My Heart's in the Highlands by Angeline Fortin (ebook reader screen TXT) 📕

them nothing more than what Ian hadalready learned, however. He didn’t have the name of his employerand could provide only a vague description of a “toff” of an agenearing forty. There was no mention of a woman being behind itall.

Without evidence, the magistrate had toldIan, there was nothing that could be done. He doubted even Daphne’soffhanded admission this morning would count for anything. TheKennedys were a prominent family in Ayr, the magistrate explained.He would be a fool to accuse without tangible proof of hercomplicity. The magistrate’s advice had been for Ian to protecthimself against further attacks, and so he would.

Daphne Kennedy would gain nothing fromhim.

Her efforts had almost paid off twice morethe previous day, however, leaving Ian to wonder how many plotsagainst him had already been set in motion. Like the attempt madeby Cravet, the two attempts following had forsaken subtlety infavor of a more direct approach. First, gunshots had been taken athim on his ride into Ayr with Cravet in tow. It had been cleverlydone, as he crossed through his northern woodlands where his ownhunters and occasional poachers had been known to injure strayriders with a mistaken shot on an early morning hunt.

Ian was lucky that a fast horse and the denseforest had kept the bullets from finding their mark, but hecouldn’t help but speculate how the assailants had known to bethere at all. Either they had been sitting in wait on the prospectof catching him unawares or the mastermind had eyes within hishome.

Again, Daphne was a perfect choice. The onlyone with motive that he could see.

Of course, the magistrate had not agreed.

Then, more blatantly, ruffians had set uponhim and the bishop on their departure from Ayr. Luckily for Ian,the bishop was a sporting man who enjoyed an occasional bout in thering. With his assistance, they had been able to fight off theirattackers and backtrack to Ayr with the trio bound. Ian haddelivered them to the magistrate, hoping for a confession thatwould identify who had hired them. All he had gotten from one ofthem was a confirmation that their attack hadn’t been purelyrandom, but no further information had been forthcoming after theinformant’s two compatriots had hushed him to silence.

Disheartened, Ian and the bishop had set offor Dùn Cuilean once again. This time they had been accompanied bya pair of guards to whom the magistrate had referred Ian. The twomen would remain at Cuilean as added protection until he could findsome proof of Daphne’s culpability in the incidents.

He would not allow Daphne even the smallestmeasure of success.

The old adage to keep one’s friends close andone’s enemies closer had crossed Ian’s mind. It was the reason hehadn’t banished her away with his first suspicions. He thought towatch her, to catch her in the act of sabotage. He’d had his valetfollow her, keeping track of her activities, hoping to gain theevidence he needed for her arrest.

And he still might have kept her at Cuileanif she hadn’t learned of his night with Hero. For all that he mightsubject himself to risk, Ian would never expose Hero to even amoment’s humiliation. Daphne would go, taking her covetousness andanimosity with her, and he would be wed.

Pushing the entire matter aside, knowing thathe had done all he could for the time being and that Daphne Kennedywould soon be leaving his home, Ian stripped off his clothes andwalked into his dressing room, where a hot bath was already drawnand waiting for him. Ian looked around curiously, thinking thatDickson must have come in through the marchioness’s chamber tocomplete the task either while he was in Hero’s chambers or whileDaphne was in his.

With a grimace, Ian cast a prayer heavenwardthat his valet would be discreet regarding either event. The lastthing he needed was his argument with Daphne being parried aboutthe servants’ dinner table. Or worse, Ian winced as he eased downinto the steaming water, for anyone to assume that it had beenDaphne who had spent the night in his rooms before he wed Hero.

Sighing, he leaned back in the tub andconsidered Daphne’s taunting words regarding his soon-to-be wife.Her implications regarding Hero’s reputation were obviouslyfabricated. Hero’s name was spoken with respect in Glasgow andamong the staff here at Cuilean. If she had played fast and loosewith Robert, it would have made satisfying fodder for thegossipmongers.

Even without being privy to the gossip inGlasgow over recent years, Ian knew that there would not be suchtalk about the Marchioness of Ayr. Hero was simply too innocent,besides being too reserved. On the other hand, her naturalpolitesse and decorum might leave a man she rejected with theimpression that she was frigid. Cold, as Daphne put it.

But Ian knew Hero was not.

Despite her eight years of marriage, theremight have been a naïveté about Hero but there was also anextraordinary passion there that sent his own pulse racing withlust and left him burning with the need to bury himself deep withinit once again. Today they would wed, and tonight and for everynight in the future, she would be his.

Daphne stared at the marquis’s bedchamberdoor as it closed behind her. Leave? She thought darkly.Thrown from Cuilean like so much rubble?

Who did Ian Conagham think he was? Who did hethink he was dealing with? Daphne’s hands clenched with rage. Forthree months Cuilean had been hers. She had ruled it and lovedevery moment of being something more than life had allowed. Daphnewanted that back. Wanted it enough to do anything to have it. Ofcourse, marrying the heir to the Ayr marquisate wasn’t much of asacrifice for a good cause, Daphne conceded. It would have been theperfect solution.

But no! Daphne turned across the hall to theState Chamber. No, Hero Conagham had stepped right in and scoopedhim up before Daphne had even had a chance to win him for herself.It wasn’t fair. Hero had already had her time as marchioness. Nowwas Daphne’s time.

But Ayr was going to wed Hero? Daphnescreeched with rage. Perhaps instead of seeking to injure Hero backin Glasgow, she should have tried to kill her after all; then noneof this would even have been an