“But she would never...” the baron stuttered.
“She might,” Lady Davies reminded him. “If she fancied herself in love with a man of whom you would not approve.” She looked up at her husband, “Our most sensible and levelheaded daughter is young and in love for the first time in her life.”
“But to elope?” Lord Davies still couldn’t comprehend it. “With a plain mister when her father is a baron and she is a member of the peerage?”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but it wouldn’t be the first time,” Wickham volunteered. “Lord Chemsford’s, Lord Barfield’s, and Lord Exeter’s youngest daughters all eloped to Gretna Green with young men who were not members of the peerage.”
Lord Davies whistled beneath his breath. “What of the scandal? Once we locate our daughter, how do we protect her good name and prevent scandal? How is it possible that I haven’t heard so much as a whisper of gossip about the young ladies whose names you mentioned?”
“It’s simple, my lord,” Wickham answered. “You do as the other gentlemen did. Either embrace your daughter’s choice of a husband or, if the marriage is legitimate, arrange a swift annulment. Or a legitimate marriage to someone of your choosing.”
“Annulment?” The baron looked puzzled. “But it’s been a week. Surely he and she...” he stuttered. “By the time we locate her, she could be increasing.”
Wickham nodded in agreement. “By your own admission, you’re a very wealthy man, my lord. Do as Lord Exeter did and marry your daughter off to a gentleman in need of cash as soon as it can be arranged.”
Lord Davies snorted. “Bribe some unsuspecting gentleman to marry my daughter?”
“Indeed, sir,” the Bow Street runner said. “A gentleman of an old, respectable family is generally best.”
Lord Davies clenched his fists while a muscle worked in his jaw. “First things first,” he replied. “First find my daughter, then find out if her judgment proved faulty.” He looked to his wife. “There’s no need to bribe anyone unless it’s necessary. No need to do anything until we know the truth.”
Chapter Two
“Neither maid, widow, nor wife.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
Measure for Measure
Edinburgh, Scotland
Two days later
Colin McElreath felt the short hairs at the back of his neck stand up in alarm as he made his way through the narrow rabbit’s warren of the close behind the ancient stone buildings clustered at the mouth of the Firth of Forth. He paused beside the steps that led to the back door of the Blue Bottle Inn, drew his dirk, and glanced over his shoulder to see if the presence he sensed had followed him out in the cold predawn light and decided to set upon him.
There was no one in sight, but Colin was sure someone was watching. The prickling warning along his spine and the back of his neck was never wrong. He always paid it heed, because it had kept him alive more times than he cared to count. His chosen profession and Edinburgh’s back alleyways were dangerous. Much too dangerous for him to discount.
Flipping his heavy black cloak out of the way of his sword arm, Colin glanced around once again and caught sight of a woman peering through the lace curtains of a second-floor window at the back of the Blue Bottle.
He exhaled the breath he’d been holding and relaxed as his nerve endings returned to normal. He was being followed. But by a gaze this time, rather than by an assailant. And that gaze was female.
Colin turned slightly and stole another glance at the window. She was still there. Watching. He pressed his lips together to keep from giving voice to his frustration. Having females watch him was nothing new. The ladies had always had an eye for him. His looks guaranteed admiring glances from the fairer sex wherever he went. The only thing out of the ordinary about having a woman peer at him through the lace curtains of a window was that this window belonged to the Blue Bottle Inn.
Colin frowned. He would have preferred to remain undetected, but the waves in the thick glass windowpanes that kept him from seeing her clearly also made it impossible for her to distinguish his features. Colin wagered that she wouldn’t recognize him if she met him face-to-face on the street.
And the same could be said of him. He had the impression of youth, but in truth, the mass of thick, dark hair framing her pale, oval face was the only feature Colin could truly discern, and for all he knew, her hair might be liberally streaked with gray.
He sheathed his dirk. He was safe. She might be looking out the window every few minutes, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking for someone else. Eagerly anticipating someone else’s arrival.
His presence in the alley had been a disappointment.
Her presence at the Blue Bottle Inn was a surprise.
The Blue Bottle was a waterfront establishment that generally catered to seafarers, smugglers, spies, and a collection of other unsavory fellows who met to engage in illegal pursuits and to discuss a bit of treason. It was where men like Colin went to plant false information and to ferret out the truth. It was not an establishment that catered to women. Other than an occasional serving girl and the innkeeper’s wife, Colin had never seen any women inside the Blue Bottle. And never any ladies. Although he couldn’t say why or how he knew, Colin was certain that the woman peering at him through the lace was a lady of quality. He was equally certain that she—whoever she was—posed no threat to him.
She had her own worries.
He lifted the latch on the kitchen door and quietly slipped inside the inn, hoping