Adventures of a Scottish Heiress Read Free Page A

daughter’s choice. “My lord, Ian Campion, soldier, mercenary, devil’s own henchman when he has the mind to be.”
    Ian didn’t know how to react to such an introduction, and was embarrassed to realize all the titles were accurate.
    The viscount leaned back in his chair as if notwanting to be any closer to Ian than he had to, and he certainly didn’t offer his hand. Parker, pulling up a leather-backed chair for himself, stifled a smile—whether over his employer’s wit or the viscount’s fastidiousness, Ian didn’t know, but he didn’t like it. And so, he paid extra attention to the viscount.
    “Congratulations on your betrothal, my lord,” Ian said smoothly, his King’s English as good as anyone’s in the room…and his nails were clean, which the viscount’s were not. “When is the happy occasion?” he asked as if the two of them were members of the same club.
    A dull red stole up the viscount’s neck. Apparently, Ian had touched upon a sensitive subject.
    However, it was Harrell who answered. “We hope you can help us with that, Campion.” He handed a miniature to Ian. “I have a job for you. I want you to find the young woman in the picture.”
    Ian took a moment to study the portrait, taking in the pouty lower lip and the long, dark lashes the artist had given her. There was no mistaking her green eyes. This was Harrell’s daughter, the much-touted heiress. The viscount’s intended. It was a pity to waste beauty and money on a bore. “A redhead,” he murmured.
    “Very much so,” Harrell agreed proudly. “Her hair is the color of the finest garnets and she has a passion for life to match. There is no in between with my daughter, and I want her back.”
    “Who has her?” Ian asked.
    “I don’t know,” came the curt reply. “There has been no ransom note, no letter, nothing.” Harrell leaned across his desk. “But when you find them, whomever they are , I want you to make them pay. No one crosses me without receiving like for like. No one .”
    His words echoed in the stillness of the room and Ian felt his guard go up. Something was not right. “Why ask me? Why not go to Bow Street?”
    “I have been to them. They have been incompetent. They want me to tell them where she is—if I knew, I’d go fetch her myself. I am a man who expects results…and am willing to pay for them.”
    Outwardly, Ian was calm, but inside he recognized opportunity. “Do you have any suspicions concerning who might have her?”
    “None. There’s been no clue.” Harrell was not a man who liked to admit defeat. He sank into his chair, aging suddenly. “She’s my only link with my late wife. I—” He looked away as if needing to compose himself a moment. “Do you have children, Campion?”
    “He’s Irish,” the viscount said under his breath. “Of course he has children.”
    “No,” Ian said, ignoring the nobleman. “But I do have a niece and nephews.”
    “Then you can understand my fears,” Harrell said. “The thought that Lyssa has been gone this week and more, without a trace…” He looked at Ian. “I want her home.”
    “When did you last see her?”
    “A week ago Thursday. She left with her maid and a footman to visit the lending library. Lyssa bid them sit in a chair in the front of the store to wait while she browsed the book aisles, and she never returned. She disappeared, vanished, with nothing but the clothes on her back.”
    Ian frowned. “Did the Runners find any information?”
    “Nothing, not a trace. I put Parker on it and even he, the most resourceful of men, has come up empty-handed.”
    Ian hesitated in asking this next question because the idea had obviously not struck her father yet. “Could she have deliberately run away?”
    Harrell raised his eyebrows as if shocked by the idea. “Why? Lyssa has always been the most obedient of children. She’d have no reason to run away.”
    Ian could not resist sliding a glance at the viscount. If he was a young woman, he