Return of the Scot (Scots of Honor #1) - Eliza Knight Page 0,11
nearly half an hour. At last, they rounded onto St. David’s Street at St. Andrew’s Square and pulled up in front of New Club.
The building looked as inconspicuous as the others. People wandered the square, casting him glances, eyes riveted to the crest on his carriage. The buzz of their hurried whispers increased with each of his steps toward the front of the club.
Ignoring them all, he entered the establishment. The dimly lit building smelled of cigar smoke and men’s aftershave, a little overwhelming after coming from the outside. Lorne had never had much interest in cigars, and if he was going to smell a man’s aftershave, it was going to be his own.
“Your Grace.” The footman kept his gaze level, not blinking at the fact that Lorne had not been there in nearly ten years and had also been pronounced dead.
Lorne handed the footman his hat and coat and then sauntered toward the rear of the room where his old friends used to take up residence. There were many new faces and several not-so-new. A few clad in casual buckskin breeches, others in more fancy wear he’d seen the dandies of London sporting. Only a few of the gentleman wore kilts, which made him the odd man out. Much had changed since he’d been there last.
Some of those who recognized him stopped speaking to their companions right away to stare, mouths agape. Those with a connection to the War Office gave him respectful nods.
Lorne wasn’t in the mood to chat. He simply nodded and passed by everyone to seek out a quiet corner in which to think, plan and imbibe a drink.
“Sutherland?”
Lorne halted, surprised to hear a very familiar voice. Lord Alec Hay, the Earl of Errol, who also happened to serve with him overseas, emerged from the shadows where it looked as though he’d been sitting alone—in Lorne’s favorite spot.
“Errol.” Lorne drew in a deep breath through his nose. He wanted to grasp the man up in his arms, glad to see that he was alive, after thinking that he’d died on Lorne’s watch. The man had a scar slicing from his temple down over his cheek and toward his chin. Not long after he’d sustained the injury, Lorne had been…taken. “God, ’tis good to see ye’re alive.”
Alec clapped him on the shoulder. “Likewise. Where the hell have ye been?”
“Purgatory, and I’m no’ going back.”
Alec seemed to understand that he had no wish to speak on the topic. And as he’d suffered in the war alongside him, perhaps he was the closest thing Lorne could find to a person who could recognize the desire to leave the past where it lay.
“Sit with me.” Alec didn’t wait for Lorne’s answer but headed toward the corner he’d staked out, snapping his fingers at a passing footman. “Bring me the bottle.” Slumping into his chair, Alec shook his head in disbelief. “I heard ye escaped, and I could no’ believe it. What are ye doing in Edinburgh?”
Lorne groaned at the question, flashes of a hellion running rampant. He was relieved when the footman returned with a fresh bottle of whisky and an extra glass for him, allowing him a moment to think before answering.
“Can I interest ye in anything to eat, Your Grace?”
“Aye, the house special.” He prayed the food was as good as it had been the last time he’d been there. The last decent meal he had before he’d left for the nearly five-day ride to Edinburgh was in the Highlands.
“Aye, Your Grace. And for ye, my lord?” The footman turned to Alec.
“I’ll have the same.” Alec uncorked the whisky and poured two healthy portions, sliding one of the glasses toward Lorne. “To your return.”
Lorne lifted his glass and consumed the whisky in one burning swallow.
Alec seemed on edge, setting down his glass and continuously darting his gaze about the room.
“Are ye all right?” The way the man was acting had Lorne wanting to leap out of his skin.
“Aye.” He cleared his throat, laughed off his awkwardness and poured a second helping of whisky. “Have ye got a place to stay in town?”
Lorne had not thought about that before. Aye, he’d had a house in town—one in London, too—but Gille could have sold off those properties as well.
“I’ve got a meeting with my solicitor in an hour.” He scanned the dim room, frowning at the surreptitious glances he was getting from men playing cards or at the bar having a drink.