Page 23 of Sweet Hellion

The thump of bootfalls outside the shop snapped her from the spell.

Rhys tensed. As the latch on the front door rattled, he yanked from inside her and set her on her feet. Emma raced from the room, clutching her gown around her. She’d barely sprinted into the hallway as the shop door creaked open.

How had they forgotten to lock the door?

At the scuff of boots entering the room, she pulled her dress sleeves over her shoulders and peered around the corner. Rhys stood before a distinguished, silver haired man in dark, Spanish leather boots and a red coat embroidered with gold braid that proclaimed him a commanding officer.

“Major General.” Rhys saluted.

The elderly man stared down the length of his hawk nose at Rhys. Again, the door opened. This time, Lord Munro entered, dressed in a gray coat, a fine blue waistcoat, and a well tied, matching cravat. Emma’s heart pounded. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard as the Major General cast a slow, searching glance about the shop before returning his sharp gaze to Rhys.

“Lord Munro speaks the truth, I see,” he said, at last.

“Pardon, sir?” Rhys asked.

“You are living here,” Munro said.

Rhys hesitated.

The Major General’s mouth thinned. “There was a time when I thought you an honorable man. You have not only disgraced yourself on the battlefield, now you tarnish the reputation of a respectable woman, a sister of—”

Emma hadn’t realized she’d charged into the room until all three men faced her.

“Major General, I assure you, Captain Macleod has offered me only—”

“Captain?” the major general interrupted coldly. “Captain, no longer.”

“That is a wrong that should be righted,” Emma said.

“Nonsense,” the major general said. “Miss Bamfield, I presume? Leave us. These are matters for men.”

Emma blinked. Had the man just dismissed her in her own home? She lifted her chin. “Forgive me, sir, but if you’re here to disparage Cap—Mister Macleod, then you should know that it is he, alone, who has sought to put bread on my table, to keep me from a destitute life—”

“Good God, woman,” the Major General snapped. “Leave these matters to men.”

Emma stared in shock. Clearly, the man was used to folk obeying his orders without question.

Rhys smiled gently at her. “Miss Bamfield, thank you for your kind words, but the major general is right. Leave this business to us.”

“Indeed.” The major general waved Emma aside and returned his attention to Rhys. “I came with a purpose, Macleod. You are under arrest.”

Emma drew a sharp breath. “Under arrest. On what charge?”

“He is a deserter.”

Rhys drew a long breath but said nothing.

“But why now?” Emma demanded. “You discharged him from the army. Why arrest him now?”

“We are righting a wrong.” The major general pinned him with a hard stare. “Will you come willingly, or must I call the men waiting outside?”

“I will come.”

“Nae!” Emma grabbed his arm. “You cannot go.” She swung her gaze onto the major general. “He isn’t guilty. It is Lord Munro who deserted the men.”

The viscount gave a low laugh. “I see Macleod is still spreading his lies.”

“They are not lies,” Emma cried. “It is the truth. You are the liar. You concocted this lie to save yourself. Who is the real coward, sir?”