A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals) (7 page)

“If that were true, ye’d have done it already.”

“It might be something that never gets better.”

“Might be,” Angus agreed. “You’d have to try to ken for certain, though.”

Ewan sighed. “We’ll stay. It will irritate Iona to no end, and I still need to find out who wrote me. We might as well clear out Darrow and the other criminals while we’re here.”

“They’ll just come back, you know.” Deidre’s voice came through the connecting door between Ewan’s room and the next. “They’ve got a good deal here. They won’t stay gone once you leave.”

Ewan walked over and opened it. “I’ll add eavesdropping to the list of yer many talents.”

She slid past him with a wink and the hip sway that never failed to completely distract him. “Talk quieter.”

“Finished looting the silver?” Angus asked from his post at the window.

“No use. This place has been picked clean.” She boosted herself onto the edge of Ewan’s bed. “Looks like you’re broke, sweetheart.”

“I assume ye have a suggestion, with yer superior knowledge of the criminal element, on how I can get rid of them for good.”

“Short of killing them, no. But I do have a suggestion for how you can make them useful.”

“Aye? How’s that?” Angus was skeptical.

Deidre kept her eyes on Ewan, dangling her shoe off her toes. “Let me use my many talents to make them better criminals.”

He took an involuntary step toward her. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you have a bankrupt estate that is ideally situated for a smuggling operation. You make a profit and the highways become safe from ineptitude once more. Everyone wins.” Her smile was dripping with seduction.

“For God’s sake,” Angus grumbled. He looked between the two of them, settling on Deidre. “And what do ye get out of it?”

She smiled. The shoe dropped to the carpet, with a silent “oops.” “When you leave, I stay. I’ll keep things running up here and send you your cut.”

Ewan took another step toward her. How did she do this to him? It was like she could reel him in at will.

The spell was broken by Angus’s broad face filling his vision as the older man stepped between them. He shook his head, expression full of disapproval. “That’s enough of that, lass.”

“I’m just sitting here.”

“And the pope’s just Catholic.” Angus picked up her shoe and tossed it back to her. “If ye want to deal, ye’ll do it straight.”

Deidre leaned down, sliding it back over her stocking. “What would you like me to do, throw a bag over my head?”

“Couldnae hurt, but I’ll settle for ye nae taking yer clothes off like a—”

“Angus,” Ewan warned.

“Welcome back, lad. Think ye can keep yer wits about ye for more than a minute this time?”

“I’ll do my best.” He looked back at Deidre. “What makes ye think I want to be in the smuggling business?”

She smiled. “Because you like a bit of danger and you don’t have any great love for the crown. It’s a victimless crime.”

“It’s still a crime.”

“It’s fun.”

The way she shaped the word with her mouth, teeth dragging across her full lower lip—

Angus made a noise close to a growl and walked to the door. “Yer hopeless. Come find me when ye wind up naked and penniless again.”

Chapter 9

The door closed behind Angus, leaving Deidre alone with Ewan. That suited her plans perfectly. He’d been strung tighter than a crossbow for the entire journey north. With every step deeper into the castle, his tension had become visibly worse. For a brief moment, after his grandmother slammed the door in his face, Deidre thought he just might tear it off its hinges. Instead, he’d turned and quietly told Darrow to see to the rooms.

Deidre respected that kind of control. She also knew what kind of toll it took, keeping in check like that. Her broad-shouldered rescuer was overdue for a release.

“Is he right? Do ye mean to steal my clothes?” The timbre of his voice sent delicious shivers over her skin.

She leaned back on her elbows. “I’d much rather let you offer them freely.”

Ewan’s lips tilted up on one side. “Oh, aye? And why would I do that?”

“A sense of fair play.” She slipped both shoes off this time, letting them thud to the floor. “You’ve seen mine. It’s time to show me yours.”

Bloody hell. The heat behind his eyes. Deidre half expected her clothes to burst into flames. He remembered her little show; that much was obvious.

“We dinnae seem to have any rivers handy.”

“I’m sure you’ll make do.” She had him, she was certain of it.

He reached up, but when he touched the button on his shirt, his brow furrowed. “Deidre.”

