Page 33 of The Highlander’s Unexpected Wife

Chapter Eight

Cameron sipped his brandy, then balanced the glass on his abdomen and dropped his head back onto the pillow. The liquor reached his belly and warmth began to spread through him. This had been one of the longest days of his life, and it wasn’t over yet. James wouldn’t return for at least another two hours. Cameron had left a footman at the door to await his return. A short rest would refresh his mind. He would need the respite, for in a few hours, he would face Lady Alison, his future wife—and he had no doubt she would be his wife. Tomorrow, she would write a letter to her intended, explaining the scandal and her engagement. Robert Thomson would send a cold reply with instructions never to contact him again.

He almost felt sorry for Lady Alison. Almost. Her ridiculous plotting had gotten her into this mess and dragged him in with her. However, better Lady Alison than Miss Erin Lennox. Oddly, he had to admit, he wasn’t as discomfited with the idea of marriage to Alison as he would have expected. He chuckled and finished the brandy. Getting caught in his bedchambers wasn’t what she had planned, and marrying him, well, that was out of the question.

He smiled at the memory of her response to his question.

“Are you a good woman, my lady?”

“Better than you deserve,” she’d replied.

She’d called him arrogant. She held her ground with her cousin, Henry Hamilton. That relationship was far more dangerous than she understood. Cameron recognized the desperation in the man’s manner. He was in trouble—from gambling, in all likelihood. Cameron would find out. He rose, crossed to the tray where sat the decanter of brandy and refilled his glass. By the time he’d returned to his bed, he’d drunk half the glass, and when he lay back on the mattress, he recalled that a beautiful woman occupied a room in the west wing—only two minutes away.

He contemplated her soft curves and fiery temper. There were worse situations than having a lady and a vixen as a wife. What might she think if she knew his thoughts? He laughed. She would cut off his bollocks. When he’d stolen a kiss, he’d tasted the passion simmering within. Though that passion, no doubt, was fueled by her mounting anger.

Cameron finished the remainder of his brandy and considered getting up for another. He glanced at the mantle clock. He might as well get up. He was wound too tight. This was their chance to nail Napier for his crimes. Napier’s money had solidified his standing in the community, made him untouchable. But greed had a way of revealing a person’s true character. Napier’s reign of terror was going to end soon.

Cameron rose and headed downstairs to his study. He passed the parlor, then took a step back when he glimpsed Mrs. Cummings pacing in front of the windows.

“Mrs. Cummings?”

“My Lord.” She wrung her hands.

“What is wrong?” If Mrs. Cummings was worried, Alison was up to something. “Where is she?”

“I am not sure.” Her brows pulled into a worried frown. “She was restless. I’m sure you can understand why. I thought she needed to be alone. But she is not in her room.”

“There are plenty of rooms within this house for her to seek privacy.”

The housekeeper nodded. “I know. I searched them all. Except yours, of course,” she quickly added. “I, well, I had hoped she was with you.”

“I assure you, she is not in my room.” Else he would still be in bed with her legs wrapped around his waist. “When did you last see her?”

“We supped together, then I retired and left her sitting in the window seat of her room.”

Overlooking the street and his meeting with James.

“You remain here, Mrs. Cummings,” he said. “If she returns, I order you to lock her in her room.”

The housekeeper frowned. “You know where she is?”

“Pray I am wrong.” He left her and called for his footman as he strode down the hall.

The young man appeared in the study as Cameron yanked open his father’s desk drawer and pulled out the loaded pistol he kept there.

“You called, sir?” the lad asked.

“Have my horse saddled immediately. If James returns, tell him I have gone to Napier’s.”

The lad hurried away, and Cameron couldn’t help but note that never in all his life at Welbourne had he made so frequent a use of the small stable where they kept a horse for emergencies as he had these last few days.

Half an hour later, Cameron reached Napier’s mansion. He dismounted next to James’s coach and tossed the reins to the driver. He hurried up the half dozen steps and pounded with the knocker. A moment later, a large man opened the door.

Cameron pushed past him. “Where is Napier?”

“I will tell him you are here,” the man said.

“His study, I assume?” Cameron crossed the larger foyer to the sweeping circular stairs.