Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  “Nae, laird,” the warrior replied.

  “Ah,” Marcus said, “I forget, you intercepted her at the pawnbroker's shop.”

  “Not in the shop, exactly,” he hedged.

  Marcus glanced at his father, who sat in his chair sipping ale as though they were discussing nothing more important than the weather. Marcus looked back at the warrior. “Where, then?”

  “She, er, had left the pawnbroker—you see, Daniel reasoned we couldna' just go inside and take her. She would bring all of Glasgow down upon us.”

  “Indeed,” Marcus murmured.

  “She near did—or would have, had we not dragged her into the alley.”

  “Dragged her into an alley, you say? This alley was deserted then, a place you could have done with her as you wished?”

  The man swallowed. “Aye.”

  “Angry, was she?” Marcus realized he had clenched his hand into a fist.

  The man looked sheepish. “You can't blame the lass, she thought—”

  “Aye,” Marcus interrupted savagely, “I know what she thought. The little fool is damned lucky that isn't what happened. You are certain no Campbell accosted her?”

  “Not so much as a scrap of Campbell plaide was found between here and Glasgow.”

  “How far behind were Elise and Daniel when you left them?”

  “They were riding fast—not so fast she couldn't keep up,” the man added quickly, “but I rode harder. I left them at early light.”

  “By all rights, they should be arriving anytime,” Marcus calculated.

  “Aye,” the warrior agreed.

  Marcus jerked his head toward the postern door in an indication the man should leave, and he hurried from the great hall. Marcus faced his father. “What the bloody hell was she selling—and Australia? I thought Winnie said she was bound for America.”

  “'Tis strange,” Cameron agreed.

  “If anything has happened to her…”

  Cameron's gaze remained steady. “Ye heard what John said. She is well.” He motioned to the seat beside him. “Sit, have an ale, and wait.”

  “By God, she had three days head start.” Marcus slammed a fist down on the table. “Anything could have happened.”

  “Not three, less than two. 'Tis been three days since she left. I can see how you would confuse the time, but our lads took after her night before last. Elise and Peter's tracks indicated they rode slow, and our men rode fast. Did you not comprehend John's report?” Marcus opened his mouth to retort, but Cameron added, “Our men lagged but two hours behind them yesterday afternoon. I sent more men to meet them. They are on their way home and willna' dare dally.”

  “How could you have let her go?”

  “I didn't let her go.” Cameron regarded him. “You plan on making her a prisoner?”

  “Would you have her alone on that ship?” Marcus demanded.

  His father's mouth thinned. “We should beat them both.” He glanced in the direction of the kitchen where Winnie worked.

  “Aye,” Marcus said, agreeing with his father for the first time since he'd returned home an hour ago. “Beat her, I will. If I don't get the chance, I will take it out of your hide, Father.”

  Cameron took a large swig of the ale sitting before him, then set the mug on the table. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The lads will return with her soon.”

  Marcus shot his father another unforgiving look. “So you have said a dozen times the past hour.”

  His father's expression hardened. “I realize you are upset, lad, but you aren't giving me enough credit. Do you believe I would sit here drinking ale if I thought she was in danger?”

  Marcus hesitated.

  “She will arrive safe.”

  Tramping feet approached the postern door. Marcus whirled as the door opened and Daniel entered, followed by half a dozen men.

  “Where is she?” Marcus demanded.

  The men parted to reveal Elise, head downcast, hair damp. Marcus frowned, his first thought was Why had she not been given a tartan? But she raised her head and the fire in her eyes ignited an answering fury in him. He strode to her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and began shaking her.

  “What do you think you were doing?” He shook her harder with every word.

  “Marcus!” Cameron's sharp voice cut through the haze. “You'll shake her to death.”

  “Or mayhap shake some sense into her.” He shoved her away from him and raked his hand through his hair.

  “Laird,” Daniel said.

  Marcus looked at Daniel, who tossed a small pouch to him. He caught it and the clink of coin rattled inside the leather.