“I can see you thinking, sweetheart. Don’t.”

He smiled, but it died quickly. “Ye can have what ye want. Ye dinnae need to seduce me.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Why then?”

Not once in her life had a man tried to talk Deidre out of bedding him, never mind twice. “Ewan, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a man?”

He shook his head.

“More than a year.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve actually wanted one?” She pushed herself back up into a sitting position. This was clearly going to be a hands-on operation. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s much longer.”

“And ye want me.” He was catching on.

“Yes.” She reached for his belt and pulled him forward. When she started to unbuckle it, though, he took her wrists and pulled her up against him. For the love of—

Before she could express her irritation, he rocked her with a kiss she felt all the way in the tips of her toes. His hand tilted her chin to the angle of his liking, while the other spread out across the small of her back. There was nothing around Deidre but Ewan. The room around them was blocked out by the width of his shoulders. His warm wool smell, whisper of last night’s fire, and remnants of the forest enveloped her.

His lips were gentle and his hands did not stray, but there was no question that she was under his control. He explored every angle of her mouth with deliberate precision. For a brief moment, she remembered that she was supposed to be helping him lose control, but then he pressed her closer and she forgot everything except the feel of his palm against her back. Even through her dress, it fired every nerve ending and made her wish he would adventure lower.

She tested him, shifting her hips.

He growled at her, and his other hand came down to her waist, holding her motionless.

Deidre pulled back from his lips, teasing. She took his bottom lip between her teeth. His eyes met hers in a warning. Her hands roamed the linen covering his chest, finding and conquering buttons. When she had the broad muscles of his chest exposed, she released his lip.

The scrape of her teeth elicited a groan but he didn’t move to stop her. She teased him with kisses while her hands went to work on his belt. It fell to the floor with a clatter. She felt a little of his control give way.

“Deidre.”

“Tell me you want me.”

“More than breathing.”

She tested the truth of that. He gasped when her hand closed around him. Unable to help herself, she went to work on him. Her hand wedged between their bodies. His hands pinned her hips in a white-knuckled grip. They rocked there, slowly, while she unraveled his control thread by thread.

The sound of the door opening didn’t register for either of them.

The shocked gasp and the breaking glass did.

Ewan spun around, shielding her with his body. The protective gesture made her smile against his back. Even if she hadn’t been fully clothed, Deidre was hardly modest. She stepped around his back to find a woman scrambling to pick up pieces of a broken vase.

“I’m . . . oh . . . I . . . I dinnae . . . I’m . . .” The new arrival was a stuttering wreck.

“It’s all right,” Ewan said, his tone gentle.

“I just . . . dinnae realize . . . I thought . . .” The woman looked up.

She was older than Deidre by a few years, with soft features. It was the sort of beauty Deidre associated with women in convents or virgin saints. Soft living had left her face unlined and her shoulders straight. Everything about her was clean, pale, and wholesome.

Ewan inhaled quickly. “Rose?”

The woman smiled up at him, tears forming in her eyes. “Ye remembered.”

***

Rose. Ewan’s mind had trouble comprehending how she’d managed to arrive in his room—carrying flowers, no less.

Next to him, Deidre filled the silence. “Old friends?”

Rose gave a light laugh—bells chiming—as she wiped away the falling tears. “I was fostered with Ewan’s grandparents as an infant. We grew up together.”

She stood up and put a tentative hand on his forearm. Ewan covered it with his own. Aye, they had grown up together. Far too quickly, and under less than ideal circumstances. They used to hide in the space under the stairs together, telling each other stories to block out the sounds of his father’s drunken tirades. And she thought he could forget her.

“How—” He struggled with the words under the rush of old memories.

She seemed to understand. “Yer grandmother kept me on as her companion.”

“I thought ye would have left, after—”

Rose shook her head. “Where would I go?”

Where, indeed. She hadn’t had any family left. That’s how she’d ended up at Broch Murdo in the first place. There had been no Aunt Maggie, no Dalreoch Castle, for her to escape to.

“Ye never married?”

She blushed.

Ewan realized he was letting the past get the better of his manners. “Sorry, I—”

“After your father died . . . Iona needed me.”

