When a Lady Kisses a Scot

By Tara Kingston

Rose Fleming has been presumed dead for the last decade. It required leaving everything—and everyone—she loved behind, including MacAllister Campbell. But faking her death allowed her to stay safe until the threat posed by a mysterious villain had passed. Believing it’s finally safe again, she returns...and runs smack into the only man she ever loved.

But Rose was wrong and the stalker she escaped years ago still has her in his sights.

Ten years ago, Mac mourned the death of the woman he loved. It’s taken years to heal his heart only to discover that not only is Rose still alive, but still in grave danger. Mac can forgive Rose’s deception, but he’d never be able to forgive himself if he didn’t protect her from the evil still stalking her.

The only thing worse than losing her once would be losing her again... and he won’t let that happen.

Each book in the Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service series is STANDALONE:
* When a Lady Deceives
* When a Lady Dares
* When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord
* When a Lady Kisses a Scot

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Jul 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781640638419

Book preview

For my grandmother…

I’ll always cherish the memory of reading by your side…

Prologue

Scotland, October 1884

Ye must leave this place. Go…and never look back.

As Rose Fleming cradled her brother’s limp body at the river’s edge, her aunt’s desperate words sliced through her like a rusty knife. She pressed a hand to his cheek, praying he’d stir, desperate for some small sign he still breathed. Still lived.

Breathe, Angus. You must not give up.

Bitter tears seared her eyes. She brushed a crimson-soaked lock of hair from her brother’s brow. Angus, please…stay with me.

Huge raindrops pelted her face like icy pebbles against her skin, mixing with the blood trickling from a cut near her left temple. Rose’s attention jerked toward an eerie creak as lightning sizzled behind her. A wheel on their wrecked carriage spun as if by its own volition. A sudden gust, and the wheel picked up speed, rotating wildly on its broken axle as a mournful sound whipped through the trees.

Her brother had been driving the carriage when they’d departed Fleming House. At first, she’d joined Angus on the bench, engaging him in bland conversation intended to distract from the miserable truth—they were leaving their home for the last time. As the sky turned a forbidding gray and the first cold drops of rain fell, he’d slowed to a stop and insisted Rose enter the coach. Soon after, traveling at a breakneck pace, they’d hit a deep rut in the road.

The sharp crack of the axle and the terror in her aunt’s screams would be forever etched in Rose’s mind. As the coach careened on its side toward the bank of the river, another jolt tossed her about like a rag doll. Her head struck something hard. Something unyielding.

Everything went black.

She’d awakened to Aunt Helen’s imploring voice and the feel of her aunt’s fingertips against her forehead.

The carriage had landed with its door against the ground, so she’d pulled her bruised body through the opposite window and helped Aunt Helen from the coach. She’d spotted Angus then. He’d been thrown from the bench, landing against a tree stump.

Now, she traced the single wound over his right temple with her fingertips. The laceration was scarcely bleeding. Reaching up, she unfastened her cloak and fashioned a pillow for his head with the swath of wool. Swiping mingled rain and blood and tears from her cheek, she gazed down at him, denying the truth. Her strapping, courageous brother with his bright smile and quick wit could not be lying there so still.

So lifeless.

He could not be dead.

This. Can. Not. Be.

There’s nothin’ to be done for Angus now. Aunt Helen’s voice was raw with grief. Tenderly, she stroked Rose’s rain-matted hair. But ye must save yourself.

Rose met her aunt’s tear-filled eyes. I will not leave him.

There is no choice. I could not protect ye when yer da was alive. But now…now I know what must be done.

One of the horses, that had faithfully pulled the family carriage for so many years, gave a plaintive whinny. Even after their halters had broken, freeing them from the carriage, the geldings had not bolted. Rather, they paced restlessly, observing the scene with sad eyes that seemed to understand and share their sorrow.

Her aunt took Rose’s hand in hers. Angus tried to save ye. And now, he’s given me the means to protect ye.

Rose gave her head an anguished shake. I don’t understand.

