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.
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
FROM MY HIGHLAND LORD
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.”