Iona. He should have realized his grandmother would be selfish enough to trap Rose here. Without her precious monster of a son around to devote energy to, Lady Broch Murdo would have needed some other project to keep her occupied.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Rose dismissed his apology. “Iona has been good to me.”

Ewan doubted that.

On his left Deidre cleared her throat, and held out her hand to Rose. “I’m Deidre. Deidre Morgan.”

Bollocks. “Ah. Aye. Deidre is . . .”

She was what? He didn’t even bother to finish the thought.

Rose stepped in gracefully, taking Deidre’s hand. “It’s lovely to meet ye, Miss Morgan. Rose Lambert, but please call me Rose.”

Deidre nodded. Her guard was clearly up, but she stayed on the friendly side of polite.

“Oh, where are my manners,” Rose said. “I’m intruding. Please, excuse me. I’ll just—”

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” Deidre said.

“Dinnae be silly, we were just—” Ewan said at the same time.

Deidre shot him a look. “Go ahead. We were just what?”

The collar of Ewan’s shirt suddenly felt overly tight, despite being unbuttoned to the waist. He pulled it closed.

Rose blushed again, grinning at the floor.

“We were . . . uh . . .”

Deidre rolled her eyes, and grabbed her shoes from the floor. “I’m going to find Tristan.”

“I should check on yer grandmother,” Rose said as Deidre sailed past her.

Ewan nodded.

She stopped at the door, turning back. “Ewan?”

“Aye?”

“I’m glad yer back.”

That made one of them.

***

Idiot. Fool. Blockheaded clod. Deidre wasn’t certain if she was talking about herself or Ewan, but it hardly mattered. She stomped down the stairs, stopping on the landing to put on her shoes. God only knew what manner of filth was on these floors. She knew better. She of all people knew better. A little bit of kindness. Was that really all it took to make her forget? Ewan might pretend he saw her as more than a cheapside hustler, but his attitude had changed in a hurry when Rose showed up.

Deidre is . . .

Deidre is what, you big oaf. She’s the woman who had her hands wrapped around your cock not five minutes earlier
. He couldn’t admit that to his precious Rose, though, could he? She might swoon and bump her flawless brow.

She found Tom Darrow lounging on a broken settee at the bottom of the stairs. “Darrow! Round up your useless excuse for a crew and meet me in the courtyard.”

“Eh?”

She stopped, turning to him.

“Aye, love. Straightaway.”

She turned back, resuming her hunt for Tristan.

Darrow hopped up to follow her. “Always had a fondness for a woman in a temper. If yer lookin’ to take it out on someone . . .”

“Tristan!” she shouted.

His head popped out of the entrance to a side corridor. “What?”

“We’ve got work to do.”

“What kind of work?” He moved into the room, dusting himself off. He stopped when he saw her face. “He said yes?”

“He did.” It wasn’t a lie. Ewan told her she could have what she wanted. Right before he’d kissed the sense out of her, and then forgotten she existed.

Tristan whooped. He pulled her into a spinning jig, recklessly crashing into debris around the great room.

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Tristan’s good moods always did that to her.

Her brother stopped their twirl in front of Darrow. “Tom, old boy. This is your lucky day.”

“It is?”

“You are about to be subjected to an expert education in the criminal arts by two of the greatest hustlers Glasgow has ever known.”

Deidre rolled her eyes, but didn’t disagree with him. She would need Tristan’s help to pull this off. He was hardly a mastermind, but he could run circles around the likes of Darrow and his men. She had taught him that much, at least.

The task ahead of her was exactly what she needed. Forget about Ewan, with his broad shoulders and his intoxicating smell. This was business. Anything that happened between them from here on out would solely be to secure a future for her and Tris. She would not allow herself to forget again.

Chapter 10

Ewan wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned his pick against the cliffside. In the week since they’d left Glasgow, his shoulder had mostly healed. Mostly. Using it hurt like the devil and he was likely doing it more harm than good, but he’d run out of ways to avoid his grandmother inside the castle.

Tristan leaned his own pick next to Ewan’s, slumping to the ground with a curse. “How did we get stuck with this shit job? You’re an earl, and I’m going to be in management. We shouldn’t be fixing cliff trails.”

