clung to the carriage, Alison realized the foolishness of her plan. For all that was holy, lately she had been making a string of poor decisions. One would think she would learn, but no. She’d likely destroyed her chance at happiness with Robert, found herself engaged to one of the most notorious rakes in Inverness and now clung to the back of a carriage. Once they reached their destination, she would hardly go unnoticed.

The carriage slowed, then turned up the drive of a large estate. Wind had whipped her hair from its pins. Strands clung to her lips as she peered around the edge of carriage and squinted. Her heart raced. A manicured lawn stretched out before the mansion and small boxwoods lined the drive near the house. No trees or bushes large enough to provide cover broke that open expanse.

Alison caught sight of the front entrance. Good Lord, she had nowhere to hide once the carriage stopped—if, that is, she wasn’t spotted first. Could she jump off the carriage before they reached the mansion? Her fingers were so numb from gripping the handle that she wondered that she could maintain her grip at all. The carriage wasn’t traveling that fast. How much could it hurt when she hit the ground?

The carriage slowed as it approached the front circle drive. Now was her chance. The gravel beneath the carriage passed in a blur. Maybe it was going faster than she’d originally thought. Did she have a choice?

The carriage neared the front door and came to a slow stop. Alison leaned her weight against the back of the vehicle and held her breath until the door opened. When the man inside stepped down, she dropped to the ground. Her knees buckled and she fell. She bit back a cry as she struck the ground, pushed up onto her knees, then crawled close to the carriage.

She peered past the wheel and watched the carriage’s passenger—James, Lord Weston had called him—walk toward the mansion. Her legs ached from standing in the same position for so long and she could scarcely breathe. The driver jumped from the seat. Alison jerked her gaze to the left and watched his legs as he approached the horses. James hurried the few steps to the door and knocked. The door opened and he entered.