Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

Marcus laughed at the sheepish look on Erin's face. She snatched up the bowl and Michael joined in when she muttered incoherently and strode to the stove to finish the biscuits.

  “So, tell me, Marcus,” Michael said through his laughter. “How was London?”

  “The same as always.”

  “And Kiernan?”

  At the mention of his son's name, Marcus recalled his surprise at how much the boy had grown in the last year. At only eighteen, he towered over most Englishmen. Referred to as the dark giant, he deserved the nickname. Still, Marcus never ceased to marvel at the fact that one noticed his mother's raven hair and blue eyes when he entered a room. Unbidden, his father's words echoed in Marcus's mind, “Do you not wonder if the sacrifice is worth your son?”

  “Is it worth it?” he said under his breath.

  “What's that you say?” Michael asked.

  Marcus focused on him. “The lad is doing as well as can be expected, considering.”

  “Considering?” Elise asked.

  “Aye,” he said, glad his father wasn't present to hear his response. “Considering he lives among the Sassenach.”

  At meal's end, Marcus insisted they go. Elise's expression darkened and she looked as if she might protest, but he caught her glance in the direction of father and son and relaxed when he saw she had chosen discretion over pride. Anticipation surged through him, despite the knowledge she considered him the lesser of the evils.

  They stood at the door. Elise rose on tiptoes and planted a kiss on Michael's cheek. “Stay off your wounded leg.”

  “Thank you. You're a good lass.” He gave her a bear hug.

  “No toying with me.”

  The impish wink she gave Michael made Marcus regret ending the evening. She would be more reserved with her charms once they were alone. She went outside where Erin waited with their horses.

  Marcus clasped Michael's hands.

  “Do not wait so long to come back,” Michael said.

  Marcus started to release his hand, but Michael's grip tightened. “Be careful.” He glanced in Elise's direction. “The dark has been known to bite.”

  Chapter Four

  To be bitten in the dark.

  Marcus glanced at Elise. Moonlight filtered in dim rays through the trees, making it impossible to distinguish her features atop the mare. He slid his gaze over her figure. It was a shame Erin had a mare she could ride.

  “Marcus,” she broke into his thoughts.

  He checked the surge of eagerness that leapt to life. “Aye?”

  “Why does your son live in England?”

  “Politics, love.”

  “Ah,” she replied. “I see.”

  He was sure she didn't but was pleased nonetheless.

  “Having your son living amongst a people so different from your own can't be easy.”

  “Nae?” They moved out of the trees into pale moonlight and he discerned an indulgent smile on her face.

  “I'm not ignorant of the differences between the Highland life and that of London.”

  “You have been to London?” he asked.

  “No, but where I'm from can't be much different.”

  “Where might that be, lass?”

  “Boston.”

  “Do you miss it?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He wondered at the quick answer, then his gaze caught on her mouth. What would it be like to kiss those lips? Moonlight glistened on the dark hair that cascaded down her cloaked shoulders. She straightened in the saddle, sharpening the curve of her breasts. He imagined his hand sliding over them and downward to the soft curls nestled below. Marcus shifted in the saddle to accommodate his growing arousal. Elise shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. What would she do if he took her now? Just when he'd convinced himself she wouldn't resist, his mind snapped to attention at hearing an unexpected noise.

  “Do you—” she began.

  “Hush,” Marcus commanded in a whisper.

  He reined in alongside her. Grabbing her mare's bridle, he pulled both horses to a stop. He dismounted, then hauled her down from the saddle and drew her close to whisper in her ear, “There is a hill just ahead. I'm going for a look. Do not move.” He shoved the reins into her hand and slinked into the darkness.

  Near the top of the hill, Marcus crouched, then finally went to his knees, crawling the last few feet to the crest. Between the hill where he crouched and the opposite hill, three men on horses picked their way across the rocky ground. Their colors were indistinguishable, but he knew they were Campbells.

  When he had demanded Shamus's killer be turned over to him, John Campbell had complied after Marcus and his men threatened to take John in his kinsmen's place. The fact the man was turned over to Peter McKinlay of the Glasgow police for a proper trial made no difference. John Campbell had been furious.

  The men disappeared into the trees, and Marcus hesitated. The keep was another ten minutes' ride. Could he send Elise on alone? He remembered Katie MacGregor and cursed. He couldn't gamble with Elise's safety.

  Marcus quietly made his way back down the hill and, minutes later, distinguished her form in the darkness. “Elise,” he called in a whisper.

  Her head jerked in his direction, but she didn't cry out. After another instant, he reached her side. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her close, whispering, “We must ride—and fast.” She started. “All will be well.” He squeezed her shoulders. “You ride with me. Can you stay in the saddle?”

  She nodded.

  “Good lass.” He reached for the reins

  She grabbed his arm. “What's happened?”

  He hesitated. “Campbells.”

  She glanced at the hill. “So close to Brahan Seer?”

  “Aye.”

  Marcus vaulted into his stallion's saddle, then extended a hand toward her. Elise yanked her skirts thigh high, grabbed his hand, and jumped nimbly up behind him as he pulled. She wrapped her arms around his midsection. The soft contours of her breasts pressed into his back. He gritted his teeth and nudged the stallion into a quiet walk, keeping the mare close until they were well out of earshot of the small camp. Then he urged the stallion into a gallop.

  The men on the castle walls sprang to life at their approach half an hour later. Marcus brought their horses to a skidding halt before the gate. “Open!” he shouted. “'Tis me, Marcus.”

  The gate creaked open and he drove the horses through before the doors had swung wide. He halted amongst the gathering warriors and brought his leg over the horse's head, sliding from the saddle.

  “Marshall,” he called to the nearest man as he pulled Elise from the saddle, “find Daniel and have him gather twenty men. We ride in ten minutes. Where is my father?”

  “I dinna' know,” Marshall answered. “Mayhap the great hall?”

  Marcus started off, then stopped and whirled to see Elise standing where he left her. “Go to your cottage,” he ordered then, cursing the powers that be, set out after his father.

  * * *

  Elise glanced at Michael, who rode alongside her. His gaze remained directly ahead. The rigid set of his mouth indicated he was still angry with her for coming alone to his cottage. Guilt unsettled her. His anger was born out of concern, and he was more right than she cared to admit. To make matters worse, the trip had been a waste. He hadn't received a recent copy of the Sunday Times.

  Birds abruptly took flight in the trees up ahead. She gave a small cry. Michael shot her a look that said, Not so sure there aren't any Campbells on MacGregor land, are you?

  Heat warmed her cheeks and she looked straight ahead. The Campbells had eluded Marcus that night three weeks ago. No further trace of them or their kinsmen had been found since, but Marcus was on a mission to discover who had trespassed onto his land. As a result, she wouldn't be able to ride more than an hour without encountering one of his men.

  Damn him. If not for his watchful eye, she would be on a ship to America. The night he fetched her from Michael's, she had deci
ded not to return to Brahan Seer but to continue to Glasgow and chance the first ship away from Scotland. The wanted notice had been in the Sunday Times dated three weeks prior, but Price could have given up since then.

  She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. Price stared back at her from behind her father's mahogany desk at Landen Shipping. MacGregor men wouldn't crawl the land like mice much longer. Soon she would return for the man who had put her mother in an early grave, then quietly took part in her daughter's murder. Her heart constricted. Steven was a casualty of her making—a casualty she knew Price Ardsley relished. Elise forced back tears.

  Beware, stepfather. I will return.

  “Will you come to the great hall?” Elise asked Michael when they passed through the castle gates.

  “Aye,” he replied shortly.

  “Michael,” she began, but he pulled his horse to a halt beside her and dismounted.

  He came around to her and helped her from the saddle. “Go on.” She hesitated, and his eyes softened. “I'll be along after I have seen to the animals.”

