Claiming His Defiant Miss

by Bronwyn Scott

  May gave him a considering look, understanding settling in her eyes. She finally saw what he’d endeavoured to tell her. Perhaps it was best she saw him for what he was, what he’d become: not quite a military man, but not quite a civilian either. The government had put him into a limbo of sorts, belonging to neither world. It was easy enough to do with men who were expendable, men with talents and a hunger to prove themselves who weren’t scions of noble houses. She had no words for him, but she leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder in a pondering gesture of acceptance.

  The waves were rougher now as they approached the mid-portion of their journey. Liam brought out his pistol and made a show of reloading it. A visible weapon was a keen deterrent to anyone who hadn’t yet decided to commit villainy.

  May was watching him, thinking, searching for words to put to her thoughts. ‘This is your world, isn’t it? Weapons and mayhem, getaways and bad men.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘No wonder Preston loves it so much. His other life, being the grandson of an earl, is so boring. I’m not the only one wrapped in cotton wool, you know?’

  Liam cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her to go on, one eye fixed on the man working ropes at the railing.

  ‘Preston wanted to join the army when Napoleon was afoot. He was furious when his friend Jonathon went. Jonathon was a diplomatic aide, but Preston was still jealous. He and my father fought most ferociously for the first time ever. Did he tell you that?’

  Liam nodded. ‘Not in so many words, but it came up.’ Preston had been supportively jealous about the chance to go to Serbia.

  ‘He was thrilled to head up the commission in charge of the coast, but he always felt as though he was settling.’

  ‘Catching the likes of Cabot Roan is not for men who “settle”.’ Liam rubbed at a smudge on the pistol barrel. He tossed a grin at the man at the rail and raised his pistol for a practice sighting.

  ‘No, clearly, it’s not.’ May smiled wryly and laughed for the first time since breakfast. She hadn’t much to laugh about. He’d upended her life today, taken her away from all the roots she’d just barely managed to put down.

  ‘They didn’t like you much in the village, anyway,’ Liam tried to joke.

  ‘No, they didn’t. They liked Bea better,’ May admitted with another laugh. ‘I’m too brassy.’

  ‘Is that why London didn’t like you either?’ he said more gently this time. May was beautiful to him, all the things a woman should be. It was a mystery to him why she hadn’t been snatched up. Did he dare hope it was because she’d resisted? That she’d been waiting for him? Did he want that to be the reason? Was it fair to want that, knowing the limits of what he could offer her?

  ‘Yes, most definitely. I made sure of that.’ She smiled again, but this smile was brittle.

  ‘You drove them away on purpose? Why?’ He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. Perhaps that had been his fault, too. Because of him, she’d been forced to push away eligible suitors: young handsome rich men, safe men. He’d taken her virginity and left her, thinking it would be for her own good, thinking it was what she wanted. If she was happy, he could live with that. But she hadn’t been happy. She’d isolated herself, she’d retreated from the life she was supposed to have.

  ‘Why not? There was no one who interested me and the surest way to avoid insipid men who wanted a doll on their arm and a dowry in the bank was to cut them down to size.’

  He shouldn’t laugh, but it was hard not to. He allowed himself a small chuckle—the image of May telling suitors exactly what she thought of them was too humorous to ignore. ‘It’s not funny, but it is,’ he confessed. ‘Surely one of them was worthy of you.’

  ‘No.’ May slid her glance his way. ‘Not one of them. The problem was, none of them was you and you were long gone by spring.’

  She’d missed him. After the anger had cleared, she’d missed him. Even five years later, hearing that did strange things to his stomach. ‘I’m sorry you missed me.’ He saw her shiver. ‘You’re freezing. Come here.’ He pulled her to him and took her against his body, sharing his heat with her as darkness closed in. The lights of the port of Leith glittered in the distance. It appeared they’d arrive safely, after all, without needing to shoot anyone. Apparently the captain was only desperate, not malicious. Maybe May was his good-luck charm. He wasn’t used to things going right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When had things gone wrong? This was exactly where she didn’t want to be. May stepped off the boat, with her head up, shoulders back, her body simultaneously alert and exhausted. The day had been beyond imagining. She felt Liam’s hand at her back, strong and reassuring. She could feel the vigilance of his body, tense and alert beside her as he scanned the dark docks, ready to protect her from whatever local danger roamed the docks after daylight. His voice was at her ear. ‘You’re safe now, May.’

