Chapter 1 #2
She was used to being in command. Granted, she’d had to invent a mysterious husband to get anyone to take her command seriously.
It didn’t matter that she was beginning to suspect that Hunter would be far more difficult to manage than Angus McGillicuddy and his men.
Because there was no way she was going to give up a single bit of control.
Not now, not ever. And she was just opening her mouth to tell him that, when another knock on the door came.
Hunter clicked his heels almost mockingly. “Allow me, madam,” he announced as he crossed to the door.
And when he pulled it open, his face broke into a natural smile. “Bull! Didnae expect ye to escort us to the train station.” He held the door open in invitation. “Ye remember my lady wife, Helena? This is her weasel with scabies. His name is Wulfgang.”
“Madam.” Bull’s bow was elaborate, and Helena’s shoulders straightened, afraid he was mocking her.
“My dog’s name is Wulf. I have had him since he was a baby.”
“He was even smaller then,” Hunter mock-whispered to his uncle, as he winked at Helena. “No’ as cute.”
“Impossible,” crooned Bull as he crossed toward Helena.
“Hello, Wulf,” he offered as he stretched out a hand to pet the dog.
Unfortunately, Wulfie had never done well with strange men; it was a habit Helena had always admired.
So when the animal began to growl threateningly, Bull said, “Goodbye, Wulf,” and withdrew his hand in the same smooth motion.
He pulled open his jacket as he turned and reached for his wallet. “Here, I brought ye something…”
This last was said to both her and Hunter, who had come to stand at her side. Interestingly, Wulf didn’t have any objection to Hunter, which was strange considering how often he’d insulted the poor dear in their mere ten minutes of acquaintance.
Oh well. Perhaps Mister is correct and Wulfie does not actually understand English.
Hunter held out his hand to take the papers. “She does brilliant work, as always,” he crooned as he flipped through the papers.
Frustrated at not knowing what precisely was going on, Helena huffed slightly, and Hunter smoothly passed the papers to her. To her surprise, though, he scooped Wulfie out of her arms and tucked him in his elbow.
“Marriage license and travel documents,” he explained, as if her dog—her Wulfie!—wasn’t happily ensconced in his hold. “The agency has an expert forger on hand.”
“Our cousin, more or less.” Bull’s grin was crooked, his fingers tapping out a fast beat on his thigh. “She’s an artist, a brilliant one at that, but thanks to her father and grandmother’s ties to the underworld, she learned how to put her talents to different uses.”
“To be fair,” Hunter said in an aside to Helena, “Merida doesnae work for criminals. Only for Bull’s detective agency. Of course, ye could claim Bull himself is a criminal for pairing that waistcoat with that tie.”
As the other man sucked in a—perhaps overdone—horrified gasp, Helena hid her smile by pretending to examine the papers. “Helena Andersen and Hunter Lickfold—”
“Ye didnae tell us yer maiden name, so we had to make one up,” Bull explained.
She hadn’t told them her maiden name because she had no other name, but Helena nodded, pretending interest in the marriage license. “And the date?”
“The year before ye began the distillery,” Bull continued smoothly.
“It willnae stand up to more than the most casual of scrutiny—with the parish being in the Caribbean, we cannae plant fake records there, no’ unless we invent a flying machine—but hopefully nae one will think to telegraph Jamaica to confirm. ”
God willing.
Taking a deep, bracing breath, Helena folded the papers with crisp movements.
“Considering I only need this charade to last for another four weeks, I doubt anyone will think to object to this license.” She tapped it against her palm and eyed Wulfie, wondering if she should take him back.
But no, the dear looked content. “I suppose I should keep it in my luggage and slip it into my desk on Islay.”
“What happens in four weeks?”
Hunter’s question was low, casual—but when she glanced up, it was to see sharpness in his blue gaze.
Oh dear, had she neglected to mention that?
“A contest,” she explained. “The contest. The Best of Islay Whisky competition. There is no prize, not really, other than bragging rights. My men are the best, and our brew is the best, but I am losing their confidence because they have never met my husband.”
