A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals)

by Kimberly Bell

  Her brother. Not a husband, or a lover. Ewan shouldn’t be as relieved as he was. He wrapped his uninjured arm around her back. “He’s likely just sowing wild oats. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “No, he’s not! I was looking for him when they st-st-stopped me in the alley. He’s fallen in with bad people. He owes them money.” She burst into a new round of sobbing with even more vigor than the last.

  Ewan felt like a villain. He knew there had to be a reason she’d taken to thievery. She was trying to pay her brother’s debt. It was misguided, but Ewan could understand family loyalty. There was nothing Ewan wouldn’t do for Gavan, the cousin he’d grown up with. “Dinnae cry, leannain. We’ll find him. Ye have my word.”

  She sniffled against his shoulder. “You couldn’t possibly look for him in your condition.”

  “Och, I’m nae so banged up as all that.”

  More sobs, even more violent than the first, erupted from her. What the devil was the trouble now?

  “I c-c-c-couldn’t bear it if something h-h-h-appened to you,” she managed around deep, staccato breaths. “You’ve been so kind.”

  The lass was worried for his safety? Well, that was something. There was naught to worry about, but Ewan wouldn’t mind letting her fuss over him a bit. “Angus can go. He’ll find him in no time.”

  “Truly?” Her big eyes were round with hope.

  “Of course.”

  She smiled, and it lit up the room. “The sooner I find Tristan, the better I’ll feel about everything.”

  “Call Angus for me. We’ll have him start looking straightaway.”

  In a flurry of bounces, she was off the bed and headed for the door. She stopped, turning back to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Thank you.”

  Then she was off again. It didn’t take long for her to return with Angus.

  Ewan’s godfather looked none too pleased. “What’s this nonsense about I’m to go and do some fool thing or another?”

  “Yer going to find a lad named Tristan.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because I asked ye to.” That answer had never worked for Ewan before, but there was a first time for everything.

  Angus snorted. “And why exactly would ye be asking?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Oh, aye? Says who?” Angus gestured to . . . Ewan realized he still didn’t know her name. “Says her? Did ye take a blow to the head as well as the shoulder?”

  “I kidnapped her, and now her brother is in danger.”

  “She robbed ye!”

  “To pay her brother’s debt.”

  “Oh, a fine one he sounds like. Well worth putting myself out for.”

  Bloody, stubborn old—Ewan started hauling himself out of bed with his good arm. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”

  “Like hell ye will.” Angus shoved him back down. “Like as nae, it’s a trap she’s set. Yer fresh off being poisoned, and apparently addled as well. I’ll go, if only to see ye survive this wee expedition into idiocy ye seem set on.”

  “It’s not a trap,” his mystery woman assured.

  “We’ll find out, won’t we? How am I to find this Tristan then?”

  She gave Angus a description of her brother and the places he was likely to be found, mostly whorehouses and gaming dens. Ewan had to agree with Angus’s assessment; Tristan didn’t sound all that worthy of saving. Then again, neither would some of Ewan’s own family, but Ewan would still risk all to see them safe.

  ***

  The old Scot stomped off in a steady stream of grumbling, leaving Deidre behind with Ewan. It had been all too easy to bring out the tears and convince him to send his watchdog on an errand. Now all she needed was a passable reason to go downstairs, or for her newly devoted knight in shining armor to fall back to sleep, and she would be free.

  Deidre sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her fingers along his forearm. “How do you feel?”

  “Well enough. There’s really no reason I couldnae have gone.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve already done so much for me.” Deidre softened her touch, watching his eyes start to droop at the soothing sensations. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Och, ye dinnae need to—”

  “Please. You must let me. I could get you something to drink. Perhaps some soup. Would you like me to have them draw you a bath?” Anything at all, if it meant heading down into the taproom.

  “Yer name.”

  “It’s Mary.”

  “Odd. Ye dinnae strike me as a Mary.” He lay back again and closed his eyes. “Actually, if ye wouldnae mind . . .”

  Finally. “Yes?”

  “Could ye mayhaps rub my head a bit? I’ve the devil’s own ache just behind my eyes.”

  It was fairly innocent as requests went and it would likely put him to sleep. “All right.”

  She scooted into position against the headboard. Reaching her arm behind his shoulders, she placed her fingers against his temples and made gentle circles. He responded with a deep groan of contentment. Rolling her eyes, Deidre set to work running her hands along his scalp and through the thick waves of ruddy copper. After an inordinately long time, his breathing settled into deep, rhythmic inhalations with a slight snore.

  As quietly as she could, she extricated herself from the bed. Gingerly, she put her toes on the floorboards.

  “Mary?”

  Bollocks. “Yes?”

  “Are ye going somewhere?”

  Not anymore, you great big nuisance. “I just thought you might be more comfortable with your boots off.”

  “Oh, aye, that sounds nice.”

  Deidre plastered the smile back on to her face. She was almost in the clear. The waterworks had gone over exactly as she’d expected. No sense in ruining a good damsel in distress gambit by scowling. She pulled off the first boot, then the second.

  “Oh, Mary?”

  “Yes?”