  She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You're a good man, Michael MacGregor.”

  He shook his head, but she could see that he was pleased. He limped off leading the horses, and Elise headed for the great hall. At the postern door, she entered and saw Marcus standing near the hearth. He broke off his conversation with the two men who stood with him and glanced over his shoulder. The drawn look on his face snapped into a dark scowl. He started forward. Elise faltered when she saw he meant to intercept her. His companions disappeared up the nearest staircase and a hum of apprehension began deep in her stomach.

  Marcus rounded the table and reached the midway point when she blurted, “Good afternoon, Marcus. How are you?”

  “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  “I—” She fell back an unsteady step when it seemed he would ram into her. He halted three feet from her. “I have just returned from visiting Michael.”

  “So I was told,” he replied curtly. “Winnie's warning did nothing to deter you?”

  “Winnie's warnin—” Elise recalled her encounter with Winnie that morning. Good Lord, Winnie had told him she saw her leave.

  Marcus's eyes narrowed. “Aye, you remember. Fortunately for you, I only just discovered your absence. Unmanageable wench,” he added in a dark voice.

  “You have your answers,” she shot back. “Why bother asking?”

  “Because I couldn't believe you were traipsing about the countryside.”

  “I was not traipsing about the country. Not that it's your business.”

  “It is my business—and I will see to it you no' do it again.”

  She ignored the warning bell the definite hardening of his brogue set off inside her head. and said, “You're insane if you think I'll be ordered about.”

  “Ye will do as you're told,” he said in a quiet voice that was perversely more unsettling than a shout.

  “I come and go as I please, just as everyone else at Brahan Seer.”

  A keen light shone in his eyes. “If you will note, the women are staying close to home.” His expression hardened. “At the express command of their men.”

  Elise gasped, then glanced past him, gauging the distance between him and the freedom the kitchen offered. He stepped closer and her temper flared. She raised her hands to shield herself from his advance and her palms met the unexpected warmth of his chest. She gaped at her fingers splayed across tanned skin where his shirt lay open, and her senses reeled at the raw power in the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

  “Lord,” she whispered, and yanked her hands away.

  The vague realization that strong fingers had gripped her wrists was overshadowed by the jolt she felt when Marcus forced her hands back to his chest. Her mind screamed to break free, but the sight of her palms gliding over his dark skin—the need to touch every contour, to know intimately his powerful body—held her rooted to the spot. She tore her gaze from his chest and looked into his eyes. The fire blazing there drew her—commanded her—and she leaned into him.

  “There ye are, lad. I was just look—”

  Elise twisted as Cameron reached the bottom of the nearest staircase. He lifted a bushy brow. She looked back at Marcus. His hold loosened and she snatched her hands away. She retreated, stumbling over her own feet. Marcus reached for her, but she dodged his hand with another unsure step backward.

  “I-I must go,” she stammered, and fled the room.

  “Elise—bloody hell!”

  Marcus's voice echoed off the stone walls as she shoved through the postern door.

  Elise avoided Marcus that night. Yet his memory persisted. Alone in bed, her cheeks burned with the recollection of how he had forced her hands against him in a rough caress. Though only a moment passed between them, her senses had taken in every contour as her fingers glided along the unyielding muscle. The hint of brandy on his breath, the hammering of his beating heart, his hard body—with a flourish, she threw back the covers. Cold air crept over her. Yet it wasn't the cold that made her shiver, but the vision of Marcus's hands touching her as she had touched him. Oh, treacherous body! To be undone by desire.

  A desire beyond that which drew you to the man you shot, her mind whispered.

  Elise examined her hands in the moonlight that spilled across the bed from the window above her head. It hadn't occurred to her she would touch another man as she had Robert. A porcelain doll, Robert had called her, to be admired but not touched. The fact he had suffered her in his bed only long enough to get her with child had proven even her beauty had been lacking. Yet the memory of Robert's scorn didn't stop the leap of her heart at the thought of Marcus.

