Daring (30 page)

“Donaldson was brutally attacked in an alleyway several days after you left,” Sebastien explained slowly. “I gather he had been on the docks gleaning some crucial information on the Balfour murder case. Something that implicated your suspect. Donaldson is expected to recover, but I’m afraid he’ll need a long recuperation. It was Arthur Ogilvie—the Chief, they call him—who found your colleague in the gutter and probably saved his life.”

Connor didn’t speak for a moment. The room seemed suddenly darker, the temperature chilling by several degrees. “Then Sheena isn’t safe,” he said. “I got a letter from her— it sounded so natural I’d half convinced myself that whoever kidnapped her wasn’t going to hurt her.”

“We still don’t know if there’s a connection. Frankly, I suