Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

“I am a pragmatic fellow…” Though the answering voice was barely above a raspy whisper, she thought she detected a hint of a Scottish burr to it. “And know my worth.”

Caro heard the muted chink of a purse changing hands.

“How do you mean to manage it?” asked the man who had passed over the money.

“Since when have you cared about my methods?” countered his companion. “Suffice it to say, you have no need to worry. As you know, it’s in my interest to have the threat eliminated, leaving no trail that can be traced back to us.”

There it was again—a hint of the Highlands.

Caro darted a quick look through the carved stone, trying to catch a glimpse of the men. But all she could see was part of one polished boot and the tail of a dark coat.

She shrank back, not daring a second try.

“You want the problem to disappear and so it shall,” added the man with the Scottish accent.

There was another short exchange, too low for her to make out the words, and then the steps retreated.

The silence deepened the chill within the shadows, stirring a pebbling of gooseflesh up and down her bare arms.

Repressing a shiver, Caro stayed very still in her hiding place, unwilling to move, unwilling to think…

She had reason to know that Alec McClellan had been involved in some very radical political activities in Scotland—some of which were considered treasonous by the British government. And while he had denied being part of the faction that favored violence as a means to achieve their goals, she had only his word to go on.

True, he had helped her sister and Lord Davenport thwart a sinister French plot at Dunbar Castle, but she was under no illusion that he had shared all his secrets with them.

The dratted man was more tight-lipped than the Sphinx.

“Caro?” Isobel’s call interrupted her musings.

Rising quickly, she hurried down a narrow pathway, a lingering sense of unease impelling her to appear as if she had been sitting in a different part of the churchyard.

“Yes, I’m here.” Stepping out from behind a granite obelisk, Caro flashed a quick wave.

“We thought perhaps you had been abducted by an evil demon,” teased Andover, pointing up at one of the stone gargoyles decorating the flying buttresses.

The innocent remark squeezed the air from Caro’s lungs. But she quickly recovered and managed a weak laugh. “What a wild imagination you have, Andy. As if there are devilish creatures lurking in Bath, waiting to swoop down on unsuspecting young ladies.”

“I know, I know.” He grinned. “It’s absurd.”

Isobel was staring at her with some concern but said nothing.

Andover’s expression slowly pinched to a quizzical frown. “I say, you look awfully pale. Are you feeling unwell?”

“The air was awfully musty inside the nave,” she answered. “It was making it hard to breathe.”

“Ah, well, then perhaps a little fresh air and a bit of walking will help clear your head.” He offered her his arm before belatedly recalling that his other companion was not in the pink of health. “That is, unless you are too fatigued, Miss Urquehart.”

“Some tea would be reviving,” suggested Caro. “There are several shops on York Street.”

“Tea would be lovely,” agreed Isobel.

“Splendid!” Andover escorted them through the gate and past the classical façade of the Pump House, his cheerful commentary on the musical practice session relieving Caro of the need to speak.

Her thoughts were still elsewhere, and playing out in a decidedly minor key.

“Was the organ as impressive as promised?” called a voice from the archway of the ancient Roman baths.

Out of the corner of her eye, Caro saw Alec step out from the shadows.