A Scot in the Dark (Scandal & Scoundrel #2)

by Sarah MacLean

“A beauty such as you should not have time for books.”

Shut up

Younger sisters were clearly a punishment for ill deeds in former lives. And current ones.

“It is the mixed metaphors you are interested in?” she retorted. He did not hesitate. “No, it’s you.” The words warmed her. Not that they should have. “A pity, that, as I am not interested in you.”

“I didn’t summon you.” “You might not have set pen to paper, lass, but you summoned me as simply as if you’d shouted my name across the border.” “As I said, I’ve no need for you.” “I’m told the world disagrees.” “Hang the world,” she said, turning her attention to the fire as she added, “and hang you with it.” “As I am here to save you, I would think you would be much more grateful.” The man’s arrogance was quite remarkable. “However did I come to be so very lucky?”

“Petulance is what a child feels when she is denied sweets.” “How would you describe yourself if not petulant?” Furious. Foolish. Irritated. Desperate. Ashamed.

“She’s widely believed to be the most beautiful woman in London—” “She might well be,” Alec said. He’d never seen one so beautiful. “She’s not,” King and West spoke in unison. Alec rolled his eyes. “Your wives excepted, of course.”

“Love makes us do strange things.” King’s words were simple and direct, and Alec hated the ring of truth in them.

“Listen to me and listen well,” he said, low and barely discernible through his angry brogue. “Commit my words to memory. Because I want you to spend the next two weeks wondering how I’m going to do it.” “Do what?” Hawkins was terrified. “Destroy you.”

“That was kind of you.” “Don’t worry. I shall continue to play the beast with you.”

“I met a man last evening. Pompous and arrogant and obnoxious beyond words.” Her heart pounded with devastating speed. “Are you certain you were not looking into a mirror?” He cut her a look. “No, I was looking at Derek Hawkins.”

“We shall find a man,” he repeated. “A good one.” Alec would carry him to the altar if necessary. “We have nine days,” he said. “To convince a man to take a risk on my scandal before all the world has truly witnessed it.” “To convince a man that you are prize enough to ignore it.”

“I wanted to marry for love.” He recoiled from the very idea. Love was a ridiculous goal—one that was not only implausible but nonexistent. He knew that better than anyone. But Alec had a sister, and so he knew a thing or two about women—and knew, without question, that they believed in the great fallacy of the heart. So he lied to her. “Then we shall find you someone to love.” She faced him then, tilting her head and watching him as though he were a creature under glass, fascinating and disgusting all at once. “That’s impossible.” “Why?” She lifted one shoulder and lowered it. “Because love is for the lucky among us.” “What does that mean?” he said, her words rioting through him, unwelcome in their eerie truth. “Only that I am not counted among the lucky. Everyone I have ever loved has left.” He did not have time to reply, because she was through the door and gone, leaving him with his dogs, the words echoing in the empty room.

“We should not laugh at his misfortune.” He did the same, coming closer. “We all have misfortune. If we cannot laugh at it, what is there?”

“Happiness isn’t so easily found, Lily. It is not as simple as giving you funds and setting you free.”

“I will find you, lass. Always.”

“Well then. Onward, Miss Hargrove.” She hesitated. He had her. “You did not think a little thing like that dress would dissuade me from my plans?” “There is nothing little about this dress,” she said. “It will be a miracle if it fits inside the carriage,” he agreed, turning away from her, heading for the door, keenly aware of the fact that she was not following. Turning back, he met her grey gaze from across the foyer. “Come now, Lillian, surely you did not think I would give up so easily?” “I did think that you would be smart enough to recognize that if I am seen in public in this dress, no man will ever have me.” “You misjudged.” “Your sense of fashion?” He did not rise to the bait. “Your own beauty.”

He remained transfixed by her hand, disliking the way it felt on him. Liking the way it felt on him.

His hand tightened at her elbow, strong and steel, meant to comfort but only reminding her that comfort was fleeting. That sorrow was the most honest of all the emotions. Sorrow and regret.

He leaned in then, close enough that the marquess would not hear them. Close enough for Lillian to note that his eyes were not simply brown. They were brown flecked with gold and green and grey. She’d think them beautiful if she didn’t loathe the very sight of their owner, who thought himself a hero despite presenting himself every kind of villain.

“Sesily, you’ve shocked her,” the marchioness admonished before looking to Lily. “You needn’t answer her. She’s utterly inappropriate when she wishes to be.” “I didn’t wish to be inappropriate!” “To be fair, Sesily is inappropriate when she doesn’t wish to be as well,” Seline pointed out.

“Are you quite wedded to spending the rest of your days in Scotland?” “I am, actually,” he said without hesitation. Sesily removed her hand from his. “What a pity.” She turned to face the rest of the room. “I shall have to locate another with whom to flirt.” “No one said you couldn’t flirt with this one,” Seleste pointed out. “It’s not as though flirting leads to marriage.” “No,” Sesily sighed, distractedly scanning those assembled. “But it’s much more fun if it might. And I’m not ending up in Scotland. No offense, Your Grace.” “None taken,” Alec said. “Should I apologize?” “It would not be out of line,” Sesily replied. Alec put a hand to his chest. “It is, of course, my loss.” Sesily grinned. “Handsome, rich, titled, and intelligent, to boot. A terrible pity.”