  “'Tis Elise's—”

  Marcus jerked his gaze onto his captain.

  “The money she received from the pawnbroker,” Daniel finished.

  Marcus loosed the tie and emptied the coins into his palm. He counted five sovereign. A small fortune. He looked at Elise. “What were you selling?”

  She remained mute. He turned to Daniel.

  Daniel cleared his throat. “A wedding ring, according to the bill of sale.”

  Marcus watched dumbfounded as Daniel produced a piece of paper from within his sporran. He strode to the table and laid the bill of sale on it.

  Marcus looked at Elise. “A hefty sum, even for a gold band.”

  She lifted her chin a fraction. “How did you find me?”

  He slipped the coins back into the pouch, then tossed it on the table. “The MacGregor can track you, remember?”

  Her cheeks colored and he knew she remembered that day in the meadow when she had threatened him with the MacGregor fury should he harm her and the children. 'I tracked these children. You think he cannot track you?' she had said.

  He broke eye contact. “Go change into dry clothes.” Silence followed and he looked to see she hadn't so much as twitched a muscle. Marcus narrowed his eyes. “I warn you, Elise, do no' try my temper any further. Go upstairs. Now.”

  She remained motionless. He lunged forward and scooped her onto his shoulder. Whoops and cheers rang throughout the room.

  “Marcus MacGregor!” She thrashed.

  He answered with a hard squeeze to her legs. The men responded with more raucous laughter. Applause followed as he strode across the room and bounded up the stairs. She twisted in his grasp, but Marcus ignored the futile effort until he reached her bedchamber, where he kicked the door open and, in three paces, tossed her onto the bed. She landed on the mattress and immediately made to scramble to her knees. Marcus leapt forward, one knee on the bed, and planted his hands on each side of her.

  “Get away!” she shouted as she scooted backwards.

  She fell back against the bed when he brought his face to within an inch of hers.

  “If you do not change into dry clothes, I will do it for you.”

  Elise remained motionless, but he caught the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. He pushed away from her and stood. She crawled off the bed, her gaze on him, as she fetched the dress hanging in the closet. She faced him. Marcus waved toward the screen in the corner.

  “Kind of you,” she retorted.

  “Do not try me,” he growled.

  “Try you?” Elise snorted, then stepped behind the screen.

  “All I want to know is why?” he demanded.

  The rustling of clothing paused. A long moment of silence passed, then she said, “Exactly my question.”

  Marcus started to reply but threw himself, instead, onto the couch opposite the bed. A moment later, she appeared from behind the screen.

  “Why did you leave?” he demanded.

  “Why did you bring me back?”

  He frowned. “I didn't. Cameron did. I wasn't aware you had left until an hour ago.”

  “Cameron?” Her eyes darkened. “So I have him to thank for scaring me half out of my wits.”

  Marcus leapt from the couch. Elise retreated several steps.

  “You truly have taken leave of your senses.” He stopped two
paces from her. “Had I known—had I come for you—I would have given you a scare you wouldn't have forgotten. Being kidnapped by the Campbells clearly left no impression on you.”

  “I was well out of MacGregor territory when Daniel found me. I was safe.”

  Marcus seized her hand and yanked her close. “So safe you were accosted in an alleyway. And a woman on a ship alone—bound for America—no, Australia. No money, no escort—although, money you had in abundance. Why did you leave?”

  Her lips pursed. “That is none of your business.”

  “None of my business? Bloody hell, Elise, I will have my answers.” He yanked her so close he could feel her breath on his face. “Why?”

  He twisted her wrist slightly and she winced.

  “Elise,” he repeated.

  Silence followed, then she said, “I decided it was time to go.”

  Marcus tightened the tenuous hold on his temper. “Well, you can't go.” He shoved her away from him. He closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger.

  “I can't go?” she repeated softly.