Take Galahad. Ye’ve always delighted in showing everyone how ye could ride the wildest beast without benefit of a saddle. This gentle creature should prove no challenge. I’ll tell everyone the horse was spooked and ran off after the carriage wrecked.

She met her aunt’s imploring gaze. Then we shall both go. We’ll make it to London…and MacAllister.

Aunt Helen shook her head as she brushed rain off her spectacles. If you bring him into this, ye’ll put his life in danger.

He will know what to do. Angus had faith in him.

MacAllister Campbell is scarcely more than a lad. He’s not equipped to deal with the likes of a man like Merrick, even if he wanted to—and ye’ve no guarantee of that.

Doubt sliced through her heart. Months earlier, MacAllister had left Scotland to seek his fortune. He’d made her no promises. He’d never misled her about his intentions.

Still, she had faith he would not abandon her. After all, he had loved her. At least for a little while.

"MacAllister will help me." In her heart, she believed that.

Cyril Merrick will kill anyone who stands in his way. Do ye want Campbell’s blood on yer hands?

Dear God. The truth of her aunt’s words knifed through her. She could not put MacAllister’s life at risk.

Rose gulped against a wave of emotion. Then what now—what would you have me do?

My sweet girl, ye’ve been the brightest joy in my life. But now, ye must go from this place.

Rose blinked against scalding tears. I will not leave you.

There is no choice.

But Merrick won’t stop. He will chase me to the ends of the earth.

Unless he believes there is no point—unless he believes…ye’re dead.

Dead? The thought of never again seeing those she loved and the land she adored was a dagger to the belly.

I have a friend—I trust her with my life, and with yers. Her aunt pressed a small leather purse into her hand. Everything you need to find her is in this bag. She will give ye shelter until ye can leave the country.

Rose shuddered at the burst of pain. Please do not ask that of me.

With her dying breath, your mother trusted me to protect you. And now, I will do whatever it takes.

In the distance, the steady rumble of hoofbeats drifted to her ears. A rescue party? Or had Merrick’s men tracked them down?

They’re coming. It won’t be long now, Aunt Helen murmured. Turning back to Angus’s still body, she scooped up Rose’s cloak from beneath his head, rushed to the bank of the river, and flung the garment into the rushing water. As the brisk current swept it away, her aunt drew her close and kissed her cheek.

Go now, Rosie. Do not look back.

Chapter One

London, Ten Years Later

It is not every day that a man looks into the eyes of a dead woman. All things considered, the imposing Scot who’d once broken Rose Fleming’s heart was taking it rather well.

Rose met MacAllister Campbell’s warm brown gaze. As he rested his hands lightly on Rose’s shoulders, gently stilling her, doubt flashed over his handsome features. Was it her imagination, or had his jaw actually dropped, if only by a fraction of an inch? For a heartbeat, perhaps two, he studied her, as if to convince himself the woman who’d dashed headlong into him was indeed real.

And not a ghost come back to haunt him.

Of all the men she might’ve encountered as she rushed through the crush outside the theater, why did it have to be him?

So many years had passed since she’d last touched him. Since she’d last kissed him on a night when the moon was full and the fragrance of summer blossoms filled the air. It seemed a lifetime since MacAllister had walked out of her life.

But there was no mistaking him. Even after all these years, standing in the shadow of the Larkspear Theater on a gaslit night, she knew the shape of his face, the wave in his chestnut brown hair, and the subtle scent of soap and bergamot indelibly imprinted on her brain.

Questions flashed in his eyes, coupled with a clear sense of recognition. Had he seen through her pitiful attempt at camouflage—a coffee rinse liberally applied over her hair to dull its natural auburn hue and a netted veil on her hat to partially obscure her features?

MacAllister had always taken in the smallest of details. Pity that trait had not changed.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. At the moment, MacAllister Campbell’s powers of observation were the least of her worries.

Are you all right, miss? His question was bland, ordinary. Perhaps she was mistaken—perhaps he didn’t recognize her.

