Daring (19 page)

Chap
ter

18

H
e thumped up against the headboard and watched her tiptoeing across the room. The rain pattering on the inn’s heather-thatched roof drowned out the faint sound of her footsteps. She moved with the bewitching ease of a prima ballerina. How was it possible to be so attracted to a woman who had thoroughly humiliated you only an hour ago? “What do you want now, Miss Saunders?”

She jumped, putting her hand to her heart. “Goodness, you gave me a turn. I didn’t know you were awake.”

His voice deepened in indignation. “Do you think I could possibly sleep after making a complete ass out of myself in front of the entire inn?”

“There’s no need to use that tone,” Maggie said. “It was a logical mistake, a misunderstanding. After all, the man did insist I go upstairs with him and disrobe.”

“Because he was a damned doctor, and he thought you were the woman who had summoned him here for acute stomach pain.” He raked her with a resentful glance, noting how her soft black hair curled over her shoulders, how tantalizing she looked in a pale nightrail with a frilly hem. “What do you want with m
e in the middle of the night, an
yway?”

“It’s only eleven o’clock,” she said.

“Most people were asleep an hour ago,” he retorted.

She crept to the edge of the bed. He imagined he could see the shape of her breasts through the thin ivory batiste. His body tightened at the enticing illusion. It didn’t take much to excite him these days.

“I want to stay here until morning,” she explained. “A man just knocked on my door.”

She sat down uninvited on the edge of the bed. Her thigh brushed his. He leaned forward with a growl that sounded inhuman in the darkness. “You’re imagining things again. It was probably a guest who’d returned to the wrong room.”

She closed her eyes as the covers fell to his waist, revealing his broad shoulders and bare chest. “I am not imagining anything. The man at my door said that someone important wanted to talk to me, that I was in danger, and that if I knew what was good for me, I’d come with him right away.”

Connor couldn’t deny that the fear in her voice was genuine. He rose, a sheet draped around his waist, and dressed swiftly in the shadows. “Almighty God. I never heard of a kidnapper who bothered to knock. I don’t suppose you got a look at him?”

“Of course not.” She opened her eyes warily, hesitant to look his way. “I did, however, get a look at your torso, and while I realize that most virile men enjoy sleeping in the buff, it is not a practice I can recommend. What if the inn were to catch fire and you were forced to make an emergency exit?” She frowned down at her lap. “Are you dressed yet?”

“Yes, I’m dressed.” He bumped back into a footstool, swearing to himself. “Did you think I was going to conduct an official investigation in the nude?”

“Considering your recent lapse in the social graces, I wasn’t entirely sure. You haven’t been at all yourself lately.”

It was an absurd remark since she didn’t know him well enough to comment on his past behavior. “I don’t suppose anyone else heard this mysterious man at the door, did they?”

“I wouldn’t know. I waited until I knew he was gone, then I ran to your room as fast as I could. I think you ought to keep your door locked in future. To be on the safe side.”

Connor frowned at this useless piece of advice and combed his fingers through his hair. “I’ll have to alert Isabel. She isn’t going to like this.”

“May Daphne and I stay in your room until you return?” Maggie asked nervously.

It was the first time Connor noticed the dog at the door, wiggling its behind in greeting at his bewildered glance. Was this a bad dream? Was he really going to disturb the entire inn looking for an anonymous man while a girl and her annoying poodle slept in his bed?

“Bolt the door behind me,” he said testily. “Don’t open it to anyone except me.”

Maggie had already settled under the covers and made space for Daphne. “How will I know it’s you?”

“By my voice, Miss Saunders.”

“Perhaps we ought to have a secret password. The Chief always—”

Connor uttered a colorful obscenity.

“Well, I certainly won’t forget
that
phrase,” Maggie said to herself as he strode from the room, closing the door with a bang.

“
W
ake up, Miss Saunders. Rise and bloody shine.”

Maggie roused herself and rolled onto her back, wondering if she’d imagined the rude slap to her rear end. Beside her Daphne wagged her tail in welcome, recognizing the unsmiling figure who leaned over the bed. The dog apparently didn’t care that Lord Buchanan had been transformed into an untamed beast over the past few days. Or perhaps the pair of them had beg
un to communicate on some primi
tive level. Connor did exhibit quite a few animal tendencies. “Did you find the man?” she whispered.

