Daring

by Jillian Hunter

  Connor swung around in the chair. The dressing screen had moved. He was sure of it. “The dressing screen moved,” he said quietly.

  “Oh.” Maggie bit her lip. “The dog is probably hiding. You know how playful Daphne is. Will you help me?”

  He thought he saw a tear tremble in her lashes. The sadness of that single teardrop tore him apart. Seducing her in her current mood was not looking like a good prospect. Besides, this was more important, an intimacy he had not anticipated or planned.

  “What do you want me to do?” he said softly.

  “Use your legal talents to help me find Robert. You must have connections all over Europe.”

  He couldn’t refuse her. He couldn’t stand the pain in her eyes. “I’ll do everything I can. How long ago did you leave?”

  “Ten years.”

  Ten years. By his calculation she would have been only thirteen at the time. The same age as when he’d lost his parents. A woman-child alone in a frightening world. At least he’d been left his sisters, although it was small consolation in light of the fact they had survived to make his life miserable.

  “I have several friends in France.”

  “He isn’t in France,” she said quietly. “I’ve learned that much.”

  He braced his elbows on his knees, thinking. “We’ll find him,” he promised her. “I’ll do everything—”

  She rushed forward before he could finish, flinging her arms around his neck. “You’re not at all the beast everyone believes you to be,” she whispered fiercely.

  “Don’t be so sure of that, lass.” He kissed her, hard and deep, plundering the sweetness of her mouth, running his hands over her little body until her breath came in uneven gasps,

  “Do you really think you can find him, Connor?”

  No, he didn’t, but if this was a sampling of her gratitude for small favors, he was damn well going to try.

  “I can’t do anything about finding your brother tonight.” He traced his forefinger down the slope of her breast, pleased when her nipple puckered in response. His own body shuddered in anticipation. “Let’s start on it in the morning, all right?”

  He wanted for her to give him permission to resume his love-play. If she’d been anyone else, they would have been cavorting in bed an hour ago. But Maggie only blinked as if he had sprinkled ice water in her face. She rolled off the chair and retreated to the desk to rifle through a small rosewood box.

  Connor clenched the sides of his chair to keep from physically assaulting her. “What are you doing, Maggie?” His skin burned where the imprint of her body lingered like a brand, heating his blood.

  The candlelight cast her into an alluring silhouette, thighs, hips, breasts. He rubbed his face with both hands. She didn’t hear him, preoccupied with the clutter on her desk. She shoved back the curly black hair that fell into her face.

  “I don’t want to make love our first time in this room,” he said, staring around as if seeing it for the first time, “My bed is more comfortable. It’s bigger too. I can’t fit my legs into this one.”

  “Of course you can’t,” she murmured, obviously not listening. “Aunt Flora kept all our family papers for me. Secret documents, she called them. Spies and secrets—that was my father’s life. Perhaps you can make sense of them. You’re an intelligent man, even if you don’t always act it. Here.” She waved a wad of yellowed correspondence in his direction.

  Feeling undignified in his half-nakedness and unrequited lust, he stood and strode forward to take them. “Thank you,” he said dryly.

  Her face was anxious. “I hope they help. Let me know if you have trouble with the translations.”

  His mouth flattened at the thought of the lonely night ahead. “This is not what I had in mind.”

  She picked up his shirt from the floor and hung it over his arm. “I’m sure you’re eager to start. Would you like Mrs. Urquhart to bring you up a pot of tea and oatcakes? Mental work is such a strain, isn’t it? Don’t stay up too late.”

  “I don’t need tea,” he said. “I want you. Naked and helpless beneath me. I doubt I’ll be able to get much sleep after practically disrobing and panting at your feet like a—”

  The dressing-screen shook. Connor stared at it in suspicion. Maggie, noticing the direction of his gaze, took his arm to steer him to the door.

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this,” she said, nudging him to walk.

  “Well, I do. I want to bed you.”

  “You have such an earthy sense of humor, my lord.”

  He stared over her head at the screen. “You’re keeping something else a secret, aren’t you? Do you have a man hiding back there?”

  “A man? Where would I find a man? She forced all six-feet-three inches of him out into the hall, breathless with the effort. “And if I had one, why would I hide him behind the screen? I am offended.”

  “And I’m frustrated. I—”

  She closed the door with gentle finality, her strained smile the last image in Connor’s mind before he turned to see Dougie and three other male servants staring agog at him from the hall. He grunted; he was in no mood to explain why he was standing bare-chested in the dark and having a discussion with himself about his sexual frustration.

  “Why are the lot of you skulking about at this hour?” he demanded.

  Dougie whipped out his handkerchief and began polishing the life out of the banister. The two other men hastened to straighten the family portraits on the wall. “I’m dusting, sir,” Dougie said in a martyred voice. “No one else in this house will do it. The women won’t lift a finger.”

  Men dusting at midnight.

  Connor walked sedately to his room, pretending he was not naked to the waist. No one said a word. The Emperor in his new clothes. The most powerful man in Scotland. Lord save him, what a joke. The most helpless was a more apt title. Helpless and hopelessly besotted.

  Maggie plopped down in the chair with a weak sigh of relief. “You can come out now, Mrs. Urquhart. He’s gone.”

  The housekeeper crept toward the chair like a mouse after the cat had disappeared. “That was brilliantly done, my lady. You had me all a-quiver with the suspense. I wasn’t sure which of you would win in the end.”

  “Neither was I.” Maggie closed her eyes. “I’m ashamed to admit that I almost lost control of the situation several times.”

  “That would have been during the silences.”

  “It must have embarrassed you horribly.”

  “Not really,” Mrs. Urquhart said. “You become accustomed to that sort of thing when his lordship visits.”

  Maggie lifted her head. “You must be talking about the chits again. Well, I trust there will be no more of that nonsense in this house.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t think so,” Mrs. Urquhart agreed. “His lordship never treated the chits the way he treats you. He never treated Mrs. Macmillan like any one of the chits either.”

  Maggie heaved another sigh. “I can’t see Ardath allowing a situation to get out of control, which brings us back to the problem of you and your husband, and the example I meant to set tonight. A woman must use subtle tactics to prove a point. She must be alluring and aloof at the same time. She mustn’t give away everything at once.”

  The housekeeper looked doubtful. “But I’ve been married to Dougie for months. There isna much left to give, in the biblical sense, I mean.”

  “Then you’ll have to create a little mystery, a little conflict.”

  Mrs. Urquhart lowered her voice. “Is that what you’ve done?”

  “There’s been enough mystery and conflict in my life for ten women,” Maggie admitted sadly.

  “If I may be so bold, my lady, may I ask you another personal question?”

  “Under the circumstances, it would not be inappropriate.”

  Mrs. Urquhart whispered, “Are you in love with his lordship?”

  Maggie’s lips slanted into a wistful smile. “Undoubtedly. But things between us are in a bit of a
muddle, what with him trying to find his sister, then protect and seduce me at the same time. Not to mention the difference in our backgrounds. My family would consider that I was marrying down.”

  “But he is the Lord Advocate.”

  “It is a point in his favor.”

  “He’s a very determined man,” Mrs. Urquhart said, looking worried. “I feel an obligation to warn you. I’ve never known a woman to refuse him.”

  “It does seem that I am resisting the inevitable, doesn’t it?”

  Mrs. Urquhart shook her head. “I must say that once he removed his shirt, I never thought he’d leave this room without insisting he have his way with you.”

  Maggie shivered, trying not to imagine what “having his way” entailed—and what she had missed. “I experienced a few moments of intense anxiety myself.” She had experienced intense longing too, but the housekeeper didn’t need to know that.

  “I can’t imagine how anyone so young has garnered this much experience in relations with the opposite sex. You have obviously learned a lot living with the criminals.”