She gave a nod, then rose up on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. In the distance, a tall man with a shock of stringy black hair shoved his way through the crowd. A chill washed over her. So, he was following her. The man’s near-constant presence since she’d left the hotel on the Strand had not been a coincidence. Another minute or so and he’d be upon her.

Dear God. The nod had been a colossal lie.

She wasn’t all right.

Not at all.

If the bull of a man caught up with her, she might well join the ranks of the deceased again.

Only this time, it would not be a charade.

Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. She’d likely regret it. But at least she’d be alive.

Since she’d last seen MacAllister, she’d developed a talent for making good use of every resource. And now, she needed MacAllister—well, she needed a man—if only for a very short while.

Darling. She flashed a soft smile, curled a gloved hand over his forearm, and urged him away from the gas lamp’s hazy light. I’m delighted I found you.

His eyes narrowed. She thought he’d respond, but he didn’t. Had she actually left him speechless? It wasn’t easy to get the better of MacAllister. This might well be a first. The notion was oddly satisfying. Not that she had time to savor the experience.

Peeking over his shoulder again, she spotted the black-haired man. He’d muscled past a burly gent with a walrus mustache. Oh dear.

Oh, I’ve missed you so. Taking hold of MacAllister’s jacket lapels, she stepped close to his body. Ignoring the press of a button against her cheek, she buried her face against the tweed. Hold me. Please.

His arms enfolded her. Do you intend to tell me what in blazes is going on? His voice was low and husky, so familiar, even after all this time.

Glancing over his shoulder to scan the crowd behind him, she glimpsed a flash of her pursuer’s coal-black hair.

His sharp, indrawn breath betrayed the tension in his body. Who are you looking for?

An old friend, she whispered against his mouth. I need you to do something…for me.

Tell me what you’re up to. I’ve no patience for games.

Did you ever, MacAllister?

She clung to him like a drowning woman. Please, hold me.

To her relief, he played along.

Leaning closer, she lifted the netting on her hat, just enough to leave her eyes still veiled.

This is no time for words.

No time for hesitation.

He framed her face in his large, warm hands. What is this about?

Stop talking and kiss me.

Interest flared in his eyes. And he needed no further invitation. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to hers. Softly, at first. So very gentle. Kindling a flame she’d thought long extinguished.

Her lids fluttered shut as she savored his touch. A hunger that transcended the moment stirred within her. With a little groan deep in his throat, he intensified the caress, teasing her with the tip of his tongue, parting her lips. Claiming her with a passion that carried her back in time.

A muffled sound, jarring as nails against a teacher’s slate, intruded on her bliss.

Harrumph!

The deliberate throat-clearing came again, this time followed by words. Brash and utterly disapproving.

Hands falling to his side, MacAllister eased away. His eyes darkening with an emotion she couldn’t quite read, he fixed the harrumpher with a glare so heated, it seemed a miracle it did not scorch the gent’s muttonchop whiskers. Good God, man. Next time, I’ll thank you to look the other way.

The burly man narrowed his eyes. I should hope there will not be a next time.

I’ll have you know I’ve not seen my wife in a long time. MacAllister affectionately squeezed Rose’s hand.

Wife. Rose gulped at the word. He’d played along with her ruse, perhaps a bit more than she’d intended.

The hard line of the older gent’s mouth softened. Tipping his derby, he flashed Rose a smile. Aye, I was young once. Time is indeed fleeting. As he headed to the theater entrance, he called to MacAllister, Do not do anything I would not do.

MacAllister gave a nod, then turned to her. He reached for her hand, taking it in his own. With his thumb, he traced small circles over her skin. A long dormant awareness roared to the surface.

She looked away, avoiding his questioning gaze. Peering past him, she saw no sign of the hired muscle who’d been trailing her for hours. Still, she couldn’t allow herself a sigh of relief.

She’d eluded the bastard. For now. But she wasn’t fool enough to deceive herself. It wasn’t over yet.