  But she wasn’t safe. What about the unseen? There were things here he couldn’t protect her from, like the parents who waited at the town house. Here, she didn’t know what came next. Did they hide out in Edinburgh trying to avoid her parents and Cabot Roan on their own? If Liam went to any British authorities for help with the latter, it would be impossible to avoid the former. If he didn’t seek help, what chance did they stand against a man intent on harming them?

  Harm might be too tame a word. Then it struck her—Roan wanted her alive. She was leverage. She needn’t fear death at Roan’s hand, not immediately any way. But Liam did. He was an obstacle between Roan and his goal. Perhaps even something more now that he might have killed one of Roan’s men and there was a history between them. Roan would be out for Liam’s blood.

  Liam found them an inn a few streets off the docks, as quiet and respectable as they were going to find without entering Edinburgh’s New Town tonight. He paid for a room and ordered dinner. May let him handle the arrangements. She had mental arrangements of her own to make. Of all the revelations that had been made recently, the last was the hardest to fathom: Liam could die in the act of protecting her. His life would not be spared. She’d had a few weeks to adjust to the idea that Roan would come after her. While it seemed surreal that he had actually done just that, it was more devastating to realise the danger Liam was in—danger she could do much to prevent. She could protect him with one simple choice. They had to go to her parents. Her father could protect them both.

  Upstairs, the room was simple but clean. Liam busied himself laying a fire, unwilling to wait for a maid to come up and do it for him. ‘Dinner will be up soon.’ He paused from his work and looked about the room. ‘I’m sorry, May. I know it’s not what you’re used to. But I think it’s the best we can do tonight.’

  The words made her mad. After all she’d been through today, the last weeks, the last months, accommodations were the least of her worries. ‘I won’t break, Liam. I wish you could see that about me. I may have been raised wrapped in cotton wool, but I don’t need to be treated that way. I don’t want to be treated that way.’ She faced him, hands on hips. ‘What do you think I’m used to anyway? Silk sheets and china plates? You saw the cottage. Beatrice and I lived quite simply.’

  A knock at the door interrupted them, announcing the arrival of dinner. A maid and two boys hurried in with trays and laid the table. The smell of hot food nearly undid her. She was hungrier than she’d realised, more tired than she realised. Hot food sounded good, seemed so ‘normal’. She was suddenly struck with a fierce wave of longing for her cottage kitchen with its hearth, for a simple night of eating stew and bread at the little table. She felt tears threaten and fought them back. It was silly to be sentimental over such a small thing when there was so much else to be thankful for. She and Beatrice were safe. The baby was safe. She and Liam had eluded Roan, they were alive and free.

  Liam held out a chair for her by the fire. ‘No one would blame you if you did break. Today would have broke
n a lot of people. As for silk sheets and china plates, I saw how the mighty family of Worth lived. Those things are your due, May. I would not have you be less than you are.’ The old argument again, the old barriers again, subtly inserting themselves between them. Not in anger or hot words of accusation this time, but in caring and concern. That was something, wasn’t it? They’d begun three weeks ago with wary scepticism of each other, blaming each other for the disaster five years ago, and now, they’d moved past the blame. But they were still left with the choices. Would she choose to give up a life of safety and luxury for a life of danger with Liam if he asked? After today, would he ever ask?

  May met his gaze evenly. ‘You are my due, Liam.’ She removed the cover on the tureen, breathing in the warm steam rising from the stew as she ladled it into bowls for them. It smelled like venison. Venison and heaven. ‘I don’t know how many ways I can show you that.’ What would it take to prove to him that he was what mattered to her?

  Liam took the bowl. ‘Trust me with the truth, then, May. Why were you opposed to coming to Edinburgh?’

  ‘Is there wine?’ May glanced around the table.

  ‘There’s two.’ Liam produced a bottle in each hand.

  ‘Good. If I’m going to tell you the answer to that, I’m going to need wine and you are, too.’ She waited until he’d poured glasses for each of them. She’d like to wait until they’d eaten, until they’d drank a few glasses and the wine had taken the edge off the day. Maybe it would take the edge off her decision, too. But Liam was looking at her intently, waiting.

  ‘My parents are here,’ she said simply. Maybe that’s all she’d have to say. Maybe Liam would divine all those four words implied. His eyes merely narrowed, but she thought she saw his hand tighten around the stem of his wine glass. She was going to have to say more.

  ‘The day you arrived and the letter from Preston came, there was another letter, too, from my parents. They “invited” me to Edinburgh to join them for Christmas,’ May explained. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. King George’s visit to Edinburgh in August has made the city popular, has made all things Scottish popular.’ Her own thoughts in August had been with Bea and wanting to keep her friend safe from scandal. She’d not been paying attention to current events or thinking about how they might affect her parents’ decision in allowing her to come north. Her parents would want to follow the popular trend, too. Of course they were spending the festive season in Edinburgh, especially when it served two purposes.

  ‘They’re here?’ Liam gulped a swallow of wine. She almost laughed at the sight. There was Liam, the fearless bodyguard who’d taken on two armed men in the alley for her, suddenly turned into Liam the would-be suitor, faced with the universal panic of suitors everywhere; meeting the parents, most specifically, meeting her father, a man who had shown himself once before to be quite fierce.

  The moment of uncertainty passed. He was once again the bodyguard, all of his thoughts on her. ‘We don’t have to go to them. We can stay quietly in the city, somewhere.’

  She didn’t bother to test the logistics of such a possibility. There was no need to. Her mind was already made up. ‘Yes, we do.’ She reached across the small table and put a hand on his sleeve. She whispered her one hope, ‘Preston may be here. We can turn the ledger pages over to him.’ Once they reached the sanctuary of her father’s home, the chase would be over.

  ‘Roan will still want you as leverage,’ Liam warned.

  ‘Yes, but I think it will be much more difficult for him,’ she said earnestly. Did he give no thought for his own life? Surely, he’d arrived at the same conclusions she had. May felt compelled to point out the other benefit. ‘You will be safe, too.’

  Liam’s hand covered hers. ‘What about you, May? Will you be safe?’ He wasn’t talking about Roan now. He was probing. She’d only told him half the reason she didn’t want to be in the city. It wasn’t merely the presence of her parents, although heaven knew they were a big enough threat to her continued independence.

  May gave a throaty whisper, eyes engaging his. ‘I’ve never been safe.’ She didn’t want to tell him about the suitor who was waiting. She’d convinced herself he was inconsequential. She was just going to drive him off like she had every other potential gentleman. She wanted distraction now, for both of them. No more questions. ‘Did you say there was more wine?’

  Liam reached for the second bottle, sensing the change in her mood. He held it up. ‘You’re quite the drinker, May. First the brandy, then the wine.’

  She tossed him a coy smile and moved around the table, coming to kneel in front of him. ‘Who said the wine was for drinking?’ She ran a slow hand down the front of his trousers, moulding the fabric against the length of him.

  Liam’s eyes glinted. ‘Whatever else would we do with it, vixen?’

  May began working the flap of his breeches. ‘I’ve always wondered if wine could be licked or lapped.’ She ran her tongue across her lips, playing the flirt with a coy pout. ‘It’s too bad I don’t have anything to try my hypothesis on. I need something to lick.’ She felt him grow hard. She batted her eyelashes and was rewarded with a wicked grin. ‘Perhaps you might oblige me?’

