Daring

by Jillian Hunter

  “Oh, Connor.”

  “Take a sip of wine,” he urged her. “Everything will be all right.”

  She drank the entire glass that Claude solicitously brought her; in the back of her mind she kept thinking that Connor was due for a little shock himself when he heard about Sheena’s selfish prank. But even her concern about that vanished as she gazed across the room at the silent man who dared not approach her, his face hidden in shadow.

  Her brother. He was alive. Thank you, God. Thank you, God.

  “I know it’s you, Robert. Why are you hiding in this old castle? Is this intrigue still necessary after all these years? It was you that followed us across the moor, wasn’t it? Robert, answer me. Oh, you’ve made me so angry. You and Sebastien in your frightening masks.”

  “The last thing I wanted was to frighten you,” he said softly.

  She handed her empty glass to Sebastien, rising to her feet “I never gave up hope. Why did it take you so long?” She gripped his hands, trying unsuccessfully to turn him toward her. “Why?” she whispered. “Why won’t you look me in the face?”

  “The soldiers torched the house that night, Marguerite,” he explained solemnly, refusing to move away from the window. “You were correct in remembering that you ran up the staircase to warn Jeanette. Unfortunately, the soldiers had gotten there first. You burst in before I had a chance to help.”

  She was grateful for the wine that had warmed her as Robert began his story, filling in the gaps in memory that had haunted her since her last night in the chateau. She did not acknowledge how much she appreciated Connor’s powerful arms around her shoulders, but she doubted that she would have been able to endure the truth which Robert painfully revealed.

  “The room was on fire,” Robert continued in a voice so low she had to strain to hear it. “Jeanette had been burning Papa’s papers when the police arrived. They incriminated several of our friends.”

  Maggie closed her eyes. “They killed her.”

  “They raped her,” Sebastien corrected gently. “They interrogated her, then left her to burn to death while they searched the rest of the chateau.”

  Maggie shook her head in frustration, tears burning her throat. “I still don’t remember. Why can’t I remember?”

  “It’s a blessing, perhaps,” Robert said, turning finally to regard her. “I shall never, ever forget the look on your face when I found you. You were kneeling over Jeanette’s body, a little tigress trying to defend her with an ancient sword. Claude and I had to drag you outside to get you to safety.”

  Maggie rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Why did you keep this from me, Claude?”

  The elderly servant bowed his head in heartfelt remorse. “Your mother made me swear I would protect you from pain at all costs. I did not know what happened to Robert and Jeanette after that night. I prayed you would not remember what you had seen. I… I hoped you would forget. Keeping you safe was all that mattered.”

  She shook her head dazedly. “Deep inside, a part of me remembered. Those scars never healed.”

  “Nor mine.” Robert raised his face to hers, allowing the candlelight to reveal the brand he bore from that night. When she did not flinch in revulsion, but only lovingly raised her hand to his disfigured cheek, he smiled in sadness and relief.

  “The doctors did not think I would survive,” he said. “My back and legs were burned as well. Sebastien sent me to the West Indies, where Papa had modest land holdings. For years I dared not try to track you down. I was sick in body and mind. I hoped that with Aunt Flora you would assume a new identity and forge a life free from fear.”

  “You might have sent me word, if only to let me know that you were alive.”

  “It took time to trace you,” he replied. “And who was I to draw you back into a world of danger and subterfuge?”

  “Your father left behind documents that implicated many highly placed people in treason,” Sebastien added gently. “It was my job to make sure that none of the family’s enemies had survived.”

  “Including members of the British nobility,” Connor guessed.

  “Yes.” Robert released a deep sigh. “I had to be certain that by revealing my identity, I was not endangering her life. And, of course, that she was not an impostor posing as a de Saint-Evremond.”

  She gave a faint sniff of resentment. “Why would anyone bother?”

  He raised his brow in astonishment. “To lay claim to the family fortune, naturally. The estates have been restored, Marguerite. It is time to resume our old life. I am here to take you home.”

  Connor could practically feel the excitement shoot through Maggie’s small body like an arrow, and it was all he could do not to grab her and run from the castle when she worked her hand free from his.

  Home.

  I am here to take you home.

  He gazed at her in dread, waiting to hear her protest, to refuse, to insist she had already found her home. Instead, she stared at her brother’s scarred face and contemplated his offer as if he had just handed her the world on a platter. Love and loyalty blazed in her eyes. He felt desperate to draw her back to him, to remind her of what they had shared. He knew how much she loved and needed her family. He could protect her from danger, but could he prevent her from leaving him of her own free will?

  “What happened to Jeanette?” she said in a pained whisper.

  Robert averted his face. Claude gave a mournful shake of his head and began to polish the sideboard with the cuff of his sleeve. Sebastien contemplated a spot on the floor. The agony in Maggie’s voice made Connor want to shake Robert until his teeth rattled. Hell, if there was bad news, why drag it out any longer?

  “She… she’s dead?” Maggie said, folding down into the chair.

  “She is not dead,” Robert said stiffly, “although for the disgrace she has brought the family name, she may as well be. I am seriously considering disowning her.”

  Maggie shot to her feet. “This is unconscionable, punishing our poor sister because she was the victim of a brutal crime. She couldn’t help being assaulted by those soldiers.”

  Connor’s upper lip curled in contempt. “As one man to another, I find your attitude repugnant. In fact, I’m seriously considering taking you by the lapels of your fancy jacket and throwing you out the window.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” Robert said in horror. “I would never blame Jeanette for her bravery that night. It’s what she has made of herself since then that I abhor.”

  Maggie cast a bewildered look at Sebastien. “Don’t tell me my sister has become a prostitute.”

  “Not quite,” Robert replied. “However, I venture to say it is the next step. Jeanette is engaged to a butcher, but the worst part is what she is doing to support herself.” He took a quivering breath like a dragon about to blow fire from its nostrils. “It’s with the deepest shame that I inform you Jeanette has become a professional dancer. Your sister is a ballerina.”

  “I’m shocked to my toenails,” Connor said with a straight face.

  Maggie dropped her head back against the chair. “Somebody bring me a glass of water before I expire of the embarrassment.”

  Robert smiled grimly, the unmarred side of his face with its aquiline features actually handsome in the half-light. “Very amusing, infants. Marguerite, you are no better yourself—breaking into houses, giving deportment lessons for a living. I can see I have my work cut out for me before the wedding.”

  “Wedding?” Maggie lifted her head and glanced questioningly at Connor, who froze in mid-motion with another wedge of white cheese halfway to his mouth.

  “Are you offering to pay, your grace?” he asked hopefully.

  Robert ignored him. “I think it might be better for us all if your acquaintance took his leave now, Marguerite. I understand that he is involved in a criminal case and probably will appreciate a reprieve from guarding you.”

  Connor pushed aside the tray Claude held out, his thick eyebrows gathering in a scow
l of displeasure. “This is my wedding. While you might be a person of rank in your country, I am also a man of some importance who must consider public opinion. I want to be in on planning the ceremony.”

  Robert looked away.

  Connor looked upset. “I am the Lord Advocate of Scotland. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “I can’t say that it does.” Robert turned to Maggie. “Have I met him before today? He does seem vaguely familiar.”

  “He looks like the statue in the garden that you covered in gold paint.” She braced both hands on the arms of the chair. “What are you planning, Robert? I have had more than enough trouble in my life.”

  Robert withdrew his handkerchief from his vest pocket and pressed it to his nose. “Trouble,” he said with a sniff. “Could anyone possibly have gotten into more trouble than you?” He gestured to the thick dossier of papers on the sideboard. “The Chief, Marguerite? Heaven’s Court? And that name…” He tsked.

  “Name?” she said darkly.

  Disapproval deepened his voice. “Maggie Saunders? Was there ever anything so common? I shall have to whisk you off to Marseilles for a good six months to scrub the taint of the sewers off you. With any luck Bernard won’t hear about your scandalous past until you’re a blushing bride and in the family way. He believes you have been safely locked away in a convent all these years.”

  “Bernard.” Maggie paled. “Bernard is still alive?” she asked weakly.

  Connor’s head snapped up. He couldn’t decide whether it was hope or horror that had caused that quivery catch in her voice, but he did know he didn’t like it. “Who is Bernard?” he demanded.

  “Bernard is very much alive,” Robert said in answer to Maggie’s question. “He is also the heir to his father’s titles and Norman estate. He has been loyal to your memory, Marguerite. He never married. He always believed in his faithful heart that you two would be reunited.”

  “So he finally became the seventh Comte de la Tourette.” A secretive smile crossed her face. “I can’t believe it. Do you remember the time he built that pirate ship and sailed downstream to besiege the chateau?”

  Claude coughed into his hand to suppress a chuckle. “You counterattacked him with a barrage of arrows, mademoiselle. It was a grand battle.”

  Sebastien smiled. “You were a very good shot, Marguerite. He didn’t sit for a week, as I recall.”

  Robert was grinning from ear to ear. “And when he locked our German tutor in the dungeon? He was the bravest boy we knew.”

  Connor glanced around the room in disbelief. “Excuse me. Before we break into a rousing chorus of ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ would someone tell me who the bloody hell Bernard is?”

  Claude rolled his eyes in disapproval.

  Sebastien grimaced in embarrassment.

  Robert muttered something about “Scots barbarian” and proceeded to continue his conversation with Maggie. “The nuptials will be held in Paris, of course. Bernard’s eldest brother is a priest now.”

  “Nuptials?” Connor smiled nastily. “I have the distinct impression that I’m being ignored. Do you have any idea what Maggie and I mean to each other?”

  Maggie sprang out of her chair to grasp his arm, talking in an undertone. “I’ll handle this in my own way, Connor. Just allow us an evening together to straighten everything out.”

  He shrugged off her hand. “We’ll straighten it out now. I want your brother to understand how you and I feel about each other.”

  “I’ll tell him tomorrow,” Maggie whispered.

  Connor glared at her. “Tell him now.”

  “Yes, tell me now,” Robert said quietly.

  Maggie raised her face. “We’re in love, Robert. I should think it was obvious.”

  He swallowed hard as if this were more than he could accept. “People in strained circumstances sometimes fall prey to feelings they would not normally entertain. You have both feared for your lives. You have been forced into an unnatural relationship.”

  Maggie shook her head. “It’s the most natural relationship I’ve ever known. I love him, Robert, and I would have loved him if we’d been two strangers who bumped into each other at a ball.”

  Robert stared at her. “But he was only your bodyguard—”

  “I’m not giving her up,” Connor said. “I can’t.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you have ruined my sister?” Robert said softly.

  Sebastien smiled uneasily. “What a question. Can’t we just enjoy our reunion for now?”

  Connor squared his shoulders, aware of the anger simmering beneath Robert’s silence. He couldn’t admit that he and Maggie had been intimate. Not to her own brother. He would never humiliate her that way.

  “Tell him the truth,” Maggie said. “Connor, let my brother know what we did last night.”

  “We drank wine and played cards,” Connor said stiffly. “Your sister is as pure as the day I met her.”

  “No,” Maggie whispered.

  Sebastien shot Connor a grateful look. “What did I tell you, Robert? His reputation is undeserved. He’s an honorable man.”

  Robert grinned at Connor. “Forgive me for even asking. You see, I love Marguerite so very much, and if you had ruined her, I’m afraid I’d have had no choice but to call you out. She would have lost one of us to a duel.”

  Connor blinked. “Are you serious?”

  “Oh, quite,” Robert replied, gazing at Maggie with tears in his eyes. “I saw one sister dishonored and was helpless to save her. I would cheerfully die before allowing that to happen again.”

  Connor felt Maggie touch his arm again. “Please don’t fight him, Connor. Oh, please, please don’t,” she whispered. “I’ll handle this in my own way. Just allow us an evening together to explain how I feel.”

  Numb, he shook his head. “No.”

  “Yes.” She dug her fingers into his arm. “He means it. You don’t know him.”

  He turned his head to stare down at her. “I’m not letting you go.”

  “I won’t go. I promise.”

  Connor’s throat tightened. She loved him, but she also loved her brother. What if Robert persuaded her to return to France for just a little while? What if, once she saw her home, she began to forget her bodyguard?

  “Don’t leave me, Maggie,” he said.

  “Let me be alone with my sister,” Robert said. “We have many things still to discuss.”

  “Your coat, sir?” Claude said in blatant distaste, holding out Connor’s favorite hunting jacket with his face averted.

  “I’ve enjoyed knowing you, Connor,” Sebastien called from the sideboard. “I hope you will keep in touch.”

  A maid flittered into the room with a platter of petits fours.

  Four burly footmen appeared to usher Connor out. He pushed them away, backing into the hall with his eyes never leaving Maggie’s face. “Who’s Bernard?” he shouted.

  “He was my betrothed,” Maggie said hesitantly as, once again, a door to her was closed in his face. “You know how these old families are, Connor. Tradition, engagements made over the cradle. Don’t worry, though. I’ll straighten everything out.”

  As Connor stood, stunned, in the dark unlit corridor, he could hear Robert’s voice ringing behind those closed doors.

  “What a beast that man is, Marguerite, involving you in a kidnapping and murder case. I half expected him to start swinging a battle-ax at our heads. But then Scotland has never been a civilized country, has it? Ah, well. It is a good thing, perhaps, that we are in such a remote spot. It will make our departure in the morning that less conspicuous. We will have to contrive a respectable past for you, of course. The convent is safe, and Bernard will be none the wiser.”

  Connor’s blood boiled as he waited outside that door for the refusal from Maggie that never came. And he was still standing there, burning with betrayal twenty minutes later, listening to the cheerful sounds of family celebration within when the duchess found him.

  He gave her a grim s
mile. “Robert is right about one thing. We Scots are still primitive in our rituals. By law Maggie and I would only have to pledge our troth to each other to be legally wed.”

  “Then pledge it and get on with the bedding, if you haven’t taken care of that part already, which I suspect you have.” The duchess nodded briskly at Connor’s silence. “I thought so.”

  “Hell, hell, hell.” He broke away from the door to kick the dark stone wall, stubbing his toe for his trouble.

  The duchess yanked off her cap and ran her hand through her untidy mop of silver-gray curls. “Stop creating such a fuss. You’re the Lord Advocate. Make up a law about Frenchmen inhabiting Scottish castles.”

  “What damn good would that do?” Connor paced the narrow perimeters of the twisting passageway. “He’ll either take her away in the morning to marry this Count of the Toilette, or I’ll be forced to shoot him. And if she objected, I didn’t hear it. She’s going to leave me, Morna.”

  “She loves you, Connor.”

  “I know that, but if her brother persuades her to postpone marrying me, I won’t be able to stand it. I need her now. Once he convinces her to visit France, I’ll have to fight to get her back.”

  “Family ties are powerful. There’s a chance you’re right.”

  He gave her a black scowl. “It’s not a chance I care to take.”

  “Then just be a man about it and abduct her,” the duchess said practically. “That’s what my husband did when my father was holding out for the crown prince of Hartzburg. Climbed a ladder to my bedroom and had me breeding before my father ever realized I was gone.”

  “Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.”

  The duchess gave him an encouraging thump on the back. “Do it, lad. You can use my coach as a getaway. Becky and I will cover you. Ardath can make the arrangements for a ceremony back at the house.”

  Connor frowned. “Ardath? Ardath is here?”