Now that the black-haired man knew she was alive, it might not ever be over. The sight of the brute who’d pursued her from Edinburgh had confirmed her worst fears. She didn’t know his name. She didn’t need to. The man was an assassin. No doubt he’d murdered her aunt, God rest her soul, on Merrick’s orders.

And now, the killer had pursued her all the way to London. The man was likely skilled at ending his quarry’s existence. He might have slid a blade between her ribs before anyone in the crowd could stop him—before anyone was the wiser.

MacAllister’s brow furrowed as his attention settled on her left wrist. Of course, he’d noticed the way the cords on the small velveteen bag dug into her skin.

His touch suddenly scorching, she pulled away. If he discovered what weighted the bag—the revolver she carried day and night—he’d have more questions.

Questions she had no intention of answering.

She had to get away. Somewhere inside the theater, the informant who’d promised evidence that would bring Merrick to justice, awaited her arrival. She certainly didn’t need MacAllister trailing her to the rendezvous. Once inside the magnificent building, she’d be safe, if only for the length of the performance.

A sudden flash of black in the distance set off an internal alarm. She froze in her tracks. Had Merrick’s hired thug returned?

Instinct she’d thought long dead reared its head. She edged closer to MacAllister. Even now, his presence provided a measure of reassurance. But the comfort would be short-lived. He was playing along with her, but soon he’d expect answers she wasn’t prepared to give.

She scanned the milling crowd. Detecting no sign of the dark-haired man, she dragged in a breath, steadying herself. Her imagination was playing ugly games. At this rate, she’d be spotting villains around every corner—men like the heartless souls who’d pursued her all those years before.

Tell me what’s going on, lass. MacAllister’s husky voice pulled her back to the moment.

She drew back, just enough to put a hand’s breadth between MacAllister’s body and hers. Telling him the truth was not an option.

At least, not all of it.

I needed a diversion. Swallowing against a fresh wave of apprehension, she met his eyes. You provided it.

A diversion? Is that what you call this blasted charade?

She took a step in retreat. You’ve no idea how very helpful you’ve been.

You expect me to accept what just occurred without question?

You’ve a right to your questions. She held his gaze. And I’ve a right to answer them as I choose.

Bloody hell. The gravel-edged brogue in his voice stirred something deep within her, something she didn’t wish to awaken.

Again, he caught her gloved hand in his. The heat of his body seared through the lace. What kind of mad game are you playing?

If only this were a game.

His eyes hardened, and he pulled her closer. I’ve no intention of letting you walk away without an explanation.

As I see it, your intentions do not signify. You don’t even know me.

You’re wrong. Gently, he pressed a hand to her cheek, as if to confirm the truth for himself. I know your touch, Rose. Did you think I could ever forget it?

She gave a desperate shake of her head. She had to break away. If only her blasted heart would cooperate.

Hiking her chin, she steadied her voice. "I needed a distraction. You were kind enough to provide it. And that is where this ends…where we end."

What just occurred was bloody madness. But your kiss is still quite the temptation. Rather surprising, wouldn’t you say, considering you’ve been dead for years?

Her heart shuddered. Every moment with him left her more vulnerable than the last.

I am sorry. She slipped away from his hold. The woman you knew left this world a long time ago.

…

MacAllister Campbell had learned long ago to accept two bitter facts of life—loss was an inevitable part of existence, and honor was the only thing no one could steal.

So many years had passed since his blasted sense of honor had compelled him to leave the woman he’d adored. Months later, he’d bowed his head as the bone-deep misery of grief had washed over him. His first and only love had perished in a tragic accident. The loss had damned near gutted him.

Now, like a viper crawling from its den, that pain reared its head anew.

Rose is alive. How is that even possible?

When the beautiful woman had barreled into him, he’d stared down at her, stunned by her resemblance to Rose.

At first, his mind had not comprehended the truth.

Until he’d touched her.

The moment he’d done so, he’d known the truth.

The woman he’d loved still lived. A profound joy had surged through him. Until the bitter reality washed over him, like a torrential rain he hadn’t seen coming. For years, Rose had let him suffer the agony of believing she’d died that day—swept away in the river’s current as her brother lay dead by the wreckage of their carriage.