His gaze didn’t quite ease, and she wondered if he believed her. “Why no’ just tell them the truth? That ye’re the brains behind the operation, and the reason for their success?”
She couldn’t stop her little snort. “Because I was born a female, Mr. Lindsay. I am certain you cannot imagine how difficult it is to find success in a man’s world.”
“Actually, I think I can.” His expression had eased, and now he allowed her to look away. “Remind me later to tell ye about my sister. And I thought we agreed I’d be Hunter and ye’d be Helena? Nae wife of mine will go around calling me mister.”
“Especially considering that’s yer maid’s name,” Bull cut in with a smirk.
“Here I am!” announced Mister, choosing that moment to return. “Are we all ready to go?”
“Miss Derr?” Hunter inexplicably looked confused as he bowed to the newcomer
“What?” Helena queried, utterly at a loss. “Mister.”
“Yes, madam?” her maid chirped, keeping up the charade.
“Miss Derr what?” Hunter repeated, as though that made any sense.
Desperate for some sense in the conversation, Helena gestured towards her friend, confidante, and occasional maid. “This is Amy.”
Her hired husband blinked. “Amy Derr?”
“Amy Stake Mister,” her maid corrected, clearly as confused as Helena.
Now the man looked utterly lost. “A mistake, mister?”
“Look, give me Wulfie and be quiet,” said Helena with a roll of her eyes as she took her dog from her new husband— No. The man was only pretending to be her husband.
Try to remember that.
In the bustle of gathering the last of the luggage, Bull jumped right in to help Hunter carry Helena’s last few bags. But then—
“Oh! Before we get too distracted!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. “Yer inheritance.”
Hunter frowned in confusion as he took the small thing, and Helena blurted out, “You are dying?” in shock.
But he seemed so well—so calm!
It took a moment for Bull to understand what she meant, and his confusion faded to chuckles. “Och, nay lass. This is no’ Hunter’s inheritance from me, but from the Countess of Mistree.
“I dinnae ken her, no’ really,” Hunter explained to her. “But she’s close with Bull, and the braggart has told her all about us.”
“It’s true,” Bull murmured with false modesty, clasping his hands before him.
“I cannae stop praising my friends. She’s decided she’s dying, codswallop as far as I’m concerned, and after a lifetime of travels, has the most arcane collection of curios—magical and mundane—from around the world.
She’s gifting them, one by one, to my friends. ”
“No’ to him, though,” Hunter pointed out, turning the box over in his hands. “Is it a magic rock? I was promised a magic rock.”
“Magic…rock?” Helena said weakly. The Countess of Mistree? Arcane curios?
Magic rock?
Bull had frowned at her hired husband, likely for the interruption. “She gifted my sister Marcia a necklace that saved the day in her most dangerous case—”
“And a piece of dirty lace to my sister, which did fook-all when it came to her dangerous case.”
“Actually, it was quite helpful.” Bull’s frown deepened. “Are you going to tell this story, or should I?”
“It depends,” Hunter announced cheekily, sliding the small bundle into his pocket and stooping to pick up the last of the bags. “Are ye going to tell me what she gave me?”
“I dinnae ken, ye idiot. Lady Mistree told me to tell ye that there’s instructions with it, since ye couldnae be bothered to come visit her like she asked—and that she kens ye’re just going to forget about it until ye need it anyhow.”
Hunter didn’t seem too concerned with the accusation. “Aye, likely. I just hope my magic rock saves the day,” was all he said as he jerked his chin toward the hall. “Get the door, love, would ye?” He threw at Helena.
Her eyes narrowed at the command. Get the door, love? Who did he think she was?
He thinks you are his wife, remember? He is just getting into character.
Well, as long as that was it.
Chin held high and Wulfie tucked up against her chest, Helena strode from the hotel room to lead the way to the carriages which would take them to the train station.
In a few days she’d be back on Islay, and with a husband at her side—a coarse, too-charming husband—and her men would soon fall in line.
Bruadarach Distillery would win Best of Islay, and their future—and her future—would be assured.