Let's give a warm welcome to today's guest blogger, Tarah Scott!
TARAH
SCOTT
Award winning author Tarah Scott cut her teeth on authors such as Georgette Heyer, Zane Grey, and Amanda Quick. Her favorite book is a Tale of Two Cities, with Gone With the Wind as a close second. She writes modern classical romance, and paranormal and romantic suspense. Tarah grew up in Texas and currently resides in Westchester County, New York with her daughter.
MY
HIGHLAND LORD
London Heiress kidnapped by the Marquess of Ashlund, read the headlines. Yet no one tried to save her.
Phoebe Wallington was seven years old when a mass assassination attempt rocked Regency England. Her father was the only accused traitor to elude capture. Now as a grown woman and a British spy, she is no closer to learning what really happened that day.
Phoebe's quest for the truth takes a sudden turn when she's kidnapped by a suspected traitor. But Kiernan MacGregor, the Marquess of Ashlund, may not live long enough to stand trial. Someone wants him dead. And Phoebe stands in the killer's way.
It Takes a Spy to Catch a Spy
"What
happened next was a frenzy of killing…"(1) This is how the night might have ended for
the Ministers gathered at Lord Harrowby's London home, February 23, 1820 if not
for the intervention of Her Majesty's spies. The Cato Street Conspiracy, as the mass assassination attempt was
dubbed, was led by Arthur Thistlewood, leader of the radical Spencean
Philanthropists Society, and was
one of the most daring assassination attempts in England's history. Thistlewood and his men were stopped by John
Stafford, Bow Street Sheriff and supervisor of the Home Office spies.
The trap Stafford
set was a full blown sting operation worthy of a modern day spy movie. Spies
were installed in Thistlewood's organization and a few members were recruited
as snitches. A notice was placed in the paper that the Cabinet would be meeting
at Harrowby's and money was funneled into the organization for the weapons
needed to carry out a mass murder. Thistlewood snatched up the bait like a
hungry lion and he and his men set up their headquarters at the Horse and Groom, a public
house on Cato Street that overlooks the stable. On the day of the planned
assassinations as the would-be criminals gathered for the task they believed
would herald in a new era for Great Britain, Stafford's men swooped in and
arrested them. One Bow Street officer was killed—run through with a sword by
Thistlewood himself—and the guilty men scattered. Over the course of a few days
most of the top conspirators were found. Two months later, they were tried and
hanged for High Treason.
But one man escaped:
Mason Wallington, Baron Arlington. Mason's daughter Phoebe Wallington knows her
father wasn't guilty of treason. He was a patriot, a man who put his life on
the line by spying for the Crown. So why was he denounced as one of the
traitors he had been commissioned to watch? That is what she intends to find
out. What better way to discover the truth than to become a spy herself?
Mason Wallington
may be a fictional character in The Cato
Street Conspiracy, but the events are real. There is, of course, much more
to the story of The Cato Street Conspiracy
than what little bit I mentioned here. Arthur Thistlewood believed God had
presented him with the opportunity he'd been waiting for, a way to murder the
top government officials in one swoop, and the government conspiracy to stop
him seems to stop short of the Queen herself.
This is the
dramatic backdrop that motivates Phoebe Wallington, heroine of My Highland Lord. What isn't as clear is
the motivation behind Kiernan MacGregor's actions. This trail will test her
skills as a spy in a way she never considered possible.
(1) Take from Enemies of the State: The Cato Street
Conspiracy by M.J Trow
EXCERPT
Phoebe shifted against the bed pillows and glanced
at the mantle clock. Ten minutes before six. Her gaze fell to the low burning
embers in the hearth. Morning was upon them and the commotion of the earlier
hours had long since died. Yet, as promised by Kiernan MacGregor, Mather stood
outside her door. Mather had shown the good sense to untie her before positioning
himself as guard. Her first thought had been that Kiernan regretted his rash
outburst of temper, but Mather’s “You ought not to have ignored his commands,
Miss,” did away with any notion that his master had enough sense to comprehend
his sin.
A perfunctory knock sounded on the door, then it
opened and the object of her thoughts filled the doorway. Phoebe straightened.
“My one burning question, Heddy,” he said, closing
the door as he stepped inside—she noted Mather no longer stood outside the
door—“is why you were following Alan Hay?”
“That offense didn't warrant you tying me up as if
me as I was the criminal,” she retorted.
Kiernan snorted. “I would have done far worse if
you were a criminal.” He strode to the chair to the right of her bed and sat down.
“Answer the question.”
“If I answer incorrectly, will you tie me up
again?”
“I might.”
Phoebe forced herself to relax against the pillows
and raised a brow. “A simple case of ennui.”
He blinked, and Phoebe feared she had earned
another trussing up, then his expression grew speculative. The look abruptly
disappeared and he settled into a corner of his chair.
He draped an arm over the chair’s back and drawled,
“Ennui, you say?”
Despite his lazy expression, Phoebe was startled by
the decided lack of interest in his voice. “Yes,” she replied.
He gave a single nod. “Your quest for adventure
nearly got you killed, my dear.”
“It was an exciting adventure,” she rejoined in a
bright voice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Indeed.”
“Indeed,” she emphasized.
“I am pleased,” Kiernan said.
Phoebe frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“This fine bit of coquettish flirting.”
She stiffened. He was right, which made the
analysis all the worse. “This isn't an evening ball,” she snapped.
“And I am not an earl.”
“You could be a merchant—or a farmer—for all I
care." Phoebe narrowed her eyes. "Who are you? You keep company with
Lord Stoneleigh, which means you're not lowborn, and the villagers here look to
you for leadership. You are no merchant—or a farmer, for that matter."
He laughed. "If I was a merchant, would my
money be enough for you, or is a title required?"
She forced her temper back. "Sir, I understand
you believe I am Hester—”
He coughed as if to clear his throat.
Phoebe crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I
understand you believe I am Hester and that you're doing your friend a
service.”
“Heddy.” He leaned forward and reached for the hand
she had stuffed beneath her arm.
Phoebe stiffened, but he pried the hand free and
lifted it to his lips. His mouth against her hand caused her pulse to jump and
warmth spread up her cheeks. His eyes registered curiosity, but he released her
hand and reclined in his chair again.
“Forgive me for laughing,” he said.
“I can forgive the mistaken identity—as
inconvenient as it is—but tying me up goes beyond the pale.”
“I'm pleased to have your forgiveness, regardless
of the reason.”
“When this escapade is finished, you will find
yourself at a disadvantage.”
“Heddy,” he said with resignation, “I find myself
at a disadvantage now.”
She gave him a dry look. “I doubt that. When do you
plan on sending word to the authorities of the murder plot against the
duchess—or have you already done so?”
Kiernan leaned back in his chair. “No need to
concern yourself with that.”
"But—my God, you don't intend to report them.
You will stand idly by while a murder is planned and executed?”
“What is one murder in exchange for fifteen
thousand?" he replied. " Or do fifteen thousand Highlanders hold less
value to you than a single noblewoman?” He paused. "Perhaps, the gratitude
of the duchess' male relatives interests you more?”
Phoebe shot to her feet. “Even Heddy wouldn't lower
herself to such debased actions.”
“Lower herself?” Kiernan laughed, although the
sound held none of his characteristic humor. “Heddy, I have seen—”
“By heavens," she burst out. "I am not
Heddy.”
“No?” he murmured. When all she did was give a
frustrated growl, he rose, “Well then—" He yanked her against him.
His mouth crashed down on hers and she froze. One
arm slipped around her waist while the other cupped her neck. She gasped, but
he hugged her closer. His tongue invaded her mouth, the taste of him, shocking and intoxicating. His arm tightened, but
the kiss, the thrust of his tongue, softened to a feathery touch. He shuddered,
and her heart leapt into a furious rhythm.
His mouth moved slowly against her lips. She became
aware of the hard bulge pressing against her abdomen and clutched at his
shoulders. Heat streaked from the unexpected throb in her breasts to her
stomach, then lower. He abruptly tore his mouth from hers and buried his face
in her neck. Phoebe swayed. His low laugh washed warm across her ear and she
shivered.
“You temptress,” he breathed. “I understand what
Regan sees in you.”
“Just because I was in Heddy's coach doesn't mean I
am her,” she said through a gulp of air.
Kiernan straightened away from her and stared down
at her, eyes intense. “I wonder if Regan would believe me if I swore I didn’t
know you're his lover." His gaze slid down her body, and she couldn't find
the will to move even as his eyes lifted again to her face. "You make
testing the theory tempting. In fact—"
His fingers tightened on her arms and she realized
he intended to test the theory that
instant.
Her head swam. A mental picture rose of Kiernan's
large hands on her naked breasts, his mouth—Phoebe managed the presence of mind
to tug free of his grasp. “I-I care nothing for what Lord Stoneleigh believes.”
Kiernan tweaked a lock of her hair. “I think you
do, sweetheart.”
Her knees felt as if they were made of rubber and
she feared they would buckle. By heavens, she had to get away from the man.
Despite the shakiness in her legs, Phoebe crossed to the window and stared out
at the open road leading to the trees in the distance. “What have you done with
the prisoners?”
“Prisoners?” The lazy drawl had returned to his
voice.
Phoebe turned. “You freed them, didn't you?” But he
had said as much a moment ago. He'd been in a rage when Robbie threatened to
shoot her, then he had let them go. Why? “You have made yourself a conspirator
to an assassination attempt,” she said.
“I had hoped Regan would meet us here," he
said, "but I can't wait any longer. I must press north. Connor will be
here to see you early this morning. If he says you can ride, we'll travel
together.”
How was she going to escape him and get word to
Alistair of the plan to assassinate the duchess? Phoebe closed her eyes and rubbed her
temples.
“Are you ill, Heddy?”
“There's a good chance I will be.”
“Shall I fetch the chamber pot?”
“Only if you wish me to brain you with it.” She
looked at him. “Don't you understand what this means?”
“That you are ill, or that you wish to do me bodily
harm?”
“Lord Stoneleigh isn't coming—because I am not
Hester.”
“If that is true, when I return, you and I will get
better acquainted.”
Her pulse quickened. “It is imperative I return
home,” she countered.
“And I must continue north,” he replied.
Why force her to go with him? At this point, his
attempt to play cupid was dashed. Had he come to doubt she was Heddy? Surely he
wasn't serious about getting better acquainted? Phoebe recalled him saying he's
planned to get in introduction to her at Drucilla’s soirée.
“What is so pressing that you must return to
Edinburgh, Heddy?”
She shook her head. “Not Edinburgh, England.”
“England, then?”
“What awaits you in the north?” she said. “You
don't strike me as a man displaced from his home.”
“My
home is nowhere near the duchess.”
