Page 18 of Lyon of Scotland
“Aye,” she breathed, staring, caught in his lure. His hand captured hers, his fingers pressing hers, warming through her thin white gloves.
“I do not offer lightly, lass.”
“I understand.” Somehow she felt utter trust in him in that moment. She needed that, and wished he could always be there.
Do not be foolish, she told herself. Trusting quickly was in her nature, and she had been mistaken before because of it.
“Hannah!” Georgina called, rushing down the aisle. “We—oh!” She stopped, seeing the Scotsman. Her eyes went wide. Strathburn stepped away, adding distance.
Hannah smiled. “Lord Strathburn, this is my cousin, Miss Georgina Gordon-Huntly. Lord Lyon in Scotland,” she added.
“So pleased, Miss Gordon-Huntly.” He inclined his head.
“My lord, I am pleased!” Georgina looked behind her. “My stepbrother is just there and would like to meet you. Oliver!”
The young man came toward them carrying two filled glasses with a napkin balanced on top. “Lemonade and sugar biscuits just as you ordered, Georgie. Hannah! We were looking for you. Have some.”
“Thank you.” She took a glass and rescued the wrapped biscuits before they could topple. “Oliver Huntly, Esquire, this is Lord Strathburn. The new Lord Lyon.”
“The very Lord Lyon, sir! A pleasure! I heard you were in town.”
“Mr. Huntly. It is good to meet so many Scots here in London.”
“We have a good wee Scottish community here. I was born in Edinburgh, though we all came to London when my father married Georgina’s mother. May I say, it is delightful to see a Scotsman wearing tartan so proudly and bravely in London.”
“I may have shocked a few English this week,” Strathburn drawled. He glanced at Hannah with an amused look. “Miss Gordon proudly wears plaid too.”
She smiled, and he chuckled, a velvety resonance that made her want to lean toward his solid calm. Yet she sensed beneath that calmness a taut wire of power and secrets, of trouble mastered, a hard, active current beneath a calm exterior.
“There goes the bell to return to our seats,” Georgina said as the chimes rang out. “We have only a few minutes.”
“If I may,” Strathburn said, “let me invite you to watch the rest of the play with me. I am a guest in the Duke of Gordon’s box this evening with Sir Walter Scott.”
Georgina gasped in delight. “That would be lovely! It is my grandfather’s box after all, which Sir Walter uses when he is in the city. Hannah, would Sir George mind if we change boxes?”
“He would understand if we wish to meet Sir Walter.” Hannah felt a wash of gratitude to Strathburn for the offer—and the rescue from Dove tonight.
“Mr. Huntly, would you care to join us?” Strathburn asked. “If you will escort the ladies there, I will look for Sir George and let him know.”
“Ah, there youare,” Sir Walter said as Dare approached, having seen Scott, Naylor, and others. “I believe you know everyone here.”
“I do. The chimes have rung to call us back, so we have just a minute or two. Sir Walter, I invited Miss Gordon and her cousins to join us for the rest of the play. Sir George, I hope you do not mind. They were eager to meet the poet they admire.”
“Of course.” Sir George shrugged. “Sir Frederic, over here!” he called. Seeing the man approach, Dare bristled.
Dove juggled small glasses of wine in both hands. “Gentlemen. Lyon,” he barked.
“Dove.” Dare raised a hand to refuse a glass as they were handed around.
Sir George sipped wine. “Good, but I prefer stronger drink, such as Lord Lyon brought to London as a gift to the king—good Highland whisky.”
“It has not yet arrived,” Dare said.
“Scotch whisky?” Dove raised his thick gray eyebrows high.
“The king is quite fond of it,” Scott said. “The Scottish Parliament sent a quantity by steamer packet as a gesture of good will, and Strathburn is to present it.”
“Excellent,” Dove murmured. “Very interesting.”