“Your Grace. You’re an unmarried duke with a king’s fortune. You’d have to be a thorough cabbagehead to believe that no one knows who you are. You may have the worst tailor in Christendom, but you’re not a cabbagehead, are you?” Lily had her own opinions on this particular question, but she stayed quiet. “I’m her guardian. Surely that’s not proper.” Sesily raised a brow. “Half the guardians in London end up marrying their wards. It’s an epidemic.” Lily didn’t stay quiet then. “Not this guardian. Not this ward.” Warnick cut her a look and said, “I assure you, Lady Sesily, that is not in the cards.” Sesily watched them both for a long moment before saying, “Certainly not. And yet still, you must dance.”

should like to leave.” “No,” Alec said, and she whirled to argue with him. Sesily spoke first. “Listen to me, Lillian Hargrove. I know better than anyone what Hawkins can make a woman do. If you’re to survive this, you must do all you can to make him the villain. The first step is to make London love you. Which begins with dancing with your duke.” He’s not my duke.

“Lily, I’ve seen your wedding dress.” She froze, her breath unwilling to expel. “What did you say?” He tugged at her waist, at her hand. “Do not stop dancing.” She did not move, finding herself instead frozen to the floor, repeating herself. “What did you say?” He narrowed his gaze on her. “I found it,” he said, softly, like the softest gunshot that had ever been fired for the damage it did in Lily’s chest. “And the pile of pretty clothes for your future babe. Those little boots, with the soft red soles. You dream of filling those boots, Lillian Hargrove. And this is your best chance at doing so.”

No one in his life had ever frustrated Alec as much as Miss Lillian Hargrove.

“My reputation is ruined, because I am a woman, and we are not our own. We belong to the world. Our bodies, our minds.” “You don’t belong to anyone. That’s the point. If you did, this would not be such a scandal.”

“Be careful. In my experience, men who look like that are ready for one of two things: kissing or killing. And he’s already attempted the latter.”

“Sometimes, you wait for so long, that it all feels like love.”

“I will give you everything you want, mo chridhe. Everything you need,” he promised, the words dark and low and filled with the accent he worked so hard to keep at bay with her. “I will show you heaven. But only if you let me watch you find it. That is my price.”

She simply felt that it was only proper to dress nicely with one’s kisser. Kissee. She had, after all kissed him back. More than kissed.

With Derek, it had never felt as though he cared much that she was there. It had always felt as though she was trying to make him see her. But Alec . . . Alec made her feel as though she was the sun, hot and bright at the center of a universe. His universe.

“The rules, they are so different for men and women. Why should it matter to the world whom I am seen with? Why should it matter if I have private audience with a man? It shouldn’t be their business. It should be just that. Private.”

She squared her shoulders and turned to face him, resolute in her decision to ignore his handsome, angled face and his brown eyes, gleaming the color of whisky. She would not notice any of it. Not his broad shoulders, or the way his hair fell in a haphazard sweep over his brow, or his lips. She would certainly not notice his lips. They’d done far too much damage as it was.

“But let’s begin with why Stanhope is so very”—he grimaced at the idea of saying the idiotic word—“landable.” She counted Stanhope’s assets on her fingers. “He’s handsome, he’s charming, he’s titled, and he’s unmarried.” Alec supposed women liked those qualities. “Not rich?” One of Lily’s perfect brows rose. “That’s where I come in. As you well know. Isn’t that the key to your getting me married?” The words grated. “It’s not only the wealth that I expect him to want,” he said, before he could stop himself. She was not a fool. She would ask— “What else is there?” He likely should not have answered. But there was something about seeing her there, Hardy at her feet, staring adoringly up at her, that made him tell her. “There is your beauty.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” “That’s because there isn’t anything like it,” he said. “It’s custom made.” Her brow furrowed. “You’ve a custom curricle? Whatever for? Do you spend a great deal of time driving about the Scottish countryside, eager to be seen?” He laughed at the question, the sound warm like the unseasonable day. “It’s built for racing. Very light, perfectly balanced, fast as a bullet. It’s virtually unbeatable.” She did not care for the image of him careening down a road at high speeds, putting himself in danger, but she ignored the concern. It wasn’t as though he were hers to worry about, after all. “Designed by you?” “By Eversley, as a matter of fact.” Confusion came once more. “So it belongs to the marquess.” “Nae. He traded it to me.” “For what?” She couldn’t imagine what a comparable item might have been. “For a used saddle.” Her mouth fell open. “Why would he do that?” He smirked, rocking back on his heels. “Because the idiot man fell in love.”

“I suppose you’re going to offer an opinion as to which of my features are best enough to be put forward?” “No,” he said. Lily could not hide her surprise. “No?” He shook his head. “Lead with whatever you like.” He leapt down from his seat and she watched him come around the curricle to help her to the ground. As he clasped her waist in his hands, the touch sizzled through her, unsettling. More so when he said, softly, so only she could hear, “All your features are best.”