  “Would ye mind terribly”—he stretched, flexing his toes and settling farther into the mattress ticking—“rubbing my feet?”

  Rub his feet? More like roast him over hot coals. “I’m not sure that’s entirely—”

  “It’s just, they’re quite sore after walking all the way to town. After ye robbed me and took my boots.”

  Bloody hell. Fine. “Of course.”

  She sat back down at the end of the bed and grabbed one of his feet, reminding herself to be gentle. They didn’t seem sore—not a blister to be found—but he started up with the contented groaning again and Deidre reminded herself she was almost in the clear. Much later, when the sun was sinking on the horizon and he had not resumed snoring, she revised her assessment. She had resigned herself to the knowledge that she was going to die of old age, trapped in this room while her hands cramped up, when an impossibly loud rumble came from his midsection.

  Deidre jumped up. “I’ll have the innkeeper send something up.”

  “Och no, that’s nae—”

  “Nonsense. You’re clearly famished. I’ll see to it.” She hurried out before he could protest. There was no telling when she would get another chance.

  Finally free, she took the stairs two at a time. The taproom was filling up for supper and the rising noise would buy Deidre some additional time. Ewan would likely assume the kitchen was having difficulty keeping up. She slipped out behind a group of travelers on their way into the inn, into the cooling night air. She hadn’t made it far, sticking to the shadows to avoid being recognized, when a voice turned her legs to lead.

  “They saw her here?” His voice was low—in eight years, she’d never heard him raise it—but there was no mistaking the deceptively smooth timbre for anyone other than Alastair.

  Deidre dropped down, hugging the side of the wagon that was blocking her from his view
on the other side.

  “It was her. A lass like that crosses yer path, ye remember.”

  “I see.” Alastair’s impatient sigh sent a shiver of fear through her.

  The wagon next to her rocked as someone leaned against it. Deidre whipped around.

  “Taking some air?” Ewan asked.

  For a moment, Deidre didn’t answer. She was too busy catching her breath and convincing her heart to start beating again.

  “If I were a thinking man, I might think ye were—”

  She threw her hand over his mouth. He’d spoken quietly. They might not have heard him. He tried to move it, and she shook her head.

  “Saw a big ruddy bastard, too, like the one wot roughed up Wick an’ Teller. Said he was hurt pretty bad.”

  “Ah yes, the stranger.” Alastair’s tone turned frigid. “Whatever are you up to, my dear?”

  “Boss?”

  “Never mind. Deidre can have the evening to play her little game. In the morning, haul her back by her hair if you have to.”

  “And the man?”

  “Kill him.”

  ***

  So they intended to kill him. Ewan had no intention of letting himself be murdered. He was not, however, in proper form to contest the matter immediately. The fight in the alley had taken a bit out of him, and the poison had taken the rest. It would be a few days or more before he would be fit to fight again.

  They waited in silence with her palm pressed to his lips. The men on the other side of the wagon discussed small details for a criminal enterprise and a gambling debt that needed collecting before one of them walked away down the street. The remaining man was apparently not the source of his highwaywoman’s fear. She relaxed noticeably and took her hand away from his mouth before quietly pulling him toward the stables.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked, dragging him into an empty stall.

  “Following ye.”

  “Why?”

  Ewan leaned against the boards. “Because yer name’s nae Mary and ye’d sooner boil me alive than be my nursemaid.”

  That gave her a moment’s pause. “You knew?”

  “Ye truly do think I’m daft.” He shook his head. “Nae all big men are stupid, ye ken.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “It’s much easier when they are.”

  “About that. What exactly are ye mixed up in?”

  A shielded expression flew into place. “It’s nothing—”

  “It’s going to see me dead, if yer friends have their way.” Ewan stepped forward, forcing her to look at him. “That man acts as if he owns ye. Does he?”

  “No.”

  “But ye do things for him. Thieving and the like?”

  She hesitated, and then nodded.

  “Have ye sent Angus into a trap?”

  “No.” She took his hand. “Everything I told you about my brother is true. He’s in trouble with bad people—those people—and I need to find him.”

  Ewan believed her. He was probably a thousand kinds of a fool, and he wouldn’t be turning his back on her anytime soon, but he believed she was afraid for her brother. He leaned on the railing again, trying to think. If they came in the morning, Ewan wouldn’t be worth much fighting them off. They would stand a decent chance if Angus was back with the boy by then, but there were no guarantees of that. There was only one intelligent path left to them.

  “We’ll have to leave town. Tonight.”

  “We?”

  “Aye. When Angus comes back with yer brother, we’ll all—”

  She kissed him.

  Surprise held Ewan in place. Her hands stroked the sides of his face, slid down his neck, then closed on the collar of his shirt. She pulled him in closer. The rounded swells of her hips, which had taunted him since they met, offered themselves up for his hands. He held her to him, enjoying the conquest she made of his lips.

  Her hand slipped inside his shirt, touching skin. Ewan inhaled as her palm framed his neck, the pad of her thumb resting at the base of his throat. She wasn’t strong enough to choke him—certainly not with one hand—but it added an awareness that she might try, that she might stop touching him, that he did not want her to stop. The potential danger heightened each sensation. He followed every tiny movement, every small shift. The intensity of it put him at the edge of his control. He wasn’t sure how long he would last if she kept touching him like that.

