“What are you doing?”
Susanna yelped, jerking her head around so fast she slung a shower of water out of her long wet hair. She scrunched the thick toweling closer, hastily covering as much of her as possible. “Get out of here!”
Her husband leaned against the door frame, biting back a grin. It shone like devilment in his eyes as his gaze traveled the length of her. “Pardon the intrusion,” he said, so insincerely she wished she had something to throw at him.
Fortunately for him, she had nothing near enough but the bar of soap on the ledge. She was tempted. “Get out of here immediately!”
One shoulder shrugged. “You’ve seen me in the natural state. Turnabout’s fair, eh?” He paused while he looked his fill.
Susanna shivered. Her teeth chattered. She was not that cold at the moment. But she was furious…!
Praise for LYN STONE’s recent titles
The Highland Wife
“…laced with lovable characters, witty dialogue,
humor and poignancy, this is a tale to savor.”
—Romantic Times
Bride of Trouville
“I could not stop reading this one….
Don’t miss this winner!”
—Affaire de Coeur
The Knight’s Bride
“Stone has done herself proud with this
delightful story…a cast of endearing characters
and a fresh, innovative plot.”
—Publishers Weekly
#644 THE MIDWIFE’S SECRET
Kate Bridges
#645 FALCON’S DESIRE
Denise Lynn
#646 THE LAW AND KATE MALONE
Charlene Sands
The Scot
Lyn Stone
Available from Harlequin Historicals and LYN STONE
The Wicked Truth #358
The Arrangement #389
The Wilder Wedding #413
The Knight’s Bride #445
Bride of Trouville #467
One Christmas Night #487
My Lady’s Choice #511
The Highland Wife #551
The Quest #588
Marrying Mischief #601
Gifts of the Season #631
“Christmas Charade”
The Scot #643
Other works include:
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Beauty and the Badge #952
Live-In Lover #1055
A Royal Murder #1172
This book is in memory of my father, Harlan Perkins, who allowed me to make my own decisions, congratulated me when they were right and never said, “I told you so” when they were wrong.
Contents
Chapter One
Edinburgh, 1856
James Garrow slowly rotated his second tankard of ale with a thumb and forefinger as he mentally tallied the British pounds he had accrued during the past fortnight. A mere fraction of what was needed to carry the remnant of his clan through until next summer, but still better than he had anticipated. Stonework didn’t pay much, but with all the new construction, it was steady. His hard-won degrees in the study of architecture were doing him precious little good.
He glanced around, grimacing ruefully at his surroundings. The Hog and Truffle Inn, despite its earthy name, did furnish clean sheets, fairly decent meals and passable ale. His private room here would have fit neatly into his garderobe back home, but the loneliness of the city not-withstanding, he’d rather have a small space than share one with a stranger. God, he’d be glad to return to the Highlands. Before the first snow, he promised himself.
His ears perked as he heard a name mentioned at the table behind him. Eastonby. The earl? James slouched back in his chair so that he was a few inches nearer and listened to the muted conversation with interest.
“His girl’s with him, I hear,” a rough voice whispered.
“So much the better,” another answered in kind, the accent soft and cultured.
“Cause an outcry the like of which you ain’t never heard,” the other warned. “Killin’ a man’s one thing, but—”
“You want the money?” came the silky question. “Then you do as I say. There’ll be the woman.” An enticement that drew a suggestive growl.
“We’ll