“Management?”

“I’m going to manage the business.”

“Yer sister is going to manage the business, if she can get that pack of pathetic criminals in line, which I doubt.”

“She’ll do it. But she’s a woman. She can’t be in management,” Tristan said with great certainty.

“Why’s that?”

“Everyone knows men do the managing.”

Ewan grinned. “Tristan, I’m going to let ye in on a secret. Someday, women are going to rule the world if they dinnae already.”

“Bollocks.”

“Who runs yer life?”

“I do.”

“Oh, aye? Why aren’t ye in Glasgow then, gambling and whoring?”

Tristan thought about that. “That’s different, though.”

“How so?”

“It’s Dee. She’s . . . it’s complicated.”

“It always is.” Ewan pulled Tristan back up, handing him a pick. “And to answer yer question, we volunteered for it.”

“We did? Why the bloody hell would we do that?”

“Well, I need to keep my shoulder limber and you need to put some muscle on.”

“Oi.”

Ewan laughed. “Ye’ll thank me later. Physical work balances the humors.”

He could use some balanced humors right about now. As he swung the pick, widening the path down to the beach below, conflicting emotions moved in and out of his thoughts with the pulsing ache in his shoulder. How could he even describe what was between him and Deidre? If he weren’t an educated man, he’d be tempted to accuse her of witchcraft. She played hell on his body and his mind whether she was near him or not.

Then there was Rose. If he’d known she was here . . . how could he not have known? Ewan had grown up with his grandfather’s ward, the only child his own age. They’d been inseparable—right up until Ewan had left for Dalreoch Castle. Left her behind, in this hellhole full of monsters. Had he even thought about her after the first few weeks?

As if thinking about her had summoned her, Ewan’s childhood friend appeared at the top of the cliff with a bucket.

“Thirsty?” Rose called down.

“Oh, thank Christ.” Tristan dropped his pick and made his way up the few feet of trail they’d finished improving.

Ewan saw Rose flinch at the profanity, but her welcoming smile stayed firmly in place.

“Thank ye,” he said when she handed him the ladle.

“It’s no trouble.”

“Still, it’s a bit of a walk from the house.”

“Oh, I dinnae mind.” She gave Ewan a shy smile. “I’m afraid I’m nae much use up there at the moment.”

“What’s Dee got them doing?” Tristan asked, splashing water over his head.

“She, um, well . . .” She fidgeted with the bucket and the edge of her dress.

Ewan sat on one of the craggy rocks that lined the cliff’s edge. “It’s all right. Ye’ll nae shock either of us.”

“She was instructing them in how to tell the difference between men who can be bought, men who can be blackmailed, and men who must be avoided,” Rose imparted with a furrowed brow.

Tristan nodded. “Don’t need anybody getting pinched if we can help it.”

“Ewan, can we . . .” Rose cast a sideways glance at Tristan.

“Tris, why dinnae ye head up and see if yer sister needs help.”

The boy didn’t need to be asked twice. He took off up the hill without a backward glance.

Rose perched near Ewan on the rocks once Tris was out of earshot. She peered down over the edge of the cliff. “I havnae been out here in years.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “Ye asked me to marry ye out on this cliff. Do ye remember?”

“I do. I remember ye called me a clod head and turned me down.”

“Ye were a clod head. Ye were practically my brother.”

“I was four,” Ewan defended. “If ye remember, I’d also asked my mother to marry me that same day.”

His mother. Remembering her sent pain through his gut like fire. He pushed it down and pushed her out of his mind.

“Ye did, dinnae ye.” Rose smiled down at her hands. They tangled in her skirts as she came to the reason she’d wanted Tristan away. “Are ye certain this smuggling business is the best idea?”

“Certain? No, but it’s nae a bad one.”

“Couldnae ye just . . . restore the farms? Get the tenants back?” She sounded hopeful.

It was a nice idea, but not a realistic one. “It would take years before the land would yield crops we could sell for a profit. And tenants need a lord to manage them.”

“But yer back now. I’m sure ye could—”

Ewan cringed. This wasn’t the place or time he would have chosen for this conversation, but he couldn’t lie to her. “I’m nae staying, Rose.”

