Free Scandal in Scotland by Karen Hawkins

on her, pulled her arms from around his neck and then stood, setting her on her feet.
    Her skirt fell about her ankles and she blinked up at him, her eyes smoky with passion, her expression uncomprehending. “William, I—”
    An urgent knock sounded on the door, pulling him out of the madness that had held him in his grip. Good God, what in the hell had just happened?
    The knock sounded again, even more forceful, and William went to the door. “Right yourself,” he ordered gruffly, not sparing her a second look.
    Hands shaking, Marcail crossed to her dresser, located some hairpins, and made a deft job of securing her wayward hair. In the mirror, she watched as William replaced the chair before he unlocked the door. Please don’t let that be Miss Challoner .
    To her relief, the man she’d seen across the street stood in the doorway. “Cap’n, there’s a fire at the docks!”
    William swiftly went to the window, flipped open the sash, and leaned out. “Damn it!”
    Marcail came to stand at his side. Seeing the bright glow, a sudden fear filled her. “Hurst, how did you get here?”
    “By ship.” He swiftly headed toward the door. “Get the coach,” he told the messenger.
    “I’ve already ordered it, sir.”
    “Good.” William pulled her cloak off the peg by the door, then grabbed her wrist. “You’re coming with me.”
    “But I—”
    They were out of the room before she could gasp. “Put your cloak on.” He locked the door and pocketed the key.
    “But I—”
    He tugged her cloak from her unresisting hands and tossed it about her shoulders, then grasped her wrist again and ran down the steps. When she stumbled on the bottom landing, he swooped her up with a curse and carried her out the door.
    “Put me down!”
    “No.”
    “But I can’t leave!”
    His gaze narrowed on her. “Why not?”
    She couldn’t tell him she was waiting to deliver the artifact she’d already sworn was gone. A swirl of wind made her toes tingle from the cold, and she said, “I have no shoes.”
    He gave her stockinged feet an impatient glance. “You won’t need shoes; you’ll be staying in the coach.”
    “William, just leave me here and—”
    “No. I’ll be damned if I let you out of my sight.”
    The coach pulled up and Hurst unceremoniously dumped her onto a seat, then sat opposite her, issuing terse instructions to the man who’d alerted him of the fire. He nodded at William’s instructions, then shut the door. A moment later, she heard him climb onto the coach box and shout ‘gee’ at the team.
    As the coach leapt forward, Marcail caught a glimpse out the window of another coach turning in. It was a dainty coach, trimmed in blue, and seemed oddly out of place in the yard. Is that Miss Challoner? Marcail had no way of knowing, but her heart sank when she thought of how angry her blackmailer would be if Miss Challoner returned empty-handed.
    She twisted her hands in the ribbons of her cloak. “William, please release me. This is ridiculous. It’s just an old box of little value.”
    “It’s worth a lot to me. My brother Michael is being held prisoner by a sulfi who refuses to release him until that damned box is returned,” he said grimly.
    A sick weight pressed into her stomach. “I—I didn’t know. William, I—”
    The coach rounded a corner and the scent of smoke became thick, shouts and screams echoing ahead of them. William cursed and lifted the curtain.
    She knew what he saw by the whiteness of his face. Oh, no! She looked past him and saw his ship tied to the dock, flaming as if lit from the furnaces of hell. The dark sky was alive as hungry red and orange flames licked at the blackening sails and mast.
    The coach rocked to a stop and William thrust open the door. “You, madam, will stay here.”
    Marcail’s gaze strayed to the flaming ship and she knew in an instant where he intended to go.
    She grabbed his wrist. “William, I didn’t know about your brother and the artifact. No one told