  He whirled on her. “I have just spent one of the most hellish hours of my life and you think I'll be swayed by your indignation?” Marcus moved an inch closer. “Think again, my sweet.” He inched even closer and she backed away from him. “I am the master here, and I will let you push me only so far.” He slid closer.

  Elise sidled to her left, but he grasped her shoulders. He forced her back against the wall and pressed himself against her. Their eyes locked. He broke the standoff, his gaze dropping to her lips. The beat of his heart pounded against the swell of her breasts. He breathed deep, then pulled her to the couch and shoved her onto the cushion.

  “Now, what is this foolishness?”

  “I can't stay here forever. It's time I go.”

  “It is not,” he growled.

  Elise jumped.

  “Do not move. I won't strike you. Though, God knows, I would love nothing more than to turn you over my knee.”

  “Comforting,” she said with a snort.

  “Listen, you little fool, when I think it's time for you to go, if I ever think it's time for you to go, I will tell you.”

  “You can't stop me.”

  Marcus stared. “You think I can't stop you? I can do anything I damn well please.” Though this was the first time he'd used his power to take advantage of a woman. “Do you plan on making her a prisoner?” his father had asked.

  “Cameron is master here, not you,” Elise said. “He can let me go.”

  “There's no real difference between my father's authority and mine.”

  “There is enough difference. If he says I can go, then I can.”

  “It doesn't matter. He will not.”

  “You are so sure?”

  Marcus exhaled loudly.

  “You don't mind, then, if I ask.” She stood.

  He couldn't believe it. “You would ask him?”

  Elise raised a brow. “Afraid?”

  Marcus paused. “You will let this rest if he agrees with me?”

  “He won't.”

  Marcus followed two paces behind as Elise stepped from the staircase into the great hall moments later. It was mid-afternoon, and only the men who had fetched her home lingered in the hall with Cameron. She smiled and approached him while Marcus sauntered to the hearth and propped an elbow on the large mantle. Elise stopped before Cameron, who glanced from her to Marcus, then back again.

  “I would like to speak with you, Cameron,” she said.

  He motioned the men to leave. She seated herself in the chair beside his. Once the men were gone, he looked expectantly at her.

  “Marcus tells me I can't leave.”

  “'Tis his decision.”

  “You can countermand this edict.”

  Cameron laughed. “I can, but will not.”

  “Aren't I free?” she asked. “Don't I fall under the same law as every Highlander?”

  Cameron's mouth twitched and he looked at Marcus. Marcus raised a brow and his father turned back to her. “Why do you want to leave, lass? Have we not been good to you? Have no' we cared for you as one of our own?” His expression softened. “You're a sweet lass. We would miss you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I feel certain you would survive quite well without me.” Her voice quieted. “I don't belong here.”

  He frowned. “Who has been filling your head with such silliness?”

  She hesitated. “No one. It's simply obvious, is all.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Elise leaned on the table and said in lowered tones, “I must go.”

  “Why?”

  She dropped her gaze to her hands clasped atop the table. “There are certain… rumors about me.”

  His brow furrowed. “Such as?”

  Elise leaned closer. “It is said that I am Marcus's mistress.”

  “What?” Cameron burst out.

  Marcus dropped his elbow from the mantel.

  “Nae, lad.” His father held up a hand. “Stand where you are.” Marcus halted and Cameron focused again on Elise. “Who said this?”

  She shook her head. “That isn't important.”

  “But it is.”

  “No—”

  “If I am to consider any petition,” he interrupted, “I must know all the facts.”

  After a moment's silence, she mumbled an answer.

  “What? Speak up, lass.”

  Marcus strained, but missed the single word she repeated.

  “Margaret?” Cameron repeated loudly.

  Marcus started forward.

  His father's attention jerked to him. “Hold, Marcus.” Their gazes locked, Cameron's mouth twitching, then he looked back at Elise. “Is this what the two of you were fashin' over?”

  “Margaret?” Marcus echoed.

  Elise released an audible groan.

