“Did John March?”

It was Josie who answered. “One never knows.”

Simon reached over and tapped the wedding invitation. “Time to sing and dance.” His deep green eyes sparked with mischief. “I haven’t a clue whether Will knows how to do either.”

“As a matter of fact,” Josie said, “I don’t, either.”

Simon smiled. “You’ll have to find out, Lizzie, and tell us.”

She felt a surge of heat that, she knew, had nothing to do with the fire and everything to do with the thought of dancing in Scotland with Will Davenport. “Is that a challenge, Special Agent Cahill?”

He got to his feet. He truly was a bruiser of a man. “Designed to appeal to the daredevil in you.” His eyes were warm now, a promise in them. “You’ll be among friends in Scotland.”

The local men teased him, and he them back. He was affable and well liked, but he didn’t linger. He headed out, and Lizzie rose, restless, uncertain, suddenly, why she’d even come here.

She thanked Josie, who’d given up on her whiskey and was providing Eddie O’Shea with precise instructions about the blackberry crumble she was ordering.

Lizzie followed Eddie’s dog out to the pretty village street. The spaniel trotted ahead of her and turned, tail wagging. Hugging her Irish sweater close to her, she let him lead her onto the lane along the ancient wall above the harbor.

As they turned onto the dirt track, she saw a woman running across the field from the stone circle, and recognized Keira Sullivan.

Simon was by the fence, the barren hills quiet except for the intermittent bleating of sheep. Lizzie stopped, and the springer spaniel wandered back down to her in the fine, gray mist. Together they watched as Simon climbed over the fence. Keira cried out as she spotted him and started to run, and he scooped her up into his arms.

They held on to each other as if they’d never let go.

“Soulmates,” Lizzie whispered, and she and the dog headed back down the lane.

When she reached the village, she had a panicked text message from Justin in Dublin.

Help. Uncle Harlan is here.

She called her cousin. “Lizzie,” Justin said, still worked up, “Uncle Harlan’s taking me to the Irish village where your family’s from. I’m touched, I swear I am, but I have a feeling he’s going to teach me how to survive a night in an Irish ruin. And he wants to drive.”

“Maintain situational awareness, and you’ll be fine.”

“Situational-Lizzie!”

She laughed. “I’m going to a wedding.”

Chapter 34

Highlands of Scotland

3:00 p.m., BST

September 2

Will Davenport’s “house” was a stunning Regency period mansion in the Scottish highlands. Lizzie found Abigail Browning on a path that meandered through the extensive gardens. The detective, more or less healed from her ordeal, was in her element. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “The Davenports have been so generous. Will’s sister, Arabella, had a rack dress that fits me. Will arranged for a private plane so that Scoop could make it. I don’t know how he did it. Josie Goodwin said she’ll have an ambulance on call. He looks awful, but he says it’s because he spent hours trapped on a plane with Bob complaining about another cross-Atlantic trip. My folks are here. The Garrisons. I don’t know how a small wedding got so big so fast.” She caught herself. “I’m talking a mile a minute.”

Lizzie smiled. “It’s a special day. Your family and friends are all delighted to see you happy and well.”

“It’s perfect. And I’ve never…” Her dark eyes, no longer filled with pain and fatigue, settled on Lizzie. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Myles Fletcher wouldn’t have let you be killed.”

“He’d have done what he could, but you had instincts and information and doggedness. They’re what made the difference. Without you, Estabrook…” She made a face. “Never mind. Let’s not ruin a perfect day by mentioning him.”

“Your father-”

“He arrived last night. And here comes my mother. She’s so nervous, she’s making me nervous.”

“She’s had a rough time.”

Abigail grimaced. “I love her, and I don’t take her for granted-”

“No, it’s all right. Go let her fuss over you. Be a mum and daughter.”

Lizzie wandered the grounds until a few minutes before the ceremony started in a large, airy room with tapestries on the walls and giant urns of hydrangeas. She was seated next to Arabella Davenport, who had her brother’s hazel eyes. She whispered to Lizzie, “Will is due back any moment.”

He arrived in time for the ceremony and stood in back, elegant, reserved, well mannered and thoroughly sexy. Their days apart hadn’t changed anything, not for her. She was as attracted to him as ever. It hadn’t been a passing fancy fueled by the danger and fears they’d faced together.

And he couldn’t dance. Neither could Lizzie.

“Your family, Will. They’re proud of what you do?” She stumbled in his arms, righted herself. “Or don’t they know?”

“My sister…but the rest…no.”

An answer without answering.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie saw Simon dancing with Keira, keeping her off her feet most of the time. “Now, Simon can dance.”

“He can, indeed. Philip Billings could, too. David and Myles and I were always surprised…” Will smiled at her, holding her close. “They were right, Billings and Mears. About you. I’ve met my match.”

“Will-”

But he spun her toward glass doors that led to the gardens. “Tell me what you want, Lizzie.”

“I want to live in a castle with a handsome prince and grow hollyhocks and lavender.”

“With the occasional holiday to save someone?”

“I suppose I’ll have to work, too. I have to find somewhere in the U.K. to locate a hotel.”

“An adventure in its own right.” He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Let’s skip the dancing. I’ve two left feet, as you can see.”

“You’re faking it. You can dance as well as any Jane Austen hero.”

He walked with her onto a cool terrace, fragrant with roses. “I’ve told everyone I’ll be fishing here for the next few weeks. I thought you might like to see where.”

“I don’t fish.”

“You don’t fish and you don’t dance. Just what will we do to amuse ourselves?”

He took her to a small stone cottage on a stream amid fir trees.

Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her into the bedroom and lowered her to the soft sheets and undressed her to the sounds of the stream. He worked slowly, patiently, or at least deliberately.

Lizzie shivered at the feel of his breath, his hands, on her bare skin. “Can you fall in love with someone in such a short time?”

“I can,” he said, his hands warm on her bare skin. “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

“My Prince Charming.”

He smiled, smoothing his palms over her hips. “You’re not going to turn into a Sleeping Beauty, are you?”

She sank deeper into the soft bed. “Not for a while.”

A breeze floated over her, adding to the sensations of his touch, his kisses. She slipped her hands under his warm sweater and spread her fingers over the muscles of his back, felt his shudder of pleasure.

He shed his clothes and came to her again. She sank into the soft bed and lost herself in the feel of him. Touching him, caressing him, kissing him, until she was quivering and hot. She led him into her, their eyes locking as he whispered her name. He moved inside her, and she was gone, pulling him deep, crying out for him as his own urgency mounted.

Days they had ahead of them…

He seemed to read her mind and held her tight. “We’re just beginning,” he said, and that was the last either spoke for a long time.

Later, they dressed warmly and walked along the stream, holding hands in the cool late-summer air. Lizzie leaned against him, and suddenly the pressures of the past year-its secrets and dangers-seemed far away.