Connor stared at her for several seconds, his mouth curling into an insulting smile. Exhausted, embarrassed, it didn’t do his temper a damn bit of good to see her snuggled in his bed, as dewy as a wild daisy in a meadow. “Well,” he said slowly, “after your butler nearly decapitated me outside the door, because he, being half blind, mistook me for a stranger, I began the humiliating task of waking up every man, woman, and child in the inn. It wasn’t enough to accost
an innocent physician only an hour or so earlier. I had to make sure that I offended everyone in the bargain.”

Maggie sat up with the covers wrapped around her. “You’re upset because he got away again, aren’t you? You’ve committed yourself to protecting me, and the very fact that he got close enough to knock at my door makes it seem like a dereliction of duty. You are clearly a man who cannot admit failure, which is not truly a flaw. It is a mark of greatness.”

He leaned down lower, his voice like flint against stone. “Get your perfect little posterior out of my bed, Miss Saunders.”

Maggie swallowed, struggling to keep Daphne from leaping up and licking his lordship’s sternly clenched jaw. “I know you tried your best. You shouldn’t blame yourself if he got away. The criminal mind is devious—”

A muscle ticked in that sternly clenched jaw. Daphne popped out of Maggie’s arm and began running back and forth to the door, launching into a chorus of playful barks.

Maggie summoned a weak smile. “She thinks we’re going out.”

“We are.” Connor gave her a chilling smile and reached down to ply the covers out of her hands.

“But it’s almost midnight—”

“Yes. I’d noticed that.”

“And it’s raining.”

He dragged the covers to the floor, his gaze traveling over her shivering form. “That was exactly what I told Isabel’s father when he returned unexpectedly from Caithness and demanded to know what the hell I was doing interrogating his guests before he insisted I vacate the premises.”

“What a stupid man,” Maggie said sympathetically. “I hope you put him in his place. Doesn’t he know you’re the Lord Advocate of Scotland?”

“He’s a Highlander, Miss Saunders. He wouldn’t care if I were the Lord God Himself.”

“Well, he can’t throw us out at this time of night.”

Connor stared down at her in exasperation. Virginal temptation, pale skin, a vision of innocence that conjured up thoughts of sin. She might be ruining his life, but she looked damn tempting in his bed. “He has already thrown us out.
The driver is bringing the carriage around even as you argue with me. We have been evicted, given the boot, shown the proverbial door.”

Maggie pushed off the bedcovers and came to her feet. Rain beat against the roof in cascades. Connor felt a dangerous urge to force her back onto his bed and give free reign to the fever that burned in his blood for her.

“Do you want me to speak to Isabel’s father?” she asked quietly. “I have a feeling you’re not handling this as well as you could. I’m certain I could convince the man to let us stay here until morning. I have a way with people, or so I’ve been told.”

The arrogance of the woman, the naivete. She, with the tussled hair and physical might of a hummingbird,
she
thought she could manipulate a situation when he’d made a career of such matters.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said. Ridiculous. Desirable. The rain pounded the roof in rhythm with his pulse. The heat of her small body radiated to his. Before he knew it, he had pulled her against him and brought his mouth down on hers in a desperate, hungry kiss.

To his surprise she wrapped her arms around his waist instead of pushing him away. Her response plunged his thoughts into turmoil. He ran his hands down her back, learning the contours of her supple body, absorbing the little shivers she gave into his own.

“You’re driving me out of my mind,” he whispered roughly.

“I know,” she whispered back. “It isn’t on purpose.”

He lifted his hand to her breast, groaning deep in his throat as she arched her back, innocently offering herself to him. He wanted to touch her all over, to rub against her, to force her down on the floor. His kiss grew fiercer. Sexual excitement sizzled down his spine. He drew her into his body; she was so light and agile it was like molding a swan’s feather to his frame. Satin against steel. He walked her back to the bed, devouring her mouth, the soft cries she gave.

Maggie decided it was a good thing he was holding her so tightly. His kiss had melted her to the core, turning her insides
into wax. She was in jeopardy of following in her forebearers’ sinful footsteps.

“I think it’s a good thing after all that we won’t be staying here tonight,” he said in a low,
tortured voice as he tore his
mouth from hers.

Maggie opened her eyes to look at him, breathless and unbalanced. “Why?” she whispered. “Are you ill?”