“Oh.”

He rushed to reassure her. “I’ll nae leave ye behind. Ye’ll come with me. Ye can stay at Dalreoch or we can find ye a husband.”

Her laugh rippled out over the rocks. “A husband. I’m two and thirty, Ewan. Even if I were younger, I’m nae exactly—”

“Nonsense. There’s plenty of men would have ye.”

She shook her head. “No. Besides, this is my home.”

“It’s nae place for a woman, Rose. Ye cannae stay here.”

“Mr. Darrow isnae so bad. He pretends to be some famous criminal, but Iona wouldnae have brought him here if he was a danger.”

“I’m nae about to lay bets on my grandmother’s judge of character,” Ewan spat. “And neither should ye. Nae when it’s yer life being used as the stakes.”

Rose flinched at his tone, but she didn’t back down. “Miss Morgan is staying. I heard them talking about it.”

He cursed under his breath. “That’s nae a certainty.”

“But she might. Ye would let her.”

“Deidre is . . .” He kept finding himself in this same spot, trying to explain who and what Deidre was to him.

Rose covered his forearm with her hand. “She’s yer mistress. It’s all right, Ewan.”

“That’s nae—”

“I may nae have married, but I’m nae blind, Ewan. I saw ye.”

“Aye. I willnae deny what ye saw. But it’s . . . complicated.”

They sat in awkward silence for a long moment, the ocean air ruffling the edges of their clothing.

“She’s very beautiful,” Rose said eventually. “Stunning, actually. I dinnae think I’ve ever seen a woman so pretty.”

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He and Rose had been raised like brother and sister, but he wasn’t in the habit of discussing his bed partners with anyone, never mind family he hadn’t seen in nearly twenty-five years. Still, after leaving her behind, he owed her far more than an uncomfortable conversation. If she wanted to talk about Deidre, the least he could do was try.

“Aye,” Ewan said. It was the only response he could manage.

“Ye seemed to be . . . enjoying her company, when I saw ye.”

Ewan pondered the distance to the beach. It couldn’t be more than a few hundred feet. He might make it if he jumped. “Aye.”

Rose fidgeted. “What I mean to say . . . I don’t judge ye for it. Ye dinnae need to be ashamed, Ewan. I ken men have needs.”

“What kind of a thing is that to say!” Ewan jumped up and started pacing the cliff’s edge. It wasn’t something a woman in Rose’s position should be familiar with. He was right to want her to leave Broch Murdo. Darrow and his men weren’t proper company for a lady.

“Ewan, calm down.”

“Have ye—did someone . . .” Whoever had introduced her to the
needs of men
, Ewan would murder the bastard. He would rip him limb from limb. He should never have left her behind. This was entirely his fault. How many ways would he discover he’d failed her?

“Ewan, stop! Yer frightening me.”

He realized he had grabbed Rose’s arm. He let it go instantly. “I’m sorry. Ye should go back to the castle.”

She nodded, picking up her bucket and fleeing back toward safety.

Ewan waited for her to disappear from view. Once he was certain she couldn’t hear him, he turned to the ocean and yelled until he had no voice left. It wasn’t enough. He could still feel the rage that reminded him exactly where he came from. Exactly who his father was. Exactly the sort of monster he struggled not to become.

***

“Dee?”

“Hmm?” Deidre didn’t look up from the maps she was comparing. One was from the castle’s library. The other she’d had a local fisherman sketch for her. There were some very interesting discrepancies.

“Dee.”

“What do you need, Tris?” This time she did look.

Her brother was standing in the doorway. Rose was standing with him. Oh.

Rose fidgeted. “I’m sorry to bother ye, I just—”

“I didn’t realize you were—” Deidre started to say.

They both stopped.

“Why don’t you go first?” Deidre suggested.

The other woman stepped into Deidre’s bedroom, looking around with curiosity. “I havnae been in here since . . .”

Deidre realized she wasn’t going to finish the sentence on her own. “Since?”

The prompt seemed to startle Rose. “In a long time.”

Was she being deliberately coy? Deidre didn’t have time for whatever game this was. “Is there something wrong with this room?”

“No. Of course nae.”