  She scraped his lip between her teeth when she pulled away. “Twenty minutes.”

  “Hmm?” Lust fogged Ewan’s brain.

  “It’ll take twenty minutes to get my things from my rooms.”

  Right. They were talking about luggage. “Let’s go get them, then.”

  Chapter 5

  Sneaking into the flat was easy enough. Deidre hadn’t chosen their home in the poorest section of town solely to be frugal. The warren-like collection of lean-tos and temporary structures made it difficult keep track of all the ways a person could get in and out. There were toughs watching the front and back entrances, but they hadn’t thought to watch the next building over.

  It was slightly more difficult with an enormous Highlander in tow, but he had insisted on coming with her. He made the jump from the neighboring roof with room to spare. The drop down into the abandoned flat with a section of roof missing gave him a bit of trouble with only one good arm, but he didn’t make enough noise to give them away. Making sure the hall was clear, she ushered him over to the tiny space she called home.

  After she closed the door behind them, she was hit with an uncharacteristic self-consciousness. What would he think of where she lived? The sheer size of him would have told her he came from money, even if the things she’d taken from him hadn’t. It took a lifetime of eating well to produce that kind of vitality.

  “Ye live here?”

  “Yes.”

  His gaze took in the small space, the single chair, the empty cupboard. “It’s nice.”

  “No, it’s not. But it’s mine.”

  “I dinnae—”

  She waved off whatever he was going to say. It didn’t matter anyway. She was leaving, for good. After she found Tristan, it would be just another abandoned hovel until some other poor soul found it. “Help me move the cupboard.”

  They shifted the cabinet away from the wall. Deidre pulled out a brick, revealing the hollow space within it. She took out the money she’d been saving and the pocket watch that had belonged to her father. Out of habit, she returned the brick and had Ewan help her put the cupboard back in place. Fishing into the flour bag, she pulled out the sporran she hadn’t had a chance to fence yet. She handed it him. “Yours.”

  He frowned at it but didn’t say anything. She was in the second room, reaching under the bed for the packages of spare clothes she’d managed to collect for herself and Tristan, when voices sounded outside the door. Tris? No, the voices weren’t familiar. The hope she’d felt turned to immediate fear. Ewan looked like he might try to fight, but that would certainly draw attention, assuming he even could. She looked around the tiny space. The only place he might stand a chance of fitting was under the bed. She gestured for him to get under it.

  His brow rose skeptically, but he did it while moving. With scarcely a breath to spare, she got them both hidden and the blanket dragged mostly off the bed to obscure the gap when the latch clicked.

  Boots scuffed the floorboards in the first room. “Where’d Tris say it was?”

  “Behind the cupboard. Should be a hollowed-out brick somewhere.”

  Deidre tensed. Did they have Tristan? Had they hurt him? They must have, since they knew about her stash.

  “I thought he was in deep with Alastair. What’s he doin’ with a pile of scratch hid away?” The cupboard dragged across the floorboards as they moved it.

  “Dinnae ken and dinnae care. He says tonight’s on h
im if we go get it, so we’re getting it.”

  “How many whores do ye think we’ll be able to buy?”

  Her fists clenched. He couldn’t have, could he? Of course he could. In the dusty confines of the space under her bed, smashed up against a stranger who had been more decent to her than her own blood, Deidre was forced to be honest. Her baby brother, the only family she had left in this world, had sold out their savings to finance a night on the town.

  “Depends on whether he was full of shite. Tris isnae exactly known for making modest claims.”

  The scraping of a brick told her they’d found the right one. A round of cursing followed.

  “I knew that braggy son of a bitch was having us on.”

  “Maybe his sister cleaned it out.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “If ye had a brother like Tris, would ye tell him where ye put yer haul?”

  Their combined laughter answered that question. Deidre hated them almost as much as she hated Tristan right now. It must have been coming off her in waves, because Ewan reached out with two fingers—all he could likely manage to move—and squeezed. It was oddly comforting.

  “If I had Tris’s sister, I’d be living like a king. She’d make me a fortune on her back, and I sure as hell wouldn’t mind a tumble now and then.”

  Like hell. A swift kick to the groin is what he could have.

  “Dinnae let Alastair hear you say that. He’s the jealous type.”

  “What’s he care? He’s got her out rolling hay with every well-heeled blighter from here to London.”

  Oh, no. No, no, no. She squeezed her eyes tight and prayed the building would collapse on top of them.

  “Nah, she just riles them up and fleeces them when they ain’t paying attention.”

  “Yer lying. Just last week, I saw a cove’s hand so far up her skirt I thought he was checkin’ her teeth.”

  Shattering pottery sounded. So much for her one good plate. Deidre had never bothered to keep track of the lesser members of Alastair’s gang. She wished now she had so she would know who to murder when she got out from under this bed.

  “Alastair gets a kick out of them gettin’ all hot for it, but the last man to plow her field ended up in a ditch with his throat slit.”