Scot Under the Covers

by Suzanne Enoch

  “You’re a horrid man. I detest you.”

  His thin mouth curved into a thin smile. “Do so silently. And smile.”

  She smiled.

  “Hand me your dance card, my dear.”

  Oh, she wanted to crumble it up and throw it at his head. If she meant to misbehave, though, she wanted to select something more useful than throwing a public tantrum. “Take all the dances,” she said, remembering to keep her voice low. “Let everyone see how you’re attempting to lead me astray. I’m certain that will make you a very popular guest at highbrow parties.”

  He glanced at her from beneath the shelf of his brow. “Flail and wail, Miranda. I find it rather intoxicating. You are prey worth capturing. The lone rabbit still flicking its ears in defiance at the wolf.”

  That made her want to be ill all over again. Avoiding his fingers, she snatched back the dance card and pencil once he’d finished scrawling his name beside the two waltzes. “You’re not a wolf,” she countered. “You’re a vulture.”

  That earned her a brief, humorless smile. “Either way I shall have my prize. Make yourself available on Friday at noon. You’re accepting my invitation to go on a picnic.”

  Now he wasn’t even asking when she might be available. He simply expected her to scuttle her other plans—and of course it would look to the outside world like she was canceling engagements in order to spend more time with him, damn it all. More than anything she wanted to inform him that she was not a lone rabbit, that she had a wolf of her own in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. That Aden might have come late to this game, but he knew how to win. Aside from the fact that that wouldn’t do anything but forewarn Vale, however, firstly she wasn’t entirely certain this wolf was hers, and secondly she had no idea where he might be this evening.

  “You may go,” Captain Vale said. “Go tell your friends I’m taking you on a picnic, and how romantic you think it is that I’ve claimed both waltzes with you tonight.”

  She would not be doing that. Rather than telling him so, she turned her back and walked away. She had no desire at all to go and lie to her friends about this horrid man and the affection she supposedly felt for him. Nor did she want to go stand beside her parents and have to answer their questions.

  Vale’s actions had cut her off from friendship, from family. She didn’t know if that had been his intention, but if not for Aden she would have been that lone rabbit desperately trying to avoid being eaten. As she walked over to the roaring fireplace to pretend to warm her hands, she could admit that she wanted to see him. As … challenging as he could be, he made her feel protected. He also made her feel giddy and off-kilter, in a way she could easily see herself craving.

  What did that mean, though? They were the definition of incompatible, she and Aden MacTaggert. They agreed about almost nothing. He gambled, frequently. Unlike Vale, Aden didn’t seem to care a whit that she had a reputation for propriety and sophistication—in fact, he teased her about it. And while he was clever—remarkably so—cynicism and amusement wouldn’t help him navigate the drawing rooms of Mayfair any more than they would help her make her way through the Scottish Highlands.

  “Last door on the left down the hallway is for chair storage,” a low voice murmured behind her. “Reckon ye can meet me in there in five minutes?”

  She nodded, the sudden wish to turn around and look at Aden stronger than she anticipated. He’d come, and so she wasn’t alone. She knew something that Vale did not, and for the moment that, and Aden’s warm, solid presence at her back, meant everything.

  Miranda kept an eye on the gold mantel clock, but only made it to minute three before she turned around and wandered out of the ballroom. It was frightfully easy to slip away; everyone preened and twittered like birds in a bright-colored flock, and no one noticed anyone else except to find fault. She made a point of not exhibiting faults.

  The door at the back of the hallway stood closed, but with a quick glance behind her she pushed down on the latch, slipped inside the small room, and shut herself in. She could see thanks to a single candle set on the uppermost chair in a stack of three, while Aden had freed another chair and sat there, ankles crossed, a book across his thighs.

  He’d forgone his usual kilt tonight, opting instead for dark-gray trousers, a gray waistcoat with purple and green thistles embroidered across it, and a dark-green coat that deepened the shade of his eyes. Only the simple knot in his cravat gave away that he might not have been born to the blue-blooded English aristocracy.

  “Like what ye see, do ye, lass?” he asked, closing the book and setting it aside.

  “You look very proper,” she offered, her cheeks heating.

  Aden climbed to his feet and pulled down another chair, righting it and setting the heavy thing down facing his. “Ye said I shouldnae wear a kilt or I’ll frighten all the lasses away.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said, but I think you know that.”

  He answered her with a swift grin. “Did ye see the knots in that Lady Penelope’s hair? She’ll have to cut them out to be rid of them.”

  “They’re a wig,” she returned, taking a seat as he resumed his.

  “Aye? She chose to look like a hedgehog?”

  Miranda’s lips twitched as she tried to keep from laughing. “The rumor is that Lady Penelope had to cut off her hair early this spring when a trio of her precious cats decided to have a fight over who got to sleep on her head. I heard that at one point she had two cats hanging in her precious golden locks, both of them trying madly to escape the tangle.”

  “Ye Sassenach are all mad, so how did that nae become the latest fashion?”

  She shrugged. “It’s quite difficult to find matching cats, you know.”

  His short laugh warmed her to her toes. Perhaps they could simply spend the rest of the evening in this storage room, and Captain Vale could go hang himself. That, though, smacked of cowardice, and given that she’d already given Vale a piece of her mind, he might well decide to inform her parents about everything—and that would not bode well for anyone.

  “What are we doing in here?” she made herself ask. “I cannot simply hide from that rat.”

  “I’m here and he’s here,” Aden replied. “It seemed wise that we should have the same story about why that is.”

  A shiver ran up her spine. “Aden, I will not have you making a mess simply because you enjoy chaos.”

  To her surprise, he grinned. “Do I enjoy chaos, then? I’d nae thought of it that way. I suppose I do, a wee bit. Especially when I’ve caused it.”

  “Do not cause it tonight.” She caught his gaze, determined to stare him down. “My reputation, my family’s future, too much is—”

  “I’m nae an idiot, Miranda,” he cut in, without heat. “And whether ye believe me or nae, I mean to help ye.” He sat forward, planting both booted feet flat on the floor. “Have ye told him how ye and I met?”

  “Just in general, that you’re Eloise’s brother.”

  “That’ll do. If ye can avoid mentioning that I wager and that ye detest me, I’d appreciate it.”

  Miranda frowned. “He already knows that you wager. Matthew, no doubt. And I don’t … Our acquaintance has demonstrated to me that I underappreciated several useful aspects of your character.”

  That earned her another laugh. “Saint Andrew, ye’re a stubborn lass,” he muttered. “If Vale should ask what ye think of me, how will ye answer?”

  “That it’s none of his affair.”

  He cocked his head. “Can ye really tell him that? Or is that only what ye’d like to say?”

  “Well, what would you say about me, then?” she countered, folding her arms. For heaven’s sake, she might not be able to push at Vale, but she could certainly stand her ground with Aden MacTaggert. He practically demanded that she either do so or flee. And she didn’t wish to flee.

  “It’s nae his affair,” Aden said matter-of-factly. “And that is what I would say to Vale.”

  S
he looked down at the floor, then lifted her gaze to him again. “What would you say to me, then?”

  Clever Miranda, never willing to let a chance to flay him go by without comment. What did it say about him, then, that he kept returning for more? Keeping his expression neutral, Aden stood. “I think ye’re clever, that ye see far more than ye’d ever speak about in polite company, that ye use yer manners and yer politeness to be a good friend or to be a shield, depending on who ye’re with. I think ye’re lovely, and elegant, and I want to hear ye laugh more.”

  Miranda stood up, her movements a little too rushed to be graceful. “What else?” she whispered, closing the short distance between them.

  He frowned, deciding he’d picked a poor time to decide he had a conscience. “I reckon I’m nae willing to say more when ye require my help. As we say in wagering circles, ye’ve got a weak hand, and ye reckon ye need me to win.”

  “Do they actually say that in wagering circles?” Miranda asked, putting her palms flat against his chest and then sliding them up over his shoulders.

