Daring (17 page)

“Well, he—”

“He was climbing the trellis to my window, and you interrupted him.” She grabbed his arm and gave it a grateful squeeze. “If it hadn’t been for you, he would have broken into my bedchamber and done God only knows what.”

Her blue eyes shone with admiration in the moonlight. Her breasts pressed against his hand, reminding him how close he’d come last night to taking her, how much he still wanted to. She was like a maddening melody he couldn’t get out of his mind. “You weren’t in your bedchamber,” he said slowly. “He would have broken in to find an empty room.”

“But he didn’t know that when you pounced on him. Look at that trellis, my lord. He must have put up a fierce fight. You weren’t hurt, were you?”

Connor hid the flowers behind his back, seriously tempted to leave her misconceptions alone. “Quite frankly, there
wasn’t much of a fight. I shook him off the trellis, he fell, and then he ran off.”

“
You
frightened him away, and you didn’t even have to hit him.”

Connor swallowed hard, wondering why her unwarranted praise should please him. He was accustomed to flattery and flirtation. A compliment for a good deed he hadn’t even committed was a novelty. She was twenty-three, he remembered suddenly, and a man had wanted to elope with her. Had she cared about Liam MacDougall?

“Miss Saunders, I must be honest with you.”

“Of course you must,” Maggie said graciously. “A man of your integrity could be nothing else.”

“The intruder was—”

There were loud footsteps behind them, then the Chief bellowed, “Yer escort is ready, Connor. Are ye takin’ her away or not?”

Connor turned involuntarily toward the house. “Yes, I’m taking her.”

Maggie’s gaze dropped to the straggly flowers in his hand. “Another bouquet for me?” she said softly, raising her eyes to his. “You must have picked them yourself in the dark. I don’t know why you pretend to be so mean. That is the sweetest gesture.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“You’re far too modest,” Maggie said. “I should have known you would keep your word about protecting me, although I have to admit that until this moment I had my doubts about this whole situation.”

“I have my doubts too, Miss Saunders.”

“I never doubted your ability to protect me,” Maggie added, as if afraid she’d insulted him. “Only your willingness.”

The Chief shouted at them again.

“Should we tell him about the intruder?” Maggie whispered.

Connor snagged her arm, herding her back toward the house. The last thing he needed was to get embroiled in an illegal manhunt for a misguided suitor. “I don’t think he’ll trouble you again. Let’s just get out of here. I still have to pack before we leave for the Highlands.”

“Did you get a look at him?” she asked anxiously. “Do you think it was one of the kidnappers?”

“It wasn’t one of the
kidnappers. It was Liam MacDou
gall.” He waited after he’d dropped that bombshell to gauge her reaction, and he had to admit he was gratified by the utter blankness on her face.

“Who? Oh—
Liam.
What was that idiot doing on the trellis?”

Connor smirked. “Not exactly an encouraging response for a man who risked his neck to elope with you.”

“Elope with me?” Maggie looked shocked. “But I hardly know him. In fact, I only met him twice while I was tutoring his niece.”

“Then you won’t mind missing the idyllic life of maternity and living with his mama that he had planned for you.”

Maggie frowned in suspicion. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

“I didn’t lay a blessed finger on him. Can we go now?” Maggie didn’t argue with him. She glanced back thoughtfully over her shoulder at the trellis that lay in pieces on the ground. His lordship was obviously in control of the situation and took his promise to protect her to heart, which made her feel a little better about being alone with him.

It still didn’t answer her concerns about the attraction smoldering between them, the sparks that ignited whenever she looked into his face. And it didn’t alter the inherent danger in entrusting her life to a man who took what he wanted, who possessed the predatory instincts of a lion, and who from the start hadn’t exactly made a secret of his sexual interest in her. His professional success hadn’t been achieved on mere intellectual skill but on a combination of physical presence and calculated aggression. He had proved himself to be the most powerful male animal in the pride.

While he was guarding her, Maggie would have to be on guard against him.

He stopped abruptly. “From this moment forward you will do everything I tell you.”

Maggie stared up at his hard face, realizing again how much she admired the way he took command of the situation. “Everything?”

“Yes,” he said. “You see, I’m used to people obeying me, lass. It’s one of the privileges of power.”

“Which you intend to wield.”

“Aye.” Amusement glinted in his eyes. “I’ll do the wielding, you do the yielding. That’s the way I like it.”

T
he Chief slipped on his spectacles at the parlor window to watch them leave the court. Both Connor and Maggie wore blindfolds which would be removed only when they reached the outskirts of the sanctuary.

His little French lassie was an outsider now. She had broken from the clan.

He turned back into the room, his huge shoulders slumped in dejection. “The Devil’s Advocate has taken our angel away, and she’s gone willingly too,” he murmured, sliding a finger under his glasses to wipe the corner of his eye. “I never thought to see the day.”

The young girl sitting on the hearthstone leaped up to fling herself into his arms. “Don’t be sad, Papa. You still have me.”

“Aye, lass,” he said ruefully. “Isn’t that a consolation?”

C
h
apter

16

M
aggie had made another serious mistake.

The journey into the Highlands with Connor Buchanan had taken on hazards she’d never anticipated. As they veered northward off the Stirling Road into uncivilized terrain, he’d shed the trappings of refinement like a pair of socks, the little things that mattered so much to a person of her upbringing. Little things like carrying on a polite conversation and giving her bouquets of battered flowers.

He shaved only when the mood struck him, which judging by the stubble on his square jaw, wasn’t very often. He let his long hair loose over his shoulders. Between endless stretches of silence, he communicated to her with incoherent grunts and unfathomable looks which she caught when he thought she wasn’t watching. Those looks made her shiver. They made her feel rather like a primitive woman who had been singled out by a hunter for mating purposes.

When they stopped, it wasn’t to rest or admire the rugged scenery, the mauve-swathed
hills or castle ruins, or to d
ine on fresh venison. It was for Connor to harass the local authorities or interrogate an innkeeper about his sister. He wielded his authori
ty like a whip.

Maggie wondered how long a person of her refinement could tolerate the discomfort of traveling with him. The coach just couldn’t seem to hold his restless energy. Not to mention his sheer physical being. His muscular legs were everywhere, and she had banged up against his right shoulder more times than she could count. Slamming into a body like his hurt. She suspected it left bruises.

The weather added another element of misery to their journey, cold and misty with rain on the horizon. The coachman, eager to reach their destination in record time, had decided to make a “detour” onto an abandoned coffin route.

The detour included hitting every rut, rock, and log that had lain on the Highland track since God was a boy.

But the worst part was that Maggie knew they were being followed, and Connor acted as if he hadn’t noticed, even though she reminded him of that fact at least three times an hour.

“Call it a sixth sense, my lord, but there was something a little too familiar about that swineherd coming over the hill.”

Claude, on the opposite seat, was sound asleep and snoring lightly. Daphne had cuddled up to Connor’s side, a situation he barely tolerated. Connor himself didn't bestir himself to respond. He was rudely pretending to read the
Scottish Gazette.
She knew he was only pretending because he hadn’t turned the page all day.

It was an affront to good manners. She reminded herself that no self-respecting de Saint-Evremond should have to suffer such treatment. “Excuse me.” She tapped her gloved knuckles lightly on the back of the newspaper. “Aren’t you at all concerned about the swineherd? There was something very suspicious about his eyes.”

Connor buried his nose in the paper only to look up involuntarily as the coach ploughed into a rut. Maggie bounced forward, to the opposite seat, then shot straight back into Connor’s lap.

He groaned as if she had mortally injured him with the impact. Then, as the coach gave another jolt, he put his arm around her waist to prevent her from flying forward again.

Maggie was astonished at how good it felt to settle back against his chest. It was also reassuring to learn that, despite
his appalling rudeness, he was willing to protect her from harm when necessary. After all, it didn’t matter what the man said or didn’t say. Only what he did.

“Thank you,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice. “I won’t forget this.”

Connor never knew exactly what the woman was talking about, but he did know that she talked too much and if she landed in his lap one more time, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. She was far too soft and feminine. She smelled too delicious to resist. She was relentless in her quest to drive him to distraction.