  Time grew short—shorter than she had realized. Dare she wait another week or even a day before leaving Scotland?

  * * *

  Marcus stood on the battlement speaking with Daniel when he spied Elise emerging from the stables astride a horse.

  “By God,” he cursed.

  “What is it?” Daniel looked in the direction Marcus stared.

  “Stop her!” Marcus shouted down to the guards, then hurried down the stairs.

  Her gaze met his as he leapt from the battlement steps into the courtyard. “Out of my way,” she ordered.

  “Woman, only yesterday you fled from me as if I were an ogre. Now you dispense imperious orders as though you are a queen. Where are you going?”

  “To find Tavis and box his ears. Then I'll drag him and his sister back.”

  Marcus raised a brow. “Tired of chasing the little fools all over God's green earth? A pity they won't listen to good advice. Come down from there.” He reached to pull her from the mare's back.

  She slapped his hand. “They purposely sneaked out.”

  “Disobedient brats,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Never mind,” he said.

  “Never mind?” she choked. “If I hadn't heard it myself, I wouldn't have believed it.” She jerked on the reins. “Out of my wa—” Elise shrieked when he yanked her from the saddle.

  Marcus brought her face level with his. “Yesterday, you left against my command. Will you attempt to disobey me again today?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I planned to enlist Brady's help in finding the children.”

  “And if he's not available?”

  “He's the stable master. He is always in the stables.”

  “Aye,” Marcus said. “But if he isn't, you will use good sense and return to the keep?” He added before she could argue, “I'll fetch the children.”

  Her eyes lit. “I'll wait while you get a horse.”

  He released her, then pried the reins from her fingers and mounted. “I will go.”

  “But—”

  “Elise,” he growled, “are you saying I cannot deal with two errant children?”

  “No-no, of course not. It's just that Bonnie is so little, and Tavis—” Her eyes blazed. “The boy is going to get them both killed.”

&
nbsp; “Why does he take his sister with him?” Marcus asked.

  “He doesn't. She's a clever child. She watches, then follows.”

  “Bloody hell,” he said under his breath. “She is but seven.”

  Elise laid a hand atop Marcus's hand, which rested on his thigh. “Why does Tavis persist in going out like this? I thought you dealt with his father's murderer.”

  “Revenge is never satisfied,” Marcus replied.

  Her fingers moved against his and he looked at her hand. His gaze caught on the long, thin scar on the outside edge of her palm. He had noticed it before, had meant to ask her—She snatched her hand back.

  Marcus looked down at her and smiled softly. “It is all right, love. I will bring them safely home.” He brushed a finger across her cheek.

  She looked startled and a blush crept up her cheeks.

  Marcus urged his horse forward, satisfied.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Elise looked up from her seat in the kitchen to see Marcus enter with Bonnie on his shoulders. A general round of praise went up from the women. He gave a gallant bow, very obviously pretending to forget Bonnie, then grabbed her at the last moment and shoved her back into place on his shoulders.

  Warmth rippled through Elise at sight of him pausing to pluck slices of apples from a bowl on the counter. She silently cursed her schoolgirl giddiness. Marcus popped a slice into his mouth, then passed one to Bonnie. Elise's thudding heart kicked up a notch when he looked in her direction. He started toward her and she hastily returned her attention to the potatoes she was peeling. He pulled Bonnie from his shoulders and lowered himself into the chair beside Elise. Bonnie settled on his lap and leaned back in the crook of his arm. Absorbed in her apple, she munched contentedly.

  “I think we need not worry any longer about Bonnie running after Tavis,” Marcus said.

  Elise looked to find a lock of hair had fallen across his forehead, making him look very much like a large child himself. She resisted the urge to smooth the lock back into place.

  Focusing instead on her potatoes, she said, “Why is that?”

  “Because he won't be taking any more trips.”