“You are, without doubt, the worst chaperone in the long, venerable history of chaperones. Spinsters the world over are wringing their lace caps.” He knew she was right, but he had no intention of admitting that. “I suppose you are an expert in the behavior of chaperones.” “I know they are not supposed to loom,” she snapped. “I am not looming.” “You are nearly seven feet tall. All you do is loom.” “What would you have me do? Shrink to the size of your fairy suitor?” She rolled her eyes. “He’s taller than most men in London!” He smirked. “Not taller than me.” “Well, of course not. You’re virtually a tree with legs.” She sighed. “Don’t loom. Follow behind at a decent distance.”

“You’ve your pick of all London, Your Grace. Have at it.” I pick you. No. No he didn’t. He looked down at her. “It’s you who is here for the picking, Lillian.” “I would be infinitely more pickable if I lacked my Scottish shadow.”

“You should not court me, my lord.” One of the Talbot sisters gasped her surprise as Stanhope raised a brow. “And if I wish to?” Lily shook her head. “London practically brims with pristine, good-natured heiresses. You’re too kind to settle for such an utter scandal.” He waited a long moment and said, “Too kind? Or too English?” “I told you!” Sesily blurted out, turning to her sisters with a triumphant smile before looking to the earl. “You saw it, too!” Lord Stanhope stood, offering Sesily a wide smile. “One would have to be blind not to see it.” A thread of unease coursed through her, her hand stilling mid-stroke on Hardy’s large, grey head as she looked from one to the other. “I don’t know what you mean.” “And did you see the look on his face when he saved her?” Seleste interjected with a sigh. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone so obviously out of his mind with emotion.” Seline smirked. “I was so distracted by it that I entirely forgot to see what he was wearing beneath his skirts.” Sesily pointed to her sister. “Oh, bollocks. I did, as well.” Lord Stanhope coughed. “Apologies, my lord. But, curiosity and all that.” Stanhope’s brows rose. “Naturally.” Lily was stuck on the tale of Alec’s concern. Her brow furrowed. “What nonsense. He left me. With you lot.” She paused. “No offense.” “None taken,” the quartet said in unison.

He opened several doors before Hardy came from around a corner and stopped short with a little bark. Alec looked to the dog. “Where is she?” As if he understood, Hardy turned tail and disappeared around the corner once more. When Alec followed, he found the dog standing at attention, face to a mahogany door, tail wagging and sighing little, urgent cries. “Good boy.” Alec pet him absently. “I’ll deal with you later. We’re going to discuss your shifting loyalty.”

“Who are we followin’?” The coachman shouted above the clatter of wheels, clutching the driving box in panic. Alec flicked the reins again. “No one important.” “Beg pardon, sir,” the man asked with a laugh, “but fifty quid ain’t no one important.” Alec ignored the words. Of course she was important. She was slowly becoming everything.

“Now you wish to keep my company?” His features matched her own. “What does that mean?” You left me, she wanted to say. Alone. Wishing for you.

“I do not pretend to understand the female mind.”

“I was about to look for a key when you terrified me into hiding,” she snapped. He looked back at her. “Under the bed, by the way, is a terrible place to hide. What if he’d been heading for sleep? You’d have been stuck under there all night.” She raised a brow. “You’re simply jealous that you wouldn’t have fit under the bed.”

“We’ve known each other for two hours. He couldn’t possibly desire me.” “Any man in his right mind would desire you after two minutes.”

“You’re the very best kind of scandal,” he grumbled as he headed for the door to the room. At least, that’s what she thought he said. “I didn’t hear you.” “You’re the very worst kind of scandal,” he said, louder. That wasn’t what he had said. She couldn’t keep her smile from her face. “What does that mean?” “You’re the kind of scandal a man wants to claim for his own.”

He’d thought he’d known what wanting felt like. What longing meant. And then he’d met Lillian Hargrove, and he’d realized the truth—that everything for which he’d ever hungered was nothing compared to her. There was nothing he would not pay. Nothing he would not do for another taste of her. And that he was unworthy of her.

He left the house resolved to two things: first, Lily would have happiness in the hands of the best man they could find; and second, that man would never be him.

“He came to me, because he wanted the reminder that you are not for him.” The words stung like a blow, hard and wicked. Lily refused to show it. She straightened, willing herself strong. “If he came to you, Peg, then I assure you, I am not for him.” “Good girl,” she thought she heard one of the Talbot sisters say. Surprise warred with anger on the countess’s face, there, then gone, disappeared by that cool mask. “Poor Lovely Lily. Don’t you see? Alec is not built for a lifetime, but instead best used for one night.”

“If you choose him,” she extended her arms, revealing the fabric. “You find him. And you wear this.” Lily’s eyes went wide as she took the offering, the movement punctuated by little excited gasps from her friends. Holding the fabric in her hands, she admitted it again, her single, undeniable truth. “I want him.” “Then he is yours,” Sesily replied, her words dry and full of knowledge. “Truthfully, if that does not win him, the man cannot be won.”