  Cameron looked at him. “You should have seen 'em. Had I not arrived when I did—”

  “It isn't funny,” Elise snapped.

  “Aye, lass”—his shoulders began to shake with laughter—”it is.”

  “All this over a silly conversation with Margaret?” Marcus demanded.

  “It would seem so,” Cameron said between fits of laughter.

  “I will put an end to Margaret's troublemaking.” Marcus muttered. His father had been right; he should have dallied with the demimonde and left the noblewomen to their own devices.

  Elise grabbed Cameron's arm. “But, Cameron,” she shook his arm, “it's not true.”

  “Wha—”

  “She's lying,” Elise insisted

  Marcus's mind snapped to attention.

  Cameron gave a final grunt, then sobered. He focused on Marcus. “Is this true? I had thought—” he broke off with a slight cough and a sideways glance at Elise.

  Marcus swung his gaze onto Elise. “What are you doing?”

  “Marcus,” Cameron cut him off.

  Marcus looked at his father.

  “Is it true?” Cameron repeated.

  “Damn close,” Marcus replied with force.

  “Marcus!” Elise cried.

  “Do not act as if it isn't true,” he replied irritably.

  She shot to her feet. “You are no gentleman, sir.”

  “Elise,” his father said, “sit.”

  She cast a dark glance at Marcus. He raised a brow, but she did as ordered and reseated herself.

  Cameron addressed Marcus. “Is it true, lad?”

  “Aye, she speaks the truth.”

  “Margaret ought not to have lied.” Cameron gave Marcus a quick glance. “'Course, she had no way of knowing it was a lie.” He rubbed his chin. “If ye don't belong to Marcus—”

  “Cameron!” Marcus strode across the room to his father's side.

  Elise leapt from her chair. “Be quiet, Marcus MacGregor, and let your father speak.”

  “She may have a point,” Cameron said.

  Marcus kept his gaze on Cameron. “F
ather,” he growled, “you know my feelings on this.”

  “Aye, lad, but if you haven't done anything about it yet—”

  “Cameron—”

  “I warn you, Marcus.” Elise stalked toward him. “Remain silent and let your father finish, or I'll…” she stopped, looking wildly about the room. Her gaze stopped on the weapons mounted on the wall, and she ran to them.

  Marcus cast his father a look and they both burst out laughing. Elise made a frustrated sound as she began tugging on a scabbard containing a large sword. The weapon remained fixed and she moved to another. That one didn't budge, nor the next or the next.

  “Elise, lass,” Cameron said between howls of laughter, “you're tugging on the scabbards.” He laughed even harder. “If you wish to draw a weapon”—he slapped the table with his hand, “grab the”—he gasped with laughter—”hilt.” He doubled over with laughter. “By God,” he wheezed, “are ye sure you're not Irish, lass?”

  “Irish?” She laid a hand on the hilt of a lady's sgian dubh mounted above the swords she had already tried. “You've never seen an Irish temper like my father's. Except, perhaps”—she turned back to the wall—”mine.”

  Elise pulled the dagger free of its scabbard. She stepped a pace from the wall, drew back, and threw the knife. The sgian dubh whizzed between Marcus and his father, entering the wooden table with a loud thwang.

  Aside from a “Sweet mother of God” from the kitchen doorway, silence reigned. Both men stared at the knife.

  Marcus pulled the dagger free of the wood and held it up, looking at her. “You missed.”

  She raised a brow. “I did not.”

  “Sweet mother of God,” Cameron repeated. “Where did you learn to throw a knife like that?”

  She gave him a disgusted look.

  “Are you sure you want her, Marcus?”

  “Aye,” he replied, not taking his eyes off her.

  Cameron slapped the table again. “A Celtish woman who can throw a knife. I knew I liked you.” He patted the chair. “Come, sit.”

  Marcus tensed for the moment she studied them before crossing to the chair and reseating herself.

  Cameron leaned back in his chair. “Why didn't you tell us you are Celt?”

  “I didn't know it mattered.”