  “None of the criminals I dealt with were anything like his lordship,” Maggie said, staring worriedly at the door. “I hope to heaven I haven’t overestimated my abilities.”

  Chapter

  29

  Rebecca swung from the hearth and stared through the open door of her cottage, the fine hairs on her nape lifting. She put down the horn spoon she had been stirring her gruel with, a nightly treat for her nocturnal friends, the hedgehogs. A shadow had fallen across the sunken stone doorstep.

  The shadow was too large to be one of the animals who came to her for food and shelter. At one o’clock in the morning, it was late for a friend to visit.

  Her young deerhound, Ares, growled deep in his throat, rising from her left side. The hare Rebecca had released from a trap with the injured hind leg pressed back deeper in its pine hutch under the sink. The raven with the broken wing stirred in its cage.

  “Who is it?” she asked in a voice that betrayed no fear. “If you are hurt, please come inside.”

  It wouldn’t have been the first time that a stranger had taken refuge in her cottage, a servant unexpectedly discharged from her position, a homeless Highlander, or simply a lonely traveler who’d heard of Rebecca’s unconditional hospitality and healing skill.

  She hurried to the door. She was more afraid she’d scare off the poor soul than that he was some kidnapper skulking about in her beloved woods. She couldn’t imagine anyone abducting Sheena. The girl was spirited enough to take on a shipload of pirates single-handedly and emerge from the encounter unscathed.

  “I don’t think you’re taking this at all seriously,” Connor had scolded Rebecca as they’d walked through the woods together. “You’re far too easy a target, a defenseless woman living by herself.”

  Connor. Her big brother, protector, friend, and all-around pain in the neck. Rebecca was secretly proud of him. She still suffered a shock of delight every time she saw him, that handsome, strapping Viking of a man who had guided her clumsily through puberty and her first painful romance. Connor, an adolescent himself at the time, had dispensed advice with an ignorance that made her burst into giggles to this day. She didn’t know how either of them had survived.

  “If a boy sticks his tongue in your mouth, give him a good kick in the privates.”

  “Stay away from the parson’s son, Rebecca. He had his hand down his trews during the sermon.”

  He had fought for his sisters. He had bullied them, bored them to tears with his lectures. He had changed Sheena’s nappies, and now that ungrateful girl had repaid him by getting herself abducted. In Rebecca’s mind there was no doubt that Sheena had brought this evil thing upon herself, either because of her own recklessness or by associating with the wrong people.

  Rebecca could have throttled her. Not only had Sheena embarrassed Connor by getting herself abducted, she was now threatening Rebecca’s happiness. In typical fashion, Connor was using the kidnapping as an excuse to force Rebecca back into the city where he could keep her under his thumb.

  And, where, like a transplanted wildflower, she would promptly die.

  “You won’t die in the city,” Connor had said in exasperation. “What a preposterous notion. You need a husband.”

  “I’m never getting married, Connor. Never. You control the country. You may not control my life.”

  He couldn’t understand this. Her unconventional passion for solitude, her lack of desire for the security of marriage, flew in the face of the orderly existence, the traditional position of male dominance that he had fought to represent. He enjoyed being the epitome of power and authority.

  Her dog, Ares, rushed past her to the door, teeth bared, hackles rising. She gently nudged him aside with her foot. “Stop that. You’ll frighten off our visitor. Sit, you great silly beast. No one is going to harm us.”

  But she felt a flash of fear slide down her spine before she could suppress it.

  There was no one at the door.

  She released a deep breath, grasping the hound by the scruff of the neck. “Well, how stupid. It must be all the talk of Claude’s wounded man. We won’t mention this to Connor, Ares, or he’ll stage a manhunt in the woods and frighten off all our animal friends.”

  Chapter

  30

  Connor shoved the hillock of papers to the side of his desk and glanced in surprise at the window, wondering when morning had broken. Even here in the Highlands the weight of his responsibility gave him no rest. His preparations for the Balfour case, his petition to Parliament for jury improvements, the letters that had begun to arrive from legal associates who’d heard about Sheena. Finding Sheena. The queries to France for Maggie.