And now, as he watched her rush into the Larkspear Theater, his mind raced. Who—and what—awaited her there?

Anger surged through his body. The cold, ugly sensation set his teeth on edge. He’d believed Rose was lost to him—forever.

His grief had defied description.

And it had all been predicated on a lie.

On deception.

A single question gnawed at him above all others.

Why?

Why had she run? And why had she—and her aunt, who had surely known the truth—lived this lie?

Now, she was in trouble. In his bones, he knew that. Rose had dulled the lustrous red in her hair, and her lace veil partially concealed her delicate features. But he’d seen the fear flash in her eyes. Not of him. No, she seemed to trust him. She’d been searching the crowd around them.

She was running from someone.

What the hell is going on?

Had someone hurt her? An old, familiar protectiveness crawled out of hibernation. The instinct to defend her still burned strong, defying even his anger at a betrayal that cut to the marrow.

As a younger man, he’d been a fool. He never should’ve left her. He should’ve taken her with him to London, honor be damned.

Believing Rose was dead had been a quiet hell, a torment he could not escape.

But now, she was in trouble.

He would not let her face it alone.

He’d protect her, no matter the cost.

Chapter Two

Rose smoothed her skirts, easing the crinkles from the dusky blue silk. Reaching up, she tucked a rebellious tendril of hair behind her ear. It wouldn’t do to appear disheveled as she made her way about the grand theater, mingling with the heiresses and nobles who’d turned out for the evening performance. She needed to blend in. If she drew the wrong kind of attention, her contact was likely to stay hidden, concealed among the crowd of well-to-do Londoners.

The letter she’d received from her hired investigator had been most specific. Mr. Crabtree had located an informant who possessed evidence connecting Merrick to her aunt’s death. They’d offered an exchange—crucial facts for a substantial price. Rose would receive the information—in whatever form it might take—while the hundreds in the theater took in the performance.

Mr. Crabtree had provided Rose with a ticket to a private theater box. He had assured her the evidence she sought would be found there, but he couldn’t say precisely who—or what—would be waiting for her.

Struggling to maintain an air of nonchalance, she entered the small compartment.

She was alone.

As she discreetly swept her gaze over the space, her attention flickered to the heavy brocade draperies. Was it possible something had been left for her within their folds, or bunched under the carpet beneath her feet? Nothing. With a subtle motion, she dropped her fan to the floor and dipped low to peek under a chair. Rising, she eased her curls back into place and sighed.

Had this been nothing more than a wild goose chase?

An unexpected knock startled her. A young man in an usher’s uniform entered without waiting for an answer.

Miss Lily York? Addressing her with the alias she’d adopted, he presented her with an envelope. "I’ve been asked to deliver this to

Reviews for When a Lady Kisses a Scot

[eyes92c · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Unexpected meetings, unexpected consequences!When Rose Fleming slips back into England having fled for her life to New York ten years ago she little suspected she'd run smack dab into the love of her life, MacAllister Campbell. Rose was being pursued by an arcane arts practicioner and his thugs, having been brought into their circle and mysteriously tattooed as a child with a falcon.To say MacAllister was rendered speechless by this happenstance is no rash assumption, particularly as he believed Rose had died then. But a kiss will always tell through.Rose has returned to England in disguise to get to the bottom of her aunt's untimely death and to lay to rest once and for all the mystery behind what has happened to herself and her loved ones over the yearsMacAllister, a prominent newspaper journalist, is in reality part of a cohort of spies, the Colton Agency, acting for the Home Office. He is not about to let Rose slip through his grasp, nor be taken by evil forces--for both personal reasons, and for those of state security. Rose's troubles have alerted the Home Office to more sinister happenings within their purview.A gripping and rather racy love story with many a twist, although to my mind the ending, whilst imbued with a certain amount of tension and satisfaction, drifted away somewhat without the crashing wave breaking finale I sort of wanted.An Entangled Publishing ARC via NetGalley