The coach rocked to a teeth-jarring stop. Connor’s grip on her tightened, and she clung to him like a wild rose that grew against a castle wall, fragrant and tempting if a man didn’t mind a few thorns. He tried to pretend her derriere wasn’t pressing into his privates, that a man of his experience ought to have some control over when he became aroused.

The coachman came to the door before Connor had shifted her back onto the seat. Daphne wiggled under his arm, determined to be included in his attention. Claude snored on.

“Sorry about the rut, sir,” the coachman shouted. “It’s this damned mist. Thick as porridge. A man canna see his own hands in front of his face.” To demonstrate, he waved his fingers at the window.

Connor tugged his newspaper out from between himself and the girl on his lap, shredding it in half in the process. “Well, be quick about it this time. I don’t want to be sitting here after dark.”

“No, sir. Of course not, sir. I was wonderin’ though if ye could all empty the coach. Just until I get us out of this rut.”

Connor eased Maggie off his leg. He could smell the whisky on the blasted man’s breath through the window. “He’s a damned drunkard,” he said to himself, wondering what else could go wrong. “I should never have listened to Ardath when she insisted I hire him. Everyone get out.”

Maggie lifted her hand to tidy her hair, drawing Connor’s attention to the fullness of her breasts and narrow waist. God knew there was nothing enticing about her crumpled gray velvet dress, but that didn’t stop him from imagining
the supple dancer’s body hidden beneath it. A body that he was supposed to protect and not lust after like an animal, he reminded himself with a grunt of annoyance.

“Take your belongings,” he said in resignation. “There’s no telling how long it’s going to take him to work us loose.”

Maggie clucked her tongue in sympathy as she gathered up her skirts. “A good servant is worth his weight in gold but almost impossible to find nowadays. I suppose it’s a sign of the times. That’s why I treasure Claude so highly.”

Connor watched in grudging admiration as she leaned over to gently shake the old man awake. She was so convincing in her pose as the exiled duke’s daughter that Connor realized he could end up wrapped around her little finger just like everyone else if he weren’t constantly on guard against her.

“Put your cloak on,” he said in a gruff voice to disguise the fact that he’d been staring at her again. “You’ll freeze to death out on the moor.”

Startled, Maggie scooped up her dog and swung her head around to reprimand him for his abrupt tone. The words died in her throat at the look he gave her, and tiny flames ran down her backbone. Her eyes met his, and she wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter if it began to snow. There was enough heat in Connor Buchanan’s gaze to start a bonfire.

C
onnor climbed a hill and sat down on a large boulder to watch Maggie, Claude, and the driver argue about how to lift the wheel out of the rut. Actually, it wasn’t a rut. It was more like a ditch, but he supposed if you were drunk enough, you wouldn’t know the difference.

He wondered if getting drunk would make traveling with her more tolerable, or if it would only make it worse by lowering his inhibitions. His mind kept mulling over the images of tussling with her in his bed. That creamy skin, those
l
ush breasts and muscular legs he could too easily envision wrapped around his back. His attraction to her was a frightening thing.

Traveling with the woman was making him mad. Every time she touched him, he jumped as if he’d been burned
with a hot poker. The sweet huskiness of her voice sent chills down his back. The dog and the old man didn’t help, either.

In fact, he had been forced to put his foot down on the road from Falkirk.

Not that it had done a damn bit of good.

“Daphne needs to go, my lord,” Maggie must have said at least fifteen times an hour.

To which he would reply, “Good. Let her go. The farther, the better.”

“I mean she needs to, well, she needs to use the privy, as it were.”

“The privy? Dear Lord. We are not stopping again to let that animal spend an hour sniffing around every bu
rn
, brush, and boulder in creation.”

And Claude would add, “I know it is not my place to say so, sir, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to stop and admire the local scenery?”

“Yes, it would hurt.” Connor realized that the time had come for a show of authority. “I am protecting a witness, not giving a grand tour of the Highlands to a dog. We are not stopping. Now, if that’s settled, I do not wish to be disturbed again. I wish to sleep, hopefully until this wretched journey is over.”

