A Scandalous Winter Wedding. Marguerite Kaye
I so transparent?’
‘Only when you choose to be, I suspect. And I am, if I may be so bold, a very good reader of small clues. Your clothing, your tan, your familiarity with public transport, though I’m not sure, now I think about it, why you should be taking a coach from Edinburgh to Liverpool. Assuming you had just concluded business in the port of Leith, would it not have been quicker to go by boat?’
‘Now there, your logical assumptions have let you down, I’m afraid. I had no business in Leith.’
‘Oh.’ Kirstin felt quite deflated. ‘I was so sure—what then brought you to Edinburgh? Your accent is faint, but I am pretty certain it is Glaswegian, Mr—I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘Dunbar. It is Cameron Dunbar,’ he answered, but his attention was no longer on her. He was frowning, the tension she had noticed when first he boarded the coach thinning his mouth.
‘I beg your pardon if my question was unwelcome,’ Kirstin said. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so inquisitive.’
He blinked, shook his head, returned his gaze to hers. ‘It was a—a personal matter, which brought me to Edinburgh.’ He forced a smile, a painful one. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
‘Of course not. I’m very sorry.’ Embarrassed and at the same time disappointed, Kirstin stepped away, turning her back on Cameron Dunbar and her attention to the coach, where the remaining passengers were being helped out by the driver and the groom. ‘We should go and help them, let them know that there’s an inn nearby.’
‘Leave them to it.’ He spoke brusquely, caught her arm, then dropped it with a muttered apology. ‘Excuse me. I only meant that there’s no need for you to become embroiled. The coachman is more than capable. Come, I’ll walk with you to the inn, then you can have your pick of the rooms before the rush.’
‘Thank you, Mr Dunbar, that is very thoughtful.’
‘It’s not really. I’m being selfish, for it means I can have your company to myself for a little longer. I don’t mean—I beg pardon, I didn’t mean to presume—I only meant…’
He broke off, shaking his head, looking confused. Whatever this personal business of his had been, it had unsettled him. ‘I suspect you’re not quite at your normal self-assured best,’ Kirstin said, tucking her hand into his arm.
‘No.’ She was granted a crooked smile. ‘I’m not.’
‘No more am I, to tell the truth. This journey to London I’m making, it’s going to be the start of a whole new life for me, and there’s a part of me absolutely terrified that I’ll make a mess of it. Though of course,’ Kirstin added hastily, ‘my feelings are perfectly logical since the odds are stacked against me.’
Cameron Dunbar laughed shortly. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very unusual woman?’
‘I think you told me so just a moment ago. Though actually what you said was that I was surprising.’
‘You are both. And a very welcome distraction too, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Compliments are most welcome, just at the moment.’
They walked on in the growing gloom, through the sleet and the mud. She could not read his expression, though she sensed he was frowning. Twice, he gave the oddest little shake of his head, as if trying to cast off unwelcome thoughts. Relating to this painful personal business of his, she assumed. It seemed that beauty in a man was no more a guarantee of happiness than it was in a woman. There was, of course, no reason to assume it would be. She had not thought she could be so facile.
As they approached the welcome lights of the inn, and a dog started barking, Cameron Dunbar stopped, turning towards her. She assumed it was to bid her goodnight. He once again proved her wrong. ‘Since you are in the market for compliments, I find your conversation both endearing and distracting, and I’m very much in need of distraction right now. Would it be too much of a liberty to ask you to take dinner with me?’
It would be wrong of her to dine alone with a complete stranger, she knew that. But she too was a complete stranger to him. And he was not the only one in need of distraction. ‘I’d like that very much,’ she said simply.
‘Thank you, Mrs—Miss—I’m sorry, I haven’t even asked your name.’
‘It is Blair. Miss Kirstin Blair.’
London, February 1819
Kirstin shook herself from her reverie. Now was categorically neither the time nor place to recollect the past. Cameron was staring at her, his brow lifted quizzically. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘what did you ask me?’
‘How should I address you?’
‘Kirstin will be fine, at least while we are alone. In company—well, it very much depends on the company, and that is likely to be rather varied.’
The wintery sun streaming through the windows of Cameron’s hotel suite illuminated the dark shadows under his eyes, the furrow of lines between his brows, the grooves at the sides of his mouth. His skin was drawn tight around his eyes. Pity stirred in her breast. She knew little of him, but such a successful businessman as he must be finding his helplessness difficult to endure. Another man would have blundered on, useless if determined, too proud to ask for help, but Cameron Dunbar had quickly put his own ego aside. She admired him very much for that.
Once again, the urge to touch his hand was overpowering but it was not sympathy he needed. ‘We must devise a plan,’ Kirstin said briskly. ‘Though I do not recommend you share the details with Mrs Ferguson, you will want to reassure her that you are taking decisive action. But first, let us review what you know.’
‘I know nothing more than what I’ve already told The Procurer, and I presume she has already passed that on to you?’
‘Of course, but it is my experience, Mr Dunbar, that details often emerge in the retelling that have been overlooked.’
‘Can’t you bring yourself to call me Cameron?’
No, she wanted to say, because it implied an intimacy she didn’t want to acknowledge. But if she refused, he’d wonder why and she didn’t want him speculating. So Kirstin shrugged, as if it mattered not a whit. ‘Very well, Cameron, let us start with your initial involvement in this matter. Mrs Ferguson wrote to you, I believe?’
‘An express delivery to my main office in Glasgow. The one piece of good fortune in this whole sorry affair is that her letter found me there. I spend a great deal of my time abroad, looking after my various business concerns, though Glasgow is my home, in as much as any place is. I set off for London immediately, catching the mail coach which had delivered my letter on its return journey, but even so, it has now been over a week since Miss Ferguson disappeared with her maid from the Spaniard’s Inn at Hampstead, the last stop on their journey south. Unlike me, Mrs Ferguson’s preference is to travel in easy stages, and she certainly wasn’t going to take the risk of crossing the heath at night. Little did she know it would have been safer to risk a highwayman than…’ He cursed under his breath. ‘…than whatever befell the pair of them. Two young lassies with not a clue of the ways of the world. It doesn’t bear thinking of.’
‘Then don’t, for it serves no purpose save to upset you. Let’s concentrate on the cold hard facts.’
Cameron grinned. ‘A woman after my own heart.’
Caught unawares, Kirstin only just bit back her answering smile. ‘A woman after saving your niece’s life, and that of her maid,’ she said tersely. ‘Recount for me now, as accurately as you can, what Mrs Ferguson told you of the events of that night.’
‘She dined with Philippa in a private salon. She had a headache