The Taming of Malcolm Grant

by Paula Quinn

  “Ye do it quite well fer a novice.”

  She heard the smile in his voice and wanted to touch it. See it. For now, she let it comfort her. After all, that’s why he said it, to relieve her embarrassment. Was it possible that everyone had been so wrong about him? Was he more than just a rogue who used women to get what he wanted?

  “You’re nothing like your reputation,” she told him.

  He laughed softly and then groaned. “I know what ye’ve heard…” He paused, rethinking his defense, and then apparently thinking better of it. “I earned m’ reputation. Besides, I canna’ go back and change m’ past.”

  She hadn’t asked him to. The idea of him going back and changing his past had never even crossed her mind. Had it crossed his? And why? Why would he care about what she thought of him? Malcolm Grant didn’t trouble himself with those things.

  “Would you?” she asked him now that he brought it to her attention. “Would you go back?”

  She waited on bated breath for his answer, letting only one thing distract her from his reply.

  His kiss. His passionate mouth taking hers over and over. Oh, if he would only do it again she would welcome his tongue.

  Or should she have slapped him?

  “I dinna’ know if I would go back.”

  His answer came but it offered her no comfort. She tried not to look disappointed.

  “Mayhap who I was in the past,” he continued, “has shaped me into who I’m supposed to be.”

  “You’re supposed to be a heartless rake?” she asked. It angered her that he believed it and she didn’t bother to hide her fierce scowl.

  “Something more than that, mayhap.”

  The stillness of his voice shook her to her bones. He wasn’t smiling or being glib now.

  The sudden touch of his fingertips on her face startled her. When he traced the pad of his thumb along the seam of her frown, she battled herself to keep from going soft all over him. What was he doing? Why had he said what he did? Why was he touching her so intimately—the way she would touch him to know how he looked?

  “Ye’re a bonny lass, Emmaline Grey.”

  Was this what it was like to be enchanted? She felt mesmerized, paralyzed, giddy with delight. This was Malcolm slaying her heart, being the charming rake he was rumored to be. He’d said Harry was correct about him, but she didn’t care. Not in this moment. Whatever spell he was weaving on her, she allowed it. Helpless to do anything else.

  But she did do something else. She lifted her hands to his face.

  Her touch, at first, was timid, but his slowed breath emboldened her onward, that and the curved symmetry of a face crafted by a master artist bent on outdoing all past and future work. The darkness was her canvas; her fingers were the brushes that painted him. Rising up from a square jaw chiseled from stone, she traced the curve of his full lips. When he kissed her fingers, her blood sizzled in her veins. She wanted him to kiss her again, and as she took in the rest of him, she pulled him in closer.

  Was this really her being so bold with a man? She couldn’t stop her heart from thumping so rapidly against him. He didn’t object and pressed his mouth to hers, stealing her breath and everything else inside her. She wanted to show him that she wasn’t afraid and plunged her tongue into his mouth, thrilled at her own boldness.

  He withdrew only enough to break their kiss and laughed softly against her lips. “Here, lass,” his sensual sorcerer’s voice drifted deep into her soul. “Like this.”

  Slipping his hand behind her nape, he tilted her head to take him at a better angle. He snatched away her breath again, covering her mouth with his in an intoxicating combination of tenderness and strength. He parted her lips gently and slid his tongue inside her.

  Her nipples grew tight and hard against the confines of her gown.

  Just a flick across the darkest recesses of her mouth and then gone again, over and over, devouring her until she groaned as something hot and tight twisted her innards and between her legs.

  But this was no time to cower at the power he possessed. She was no mouse and followed his lead, doing what he did, matching his ardor with an unleashed passion of her own.

  When his kisses fell to her throat, she tossed back her head and growled… No, that wasn’t her.

  It was Gascon.

  Malcolm lifted his head from her neck, leaving her lost in the remnants of his desire. When he bolted to his feet, he woke her from the spell he’d cast.

  “Someone’s oot there,” he said above her. “Stay here.”

  She heard the soft whoosh of his sword leaving its sheath as he stepped away from her. She wanted to call out when Gascon left her next. Instead, she scooted farther back into the shadows and felt around for a stick or a rock. She found a rock, about the size of her fist, and clutched it to her chest. Who was out there? Another Winther? What if he killed Malcolm? Gascon? She clutched her rock tighter.

  She waited as the seconds passed into minutes, with no other sound but the rain hitting the leaves and her heart beating in her ears.

  She prayed. She prayed for both her rescuer’s safety, and that she wouldn’t have to try to kill anyone again. She prayed to forget Malcolm Grant’s kiss. It would take a miracle. His mouth was decadent, his kiss, like sin. It made her forget his reputation, her loneliness, and…

  “Emma!”

  “Harry?” she called out to the voice just outside the enclosure. How had her brother found them?

  She smelled Gascon before he reached her and laved his tongue over her face. She held on to the beast as she rose to her feet.

  They’d been rescued. She should be thankful. She wasn’t.

  Harry was there, almost immediately, gathering her in his arms. “Malcolm told me it was the Winthers. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m well,” she assured him, listening to the background sounds for any sign of Malcolm. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”

  Her brother released her, but just enough to look at her. She wished she could do the same. He sounded frightened. Like he had after their parents and uncle died. She smiled to reassure him that she was unharmed.

  “When Gunter returned without you, I left him with the girls and headed out to find you myself. I stumbled upon Malcolm’s horse a few meters from here. The stallion had escaped the rain by standing beneath the biggest tree in the forest. Malcolm is fetching him now. He told me most of what happened and said you’d explain the rest.”

  She told him what happened and how she’d drugged two of the men and Malcolm killed the last. By the time she was done, Malcolm had returned to the shallow cave.

  “Malcolm,” her brother said, releasing her to turn to his friend. “You have my gratitude yet ag—Behind you!”

  Gascon growled then leaped away from Emma. Someone else had found them and come up behind Malcolm. She heard a scuffle and held her breath, clothes rustling together, a series of grunts and groans, and then it was over.

  “Malcolm?” she couldn’t stop herself from calling out. Was he harmed? He held out her arms in front of her and took a step. Gascon rushed to her side.

  “I’m fine,” Malcolm assured her, taking her hand as she reached him. “Thanks to Harry.”

  Harry remained silent. Emma could feel the force of his gaze on her, or likely on her hand.

  “’Tis likely one of the men who took Emma,” Malcolm continued, letting her hand go. His voice drifted across her ears like music on the wind. She was happy to hear it. “Her effects wore off.”

  She nodded. She hadn’t been able to give them as much of her mixture as she would have liked.

  “Is he dead?”

  “I’d say so,” Malcolm said. “His neck is broken.”

  And he’d broken it. The same hands that had swept gently over her features had just killed a man. She trembled in her spot and Gascon nuzzled his nose into her palm.

  “The other one is probably close by. We need to go.”

  Harry agreed and took her arm. “I’m glad
you’re unharmed, Emma. I fear,” he said, turning his face toward Malcolm, “the Winthers are not going to stop.”

  “They mentioned you refusing them Alison,” Emma told her brother. “Claiming she had a fever.”

  “I didn’t claim she had a fever. Bess did,” Harry said.

  Bess? Why would she deceive the Winthers for Alison’s sake?

  “We need to be off now.” Malcolm pushed them along.

  “You will ride back with me, Emma,” Harry said. She was too tired to argue. After a few moments, she wished she had.

  “What were you both doing in here since your escape?” Harry asked in front of her in his saddle.

  She scowled. “I’m no longer a child, Harry,” she told him. “I haven’t been one for a very long time. The time to make decisions for me is passed. You chose to leave, so you don’t get a say.”

  He turned a little and spoke to her over his shoulder. “Forgive me for wanting to put things right between us by protecting you and caring for your needs.”

  Oh, why did he have to sound so hurt? She guessed he was right a little. He was trying to catch up too fast.

  “We waited,” she gave in and told him. “We talked of his home and of Cailean.”

  “Did he tell you about Bess?”

  “You mean what she did for Alison?”

  “No. I mean what she did for him.”

  Him? Bess and Malcolm? No, he’d refused Fortune’s Smile’s most skilled prostitute twice now. He wouldn’t—

  “I found him yanking up his breeches when he answered the door earlier in Bess’s room. She, on the other hand, didn’t bother covering herself when she tumbled out of her bed after him.”

  Emma’s heart stopped, as did her breath. He was with Bess, in her bed, before he came looking for her? No!

  “Are you sure ’twas him?” She tried to stop her eyes from filling with tears, but it was no use. They came from someplace too deep. He’d deceived her, and she let him do it. How many women before her had been so skillfully seduced? He’d tried to warn her. This was as much her fault as his. She was glad her brother couldn’t see her.

  But, oh, Bess?

  She wouldn’t cry for him! He’d kissed her. He’d made her forget that he was nothing but a careless rogue, kissing one woman and then another in the next few hours! Everything he told her about his home life was part of his seduction to prey on her heart’s desires. Not only was Harry correct about him, but so was she. He was nothing like the men in her mother’s books.

  She wanted to go home and lock herself away in her room, but his brother was there. She had to help Cailean recover soon and send them both on their way. Oh, she was a fool! A witless child gullible to the charms of a snake.

  “Emma, what is it?” She heard Malcolm’s voice at her right and wiped her eyes. She hadn’t heard him riding up to her.

  “Emma?” Harry leaned over, trying to see her in the dim light.

  “I’m fine,” she assured her brother. “Everything seems to be hitting me now.”

  “You’re trembling, sister.”

  “Just bring me home.”

  “Emma?” Malcolm spoke her name again, but she didn’t answer.

  “Just bring me home, Harry.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Malcolm sat alone at a table in the brothel. There was no place else to go—and tonight, he wanted to be someplace else.

  They’d returned from the cave last night, the cave where he’d kissed her. God help him, he’d kissed her. And it tilted his world on its axis. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but hell, how was he supposed to resist her when her mouth drove him mad with desire? He’d never had to resist before. His promise to Harry resounded in his head, and damn it to hell, Harry saved him again! He couldn’t betray his friend.

  But hell, she hadn’t resisted. In fact, she kissed him! It was a wee bit chaste and raw, but her innocence just sealed her deeper in him. He thought of her soft throat and the scent of her when he kissed her skin. Her eagerness for him scalded his blood.

  What the hell happened then?

  He was sure she’d been weeping in the saddle with Harry. She had denied anything was amiss, but she hadn’t spoken a word to him since they’d returned. The instant she’d entered the brothel, she grabbed hold of Gascon’s fur and hurried to her room. He tried to follow, but she denied him, asking him to stay away.

  He did as she asked.

  “Whisky?”

  He looked up and groaned to himself when he saw Bess standing over him. The last thing he wanted was her company.

  “I’ve already had two cups.” He declined her offering.

  Why the hell he did it, he didn’t know. He should have a dozen more cups. He’d need that many cups of this watered-down shyt to restore his old self. And why not do it? He wasn’t born to this “two hearts, one love” lifestyle. Why was he fighting it? A couple of nights without sleep and he wasn’t strong enough to deny Bess, of all people.

  “Has the rogue turned into a priest?” Bess bent over him, dangling her bosoms just beneath his chin.

  “Was I a priest yesterday too?” He prayed she answered aye. He still couldn’t remember a damn thing.

  She tossed him a wicked smile.

  He felt off balance, a wee bit dizzy. He reached up with one hand and snatched the cup from Bess’s hand. He gave her wrist a tug and pulled her into the nearest chair with the other.

  “Or did you put something in my…” No, Bess hadn’t given him a drink. Harry had.

  “I don’t know what’s more insulting. That you think I would need to drug you to get you to bed, or that you don’t remember.” Bess tugged his arm. “Bring me upstairs and I’ll remind you.”

  “Mayhap later.” He deflected her hands and began to turn away.

  He found Mary’s gaze and aimed his most welcoming smile her way, ignoring Bess’s departure.

  He looked around at all the bonny faces. For a price, he had his pick of the bunch. Hell, when he all but signaled for another drink, five of them came running.

  This was who he used to be. It seemed, who he would always be. The scoundrel who only gave little bits of himself because giving more was impossible.

  No, mayhap not impossible.

  Hell, this wasn’t who he wanted to be. He’d given up long ago wanting more. He’d put away those desires of having what his kin had. But Emma made him want it again.

  He looked up the stairs and tapped his boot under the table. He wanted to go up there to her room and talk to her.

  “There ye are, brother.”

  Malcolm grinned at his brother descending the stairs with Alison at his side, offering aid he didn’t appear to need. He looked strong and fit again, the Cailean who Malcolm had taken from Camlochlin. Only better. His younger brother was happy again. He sure as hell looked happy with his eyes peeled to Alison while they reached the table and she separated her arm from his.

  “How are ye fairin’, Cailean?” Malcolm asked, standing at their arrival. “Are ye strong enough fer a drink?”

  Cailean pushed his curious hands away when Malcolm tried to feel for a fever. “Ye sound like Emma. Leave off me, then.”

  Malcolm glanced up the stairs and looked for her. “Is Emma joinin’ us?”

  “I doubt it,” Cailean said, holding out a seat for Alison first and then taking one beside her. “Since ’twas she who asked us to give her a few hours alone.”

  Malcolm looked up the stairs again. This time, purposefully forgetting, soon—and frighteningly—enough, who he thought he was and all the fair maidens ready to wait on him. He may have been that man once, but he wasn’t anymore. He didn’t want any of these women.

  “Alone,” Cailean repeated, reading his brother’s thoughts.

  “Of course,” Malcolm reined in with a gracious smile that took everything he possessed to maintain. “She suffered an ordeal yesterday.”

  “But thanks to you, she’s returned safe and sound,” Bess quipped, returning to the table, sit
ting, this time, near Alison.

  Was Bess a danger to Emma? Should he be watching her more closely? He didn’t want to watch her, or be with her, and he hated himself for doing it. He may as well admit it, he thought, calling for more whisky. He wanted to be with Emma.

  When Harry took a break from counting his coin and joined them for even more drinks, Malcolm settled back into his chair and remained there, none any wiser that he’d been moments away from springing to his feet and making a fool of himself.

  No. She wished to be alone. Alone she would be. He pushed her out of his thoughts and enjoyed the next hour with those present at his table, along with Gunter and Brianne, who joined them a bit later.

  They laughed over how much Cailean owed Harry for Alison’s time. But Malcolm could see more in his brother’s eyes than a mere dalliance, and when Cailean spoke next, Malcolm knew he was correct. “I plan on takin’ her from ye, Harry.”

  “Not without getting me a replacement.”

  “Ah, but what ye ask is impossible,” Cailean drawled. “No one can replace her.”

  “Well then,” Harry told him, stretching out his hand for his third cup. “You won’t be taking her anywhere. Isn’t that correct, Malcolm?”

  Cailean’s and Alison’s eyes fell on him, waiting for his answer.

  Malcolm nodded, wondering what the hell he was going to do about taking Bess. He’d given his word to get her out of the brothel. He sure as hell couldn’t take her to Camlochlin. His mother and every other woman there would go after him with anything that wasn’t tied down.

  “Ye canna’ take a part of a man’s business,” he said, “and leave him without a sufficient source to keep his establishment runnin’.”

  Cailean’s eyes opened wider, like vast, indigo skies. “Where the hell am I supposed to find a prostitute who doesna’ already work here?”

  Malcolm shrugged and went back to his drink. “Try a different brothel.”

  Cailean argued something but Malcolm didn’t hear. He spotted Emma at the top of the stairs with her enormous gray hound at her side. Her head was tilted slightly in his direction like she was searching for him—or for Harry.