The poodle took her revenge while Connor took a nap. “Oh, Daphne,” Maggie whispered, “you didn’t. Not all over his lordship’s law briefs. Funny word, isn’t it, briefs? Claude, open the window while his lordship is still asleep and hang his important papers out to dry. He’ll be as cross as crabs if he finds out.”

“He has already found out, Miss Saunders.”

“Oh, dear.” A sheepish smile crept across her face. “I hope those papers weren’t terribly important.”

“Of course not, lass!” Connor retorted. ‘They only represented months of blood, sweat, and tears on the Balfour case. But never mind. The Crown will understand if crucial evidence for the trial of the century is ruined because a poodle used it for a chamber pot.”

H
e heaved a sigh of impatience and lifted his gaze to the sky. Darkness was dropping like a curtain. They’d never get to Kilcurrie at this rate, he thought in frustration. Frustration over not finding Sheena, over his increasing desire for a girl who at least outwardly represented everything he fought against. Deceit, criminal ties, emotional complications. What she might consist of deep beneath that surface appeal was another matter.

Certainly not like anyone, man or woman, he’d ever met before.

He glanced down, his gaze going straight to the petite figure with mist spangling her midnight hair. How could she think she was being followed? There probably wasn’t a human being for miles around, let alone one associated with the kidnappers, who, if they had any sense, wouldn’t be parading around disguised as the local swineherds.

But try to tell Maggie Saunders that. Try to inject a dose of reality into her make-believe world of deposed dukes and French castles and tenderhearted criminals. Connor still hadn’t gotten over how everyone around her catered to her fantasy. Well, he wouldn’t be counted in her story-book entourage, thank God. It was one thing for the country to view him as a hero. But it was quite another for that image to seep into his personal life.

Except that his association with her wasn’t supposed to be personal.

He narrowed his eyes, then laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the hills. What the hell did they think they were doing now?

The driver had unhitched the horses. He had wedged a board under the stuck wheel and was pushing against the carriage with all his might. So were Maggie and Claude, their faces empurpled with effort, worker ants trying to roll a boulder up a hill.

In fact, from where Connor sat it looked like all three of them were pushing in different directions. If anything, the wheel only sunk deeper into the rut, spewing mud in the air.

He shook his head in chagrin. He buried his face in his hands, hiding a grin. He couldn’t bear to watch. He was half afraid the old butler would take a heart attack. Maggie looked in grave danger of sinking up to her grateful neck in muck.

He rose, dropping his coat on the boulder, his voice brusque. “All right. Everybody get out of the way.” He
rolled up his shirtsleeves and slid down the hill. “Miss Saunders, keep that embarrassing excuse for a dog away from the carriage.”

Maggie plucked her dainty feet out of the mud in relief. “What are you going to do?”

“Be careful, my lord,” the driver said worriedly. “I near broke my spine tryin’ to budge that wheel.”

Connor turned to the carriage like David confronting Goliath. “Everyone stand back.”

“Dear heaven.” Maggie put her hand to her mouth as Connor positioned his forearms under the chassis and lowered his shoulders. “Don’t you strain your sacrum, my lord.”

He ignored her. He clenched his jaw in concentration, his golden hair falling in his face. The muscles of his back and shoulders strained against his white linen shirt. A groan escaped from between his gritted teeth and Maggie closed her eyes, praying aloud that he would not injure himself. He would have laughed if he’d a breath to spare.

Then all of a sudden, as she opened her eyes to peek, the carriage was free, bobbing slightly as he lowered it to the ground. Maggie, Claude, and the driver applauded politely.

“There is something to be said for brute strength,” she said in grudging approval.

“That was quite impressive, my lord,” the driver said. “You must have a physique like cast iron.”

Connor rolled down his sleeves, shrugging off their praise. “You can all get back into the carriage now. With any luck there won’t be another delay.”

The driver pulled off his cap and gave Connor an abashed smile. “We do have another slight problem.”

Connor looked up. “A problem?”

“It’s the horses, my lord. I unhitched them to lighten the carriage. Then that dog chased them across the heath. Don’t worry, though. They’ll not have gone far. Old Claude here and I will have them back in an hour or two.”