  ‘I think I might have a sudden need to be licked.’ Liam’s tone had grown darkly seductive, reminding her she didn’t play this game alone. The pleasure seeker and the pleasure giver were dependent upon one another. ‘Maybe it’s you who is obliging me?’

  ‘Maybe it is,’ May whispered, pressing his thighs apart and tugging his trousers down past his hips. ‘You’re so big and hard, definitely in need of licking.’ She thumbed the swollen tip of him, liking how it caused a bead to form, liking how it made him grunt and shift.

  ‘You’d make aspic hard, May.’ Liam gave a rough growl.

  ‘As long as I make you hard, the aspic can do what it likes.’ She laughed, feathering his length with a teasing breath. ‘The wine, please.’

  She took the bottle and dribbled the wine along the length of him, eager to take him in her mouth before the drops could stain his trousers. ‘Mmm...’ She sighed, stroking her tongue languidly down the hard stalk of him, licking up the droplets, tasting the mingled flavour of salt and tannins. This was an intimate ambrosia indeed.

  Liam groaned for her, his body sliding lower in the chair, his legs wide, his hands in her hair as he began to pant, the leash of his self-control beginning to slip as her mouth took him further from the shores of reason. He made a long, guttural sound, part-pleasure, part-disbelief, as if he was shocked to discover such pleasure existed. His body began to clench, she could feel it in the tensing power of his thighs, hear it in the raggedness of his breathing, in the cry of her name on his lips, a desperate sound as if he would be lost without her.

  * * *

  He was losing her. She was sacrificing herself for him. You’ll be safe, too. He moved his hand idly through the tangle of her hair, her head resting on his thigh in the aftermath of their pleasure. His thoughts slowly assembled themselves. She’d poured herself into his pleasure as if there would never be another chance to do so. That worried him greatly. He understood it, of course. Her family was here. In general, their presence would curb her freedom. Their demand for her company would pull her away from the freedom of her cottage and her life on the firth. They would not allow her to go back to Beatrice. They’d want her to come home with them in January. May would see that alone as a very real threat to her. He suspected there was more to it than that, however. There was something more she wasn’t telling him, something that had indeed convinced her tonight would be their last night.

  The thought nearly broke him, his hand stilling in May’s hair. He’d barely survived losing her the first time. They were just beginning to find their way back to one another, their way back towards hope and possibility where they might be able to consider again what they could be to each other. Tonight coul
d not be the last. He would fight for her this time in ways he’d not been able to fight for her the last time. He’d fight the Cabot Roans of the world, he’d fight her father and he’d fight her if need be, starting right now. If she wanted. But that was a concern for another day.

  Liam shifted, signalling he wanted to get up. He had plans for them that didn’t involve a chair or hard decisions. May lifted her head and gave him room. He rose, drawing her to her feet. ‘Come to bed. We’re both wearing too many clothes entirely.’

  The tenor of wicked play that had marked the early evening was gone. This was serious lovemaking. There would be no rush, no roughness, no foray into experimenting with the more decadent arts of intimacy. May stood before him, her gaze searching his face for direction. She sensed the change in mood, but was unsure how to proceed.

  ‘Allow me,’ he whispered, his hands at the laces of her gown. Allow him to undress her as a bridegroom undresses his wife on that first night, allow him to make love to her, allow him to be her champion, to fight for her, for them. ‘I’ve never undressed you before, May.’ In the loft, she’d been the one to undress him. He let his fingers drift over her bare shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the delicate bump of her collarbone as he slid the straps of her chemise down her arms, pushing the thin garment to the floor, aware that she trembled beneath his touch.

  He was trembling, too. His usually steady hand shook just the slightest bit as he put a hand to her breast. To see her naked like this did something indescribable to him, something primal and fierce even as it reduced him to a man trembling with reverence, with a divine need to worship. Wordlessly, he took her hand, fingers interlacing, and led her to the bed. He would worship her here, would make the bed an altar to his devotion, his body an offering to her pleasure. He stirred, already recovered, already eager.