Well, that was comforting. And utterly unconvincing.

Deidre would have to get to the bottom of that later, but she’d be damned if it would be with Ewan’s childhood crush. Not that Ewan’s earlier actions were Rose’s fault. Ewan was responsible for his own idiotic behavior. Deidre resolved to remember that, and not let it affect how she treated the other woman.

“Did you need me for something?” she asked as nicely as she was able.

“Oh.” Rose straightened her skirts. “I was wondering . . . if ye’ve seen Ewan.”

Deidre didn’t expect to have her resolution tested quite so immediately. “No, I haven’t.”

“Oh.”

Silence filled the room. Deidre waited. For the love of— “Should I have?”

“I just thought . . .”

This was going to take forever. “Miss Lambert. I’m happy to help you however I can, but—”

“We fought. I made him angry,” Rose confessed in a rush.

“You fought?” Deidre had difficulty believing the well-mannered Rose had ever raised her voice, or that Ewan would do anything other than apologize profusely if she did. “What did you fight about?”

The other woman’s gaze dropped to the carpet. Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “It was a personal matter.”

Interesting. And they’d argued about it? This day was full of mysteries to be solved. “Did you ask Angus?”

“Him? Oh no. I couldnae.”

Why the devil not?

“But no one saw him come back from the cliff, and he’s nae in his room,” Rose finished.

That was concerning. Cliffsides weren’t notorious for their safety, and it had been dark for an hour or more. Ewan was probably holed up somewhere composing a sonnet to Rose’s flawless virginity, but it was worth looking into. If the big idiot went and got himself killed, Deidre’s whole plan was ruined.

“Tris,” she called.

Her brother popped his head around the door frame. She knew he hadn’t gone far. Tris could never resist the opportunity to overhear something he shouldn’t.

“Find Angus,” she ordered. “And quit eavesdropping!”

His response—undoubtedly vulgar—was lost as he loped off down the hall.

“I should go,” Rose said, trying to follow him.

“Stay. If Ewan is actually missing, Angus will need to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Rose said. “All right.”

Deidre tried to return to her maps, but the other woman was just standing in place, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. Eventually, Deidre took pity on her. “I’m sure Ewan feels badly for whatever happened between you.”

Rose nodded. “It wasnae his fault. He cannae help it.”

Can’t help what?
There were far too many questions here. Attraction and gratitude had sent Deidre rushing into a situation she knew nothing about—a lesson she thought she’d learned once already with Alastair. Clearly, getting the lay of the land would have to move to the top of her list of priorities.

Deidre leaned against the table. “I’m surprised Ewan’s grandmother let Darrow take over the castle. She doesn’t seem the type.”

Rose nodded. “She was desperate. I dinnae think she would have if Tom wasnae . . . so easy to manage.”

“He is that.” Far more so than the real Lord Broch Murdo. “How is the dowager handling her grandson’s return?”

“She is . . . unsettled.” Rose chose her words carefully. “Ewan looks a great deal like his father, and Iona cared very deeply for her son.”

“I imagine that could be quite a shock, especially since she wasn’t expecting him.”

“Aye.”

Deidre followed a hunch that had been developing since Rose first appeared in Ewan’s room. “It’s odd that whoever wrote Ewan didn’t tell the dowager they were contacting him.”

Rose’s expression froze momentarily. Her fingers buried themselves in the folds of her skirt. “Aye.”

It was fortunate Rose would never need to support herself at a card table—if she hadn’t written the letter herself, she knew who had. Deidre would leave that discovery to Ewan, though. It would take all of two seconds for him to discover the identity of his anonymous author if his wits were about him. A rather large
if
, if his behavior when Rose interrupted them was any indication.

The appearance of Angus kept Deidre from taking further advantage of Rose’s abysmal poker face.

“I told yer brother, and I’ll tell ye—I’m nae at yer beck and call.”

“Miss Lambert thinks Ewan threw himself off the cliff in a fit of pique.”

Rose paled. “I said no such thing.”

“They argued. He’s missing. Suicide seems a more charitable assumption than murder.”

A choked sound escaped Rose. The remaining color drained from her.

Angus’s flat stare alternated between the two of them.