“Am I ill?” he said in a strangled voice.

Maggie studied him i
n concern. “I hope you haven’t
caught s
omething. Perhaps you ought to li
e down.”

He removed her hands from his neck.
“I definitely should
not lie down. And you—”

A hard knock at the door interrupted them. “This is Isabel’s father. Lord Buchanan,” a gruff voice announced. “A guest has just told me he saw a woman sneak into your room, but I told him it couldna be true. I told him there was not a woman in your room.”

“I’ll handle this.” Maggie s
tepped toward the door before
Connor could stop her. “The man needs to be put in his place.”

Connor, shaking off the sensual lassitude that had immobilized him, stared at her in disbelief. “What are you doing?”

She turned to him briefly before raising the bolt. “You might be a famous lawyer, my lord, but you clearly lack experience in dealing with people in day-to-day affairs. The line between our inferiors must be delineated, gently, but delineated all the same. This man must be reminded of his position on the social ladder.”

He looked horrified. “You’re in your nightclothes. You— You’re only a girl. Do not open that—”

She did. She opened it with the practiced annoyance of a princess disturbed by a peasant.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Connor sputtered, hopping backward over Daphne. “This is the Highlands, not the French court. We’ll be tossed out on our ears.”

Maggie shook her head, dismissing his concerns, and smiled with beguiling s
weetness at the irate man who
faced her.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” she said in the same voice she used when Daphne had made a puddle
in a bad place. “Do you have any idea who you are disturbing?”

Connor swallowed a groan and sank to the bed in surrender, covering his eyes. Isabel’s father was too astonished to reply. Not that Connor really wanted to hear his response. He’d suffered enough embarrassment for a lifetime.

Chapter

19

T
homas Donaldson, junior counselor, felt like kicking up his heels in excitement. He made do with a low chuckle of self-satisfaction that went unnoticed in the tavern’s din of drinking and conversation. Finally. He’d finally unearthed some crucial evidence on his own. He couldn’t wait until the Lord Advocate heard about this. Thomas only wished he could tell Connor he’d found his sister too.

But Sheena Buchanan had vanished without a trace. Donaldson would have given his right arm to find her. He lived to please Lord Buchanan.

He finished his ale and threw several coins down on the tavern table. The two informants he’d just met had already melted into the crowd. He wasn’t surprised. It didn’t help to be seen consorting with the public prosecutor’s assistant in this part of town.

He sauntered outside, too pleased with himself to notice the damp chill in the air. Or the shadows that fell into step behind him.

He wouldn’t call a cab. He wanted to walk. His mother was visiting and would be waiting up for him to celebrate his birthday. He needed an hour alone to savor his success.

Motive.

He’d discovered the Balfour murderer’s motive. Connor had been convinced of the man’s identity all along, and now Donaldson had learned that Co
nnor’s prime suspect, a middle-
aged nobleman, was being blackmailed for a sordid crime he’d committed against a child in the past. Lord Montgomery, pillar of the nobility, devoted husband, friend to the royal family. Secret gambler, child molester, and killer, had needed money. Desperate enough to murder his own banker and clerk and frame a disoriented vagrant who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time.

Proving this would be Connor’s job. Montgomery, despite wealth and connections, didn’t stand a chance once Connor got him in the witness box.

Donaldson began to whistle. It was later than he realized, but he had never felt so awake, so hopeful for the future.

He became aware of the footsteps only a few seconds before the club struck the side of his head. He staggered into a parked carriage. The club fell again.

“That was for not minding your own business.”

Pain exploded through his temple. He tried to speak. Blackness sucked him into a void. Another blow. He barely felt it this time. An impassive voice hissed in his ear.

“And that one was for Buchanan.”

He sank gratefully into the numbing darkness. He never heard the carriage wheels scrape over the cobbles. He never saw the gentle giant of a man who found him in the gutter a few minutes later and hefted him into his huge arms.

A young girl in trousers stepped off the pavement. “Who is it, Papa?” she whispered.

“I think it’s Donaldson, the silly bugger who works for Connor. Someone has beaten the lad half to death.”

“Connor’s friend?” Her eyes grew wide with alarm. “Do you think that he’s in danger too?”

“I dinna ken, Janet, but he’s man enough to take care of himself. It’s Maggie we should be worrying about.”