  Seducing her. Making her fall in love with him. Plotting excuses to keep her in his life when the situation with his sister got straightened out.

  He studied the note from Sheena that sat on his desk, mocking his worry for her. Somehow its rudeness reassured him. The tone was so much like his impertinent sister, rubbing his nose in their strained relationship. Could Rebecca be right? Had Sheena staged her own abduction to punish him for breaking up her romance with that convict? It was an agonizing thought.

  Well, whether he found her or not, he would have to return to Edinburgh within a fortnight. He intended to take Maggie with him, not as a witness but as a wife. She was the only silver lining in this cloud, and he didn’t intend to lose her.

  He glanced up at the forceful knock at the door. “Come in;”

  He wanted it to be her. Maggie, in her ballet costume, come to brighten his mood, to tease and tantalize, and take his mind off his worries. A smile of anticipation formed on his face only to fade as he recognized Claude, looking as stiff as a gravestone.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, sensing trouble.

  The butler exhaled through pinched nostrils. “I know it is not my place to say this, sir, but—”

  “No, it isn’t. But we both know you’re going to say it anyway so get it over with.”

  “It is about the matter of your seducing my mistress.”

  “Good grief. I think I must be hearing things.”

  “I have taken the aforementioned matter into consideration, sir. A decision regarding my permission will be issued in due time.”

  “Your permission?” Connor grinned and gave the globe on his desk a dizzying spin. “You’re having me on.”

  “No, sir. It would be inappropriate for a man in my position to display a sense of humor.”

  “Come on, Claude. You can tell the truth, man to man.” He winked broadly. “Maggie put you up to this, didn’t she?”

  “If by ‘Maggie’ you are referring to Lady Marguerite, then I believe the situation is understood between us.” Claude hesitated. “Is there something wrong with your eye, sir?”

  Connor clapped his hand down somewhere in Asia, bringing the world to an abrupt halt. “Great God. You’re serious.”

  “Your reputati
on does not work in your favor, my lord, if I do say so. However, the biggest obstacle, in my opinion, is your background.”

  “This is absurd,” Connor said. “You are a butler. I am the Lord Advocate of Scotland. I could have you—do you know the extent of my power?”

  “Threats will not work on me, sir. I cannot be bullied or bought. My loyalty runs deeper than that.” Claude began to back toward the door, his dignity intact. “But all is not lost. I have taken note of several character points on your side.”

  “What a relief. I was beginning to worry.”

  Claude frowned. “A light breakfast will be served in fifteen minutes. I have volunteered my help until this dispute with your staff is settled. Lady Marguerite is expecting you in the winter parlor. May I suggest, sir, that you change into fresh attire?”

  “What’s wrong with my attire?” Connor said darkly.

  “Hunting boots at the table, sir.” Claude gave an imperceptible shake of his head. “It just isn’t done.”

  Connor scowled. “Yes, it is.”

  “Not if you want my approval,” Claude said in a sly undertone.

  With a formal bow, he left the room, abandoning Connor to his amused belief. “Hell,” he said aloud, “I think I’m being blackmailed by the butler.”

  Connor threw down his napkin and pulled out his pocket watch. “We’ve been waiting for breakfast for over an hour. It’s almost time for supper. How long does it take to make a simple meal?”

  “Quite a while if Claude is overseeing the preparations,” Maggie answered patiently. “He insists on perfection.”

  Connor studied her across the table, thinking the word perfection applied to her. She looked as fresh and radiant as a rosebud after a rainstorm. Clearly she hadn’t lost any sleep over thwarted lust last night. He released a sigh. “Why is your butler overseeing not only my breakfast table but my life? How have I allowed this to happen?”

  She smoothed a wrinkle from the yellowed wrinkled tablecloth. Her hair was arranged in a loose chignon, secured with several pearl-headed bodkins. Connor’s gaze followed the graceful arch of her neck down into the deep indentation of her breasts.