  Saint Andrew and all the angels. “If they dunnae, they should. I like ye, lass. A fair amount. For now, that’ll have to do.”

  “Well, I may like you a fair amount, myself,” she returned, and lifted up on her toes to touch her lips feather-light to his.

  He’d wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone here, tonight. He’d meant to do that with words, though kissing and other, more carnal things were never out of his thoughts where Miranda Harris was concerned. Before she could back away he caught her hips and dragged her harder against him, catching her mouth in a deep, hot kiss.

  Aye, he had the advantage in this relationship, and he knew her to be desperate to escape another man’s clutches. That should have meant that he couldn’t trust her mouth, her kisses, her gazes, her hands, or anything else about her. Because he was aware of all that, though, did kissing her back, wanting her, mean that he could be taking advantage of her? It was damned confusing, and he intensely disliked moral conundrums for that very reason.

  Beneath his cynicism he trusted her, trusted that she kissed him now because she did like him, did … crave him in the same way he craved her. “Lass,” he murmured, pulling away a breath, “ye’re scattering my wits about on the floor.”

  She nodded, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m rather scattered, myself. You did say I might enjoy living a bit more freely, though.”

  “I’m definitely enjoying that,” he commented.

  With one last, swift kiss she stepped back out of his arms, and he let her go. It nearly broke him in two, but he let her back away until she’d put a stack of chairs between them. “I need to return to the party.”

  “Aye. I’ll follow ye out shortly.” As soon as he apologized to his cock and explained that one of them needed to be patient.

  “What are your intentions, Aden MacTaggert?” she asked abruptly.

  They were brave words, but he noticed that she didn’t move from behind the chairs. “I intend to have ye,” he returned, because saying anything else would have been a lie. “Beyond that, I—”

  “Stop there,” she interrupted. “It gives me something … secret to think about tonight. Something Captain Robert Vale can’t touch. Something that’s just mine.”

  “It isnae just yers,” he countered, clenching his jaw to keep from saying some very flowery things that would leave him too embarrassed to ever allow her to set eyes on him again. “But ye hold it close, use it how ye like. Just ken that it’s nae some metaphor, Sassenach.”

  He heard her slow breath. “I ken that, Highlander. Now come here and make certain you haven’t ruined my hair so I can go dance with that … bastard.”

  Aden grinned, both because she wanted him to, and because he admired her courage. “Och, Miranda. Such language. Ye’ll make me faint.”

  “Very unlikely.”

  One hairpin had come loose, and he carefully pushed it back into place, using the moment to run a finger along her soft cheek before he stepped back again. “Whether ye like me or nae, when Vale asks again what ye think of me, tell him I’m interesting, or unexpected, something that’s nae an insult. And if the conversation turns the right way, ye might mention that I’ve given up wagering, or so I’ve told ye.”

  She gazed at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And why am I to make more trouble for myself?”

  “Think of it as making trouble for me, lass. If we can divide his attention a little, that’ll help us more than it does him.”

  “What are you pl—”

  The fact that she was still in a mood to argue reassured him even as he half pushed her out of the room and shut the door on her. Then he spent the next five minutes pacing while he considered whether he’d gone mad or not, and why that prospect didn’t trouble him as much as it would have a few weeks ago. He’d just set her on a course, and that obligated him to take the voyage with her.

  Aden stopped pacing. However this had begun, it wasn’t a sense of obligation pushing him now. No, he wanted Miranda Harris for himself, and Captain Robert Vale was in his way. One of them needed to go, and he didn’t mean for it to be him.

  Chapter Ten

  “Where the devil have ye been?” Coll grunted, hooking an arm around Aden’s shoulder and guiding him toward a table laden with cakes and biscuits. “I’ve near been killed by all the lasses hurtling themselves at me tonight. Ye might have helped me fend them off, or at least divided their attention.”

  Aden shrugged out of his brother’s grip. “Stop fending them off and try dancing with one or two of them,” he suggested. “Ye might even find one ye like.”

  “Dunnae advise me unless ye intend to do that yerself. Ye spend more time with the squinters and fainters than ye do the pretty ones.”

  “I’m looking for an interesting lass. Doesnae matter where I might find her.” Although the most interesting lass he’d ever found would seem to be among the so-called pretty ones, pursued by another man she couldn’t afford to reject.

  Coll snorted. “Ye cannae bamboozle me, bràthair. Ye’re after information, though where ye put it all, and what ye use it for, I’ve nae idea. I do see ye’ve nae pranced over to say hello to Miranda Harris, though. Ye scared of her?”

  Not much of the information he’d uncovered would be of use to anyone other than gossips. He simply enjoyed knowing what lay beneath the expensive clothes and polished silver, who had a grudge against whom, which family desperately needed a wealthy daughter to marry into the family, which family’s façade of perfection was about to be shredded by a wayward son or daughter. “Aye, terrified.”

  Not a single one of those interesting conversations, though, had provided him with any news about a family named Vale, and at this moment he would have given a great deal to alter that fact. For Saint Andrew’s sake, he didn’t even know if Vale was the captain’s true name, or if he’d assumed it somewhere along the way to India or back again. At home there would be a minister who would know which man belonged to which family. Here, with churches on nearly every street, he had no idea where he might even begin. Cornwall, he supposed, though he was loath to leave London—and Miranda—for anything while she remained threatened.

  “There’s Matthew’s sister now,” Coll announced unnecessarily, because Aden had had his gaze on her from the moment she walked back into the ballroom.

  “Aye,” he returned, keeping an eye on her until she’d joined a group of her friends before he pulled from his pocket a dance card he’d pilfered. She’d said Vale had wanted both waltzes, though he’d neglected to ask if he’d actually claimed them. Two waltzes with Miranda seemed a fine idea to him, but he’d heard enough of Eloise’s lecturing to know that waltzes were rare and absconding with both of them bordered on scandalous. It also made a statement about possession, which was no doubt what Captain Vale had had in mind.

  “Are we supposed to have dance cards as well, now?” Coll asked, scowling. “Ye might have told me that.”

&nbs
p; “Nae,” Aden answered, pocketing his again. “I just wanted to know where the waltzes were.”

  “Ye dance every dance at these horrors,” his brother pressed. “I reckon ye do need a card, so ye dunnae give the same quadrille to two different lasses.”

  Evidently Viscount Glendarril meant to stick like honey to him tonight, which wouldn’t be at all convenient. Aden blew out his breath and gestured the big man closer. “When we arrived in London, ye had yer back up, and ye made a mistake or two. And now ye’re tiptoeing about like ye’re worried ye’re going to break someaught. Th—”

  “Ye might consider yer next words carefully, Aden.” Coll hadn’t moved, but Aden knew him well enough to take the warning seriously.

  “This is the way I see it,” he continued, shifting just a little so he could see his brother’s hands from the edge of his gaze. If fists appeared, he was going to have to decide whether to dodge or take the hit. “Ye had lasses throwing themselves at ye in Scotland. The only difference was, it was home. Ye knew who they were, and ye knew what to say, who ye could bed, and who ye shouldnae even cast yer eyes upon.”

  “Aye,” Coll said, his eyes still narrowed. “So far ye’re making sense. What of it?”

  “So use yer imagination. Ye’re a man with a title, bound for a grander one. Ye’ll be a chieftain of clan Ross one day. Ye’ve a damned fine estate in the north, and nae a one of those lasses needs to know ye’re only marrying to keep it funded. As far as they ken, ye’re marrying at yer mother’s request, which makes ye a dutiful son. All the Sassenach reckon we’re savages and they dunnae expect perfect manners or that ye can even read. That gives ye a step up right there. Ye’re nae ill featured, and if ye do spy a lass who interests ye, the odds are that she’ll want ye right back. Pretend ye’re still in the Highlands, at a grand party, and ye’re on the hunt. Just be … Coll MacTaggert. He’s a fine man, and I’m proud to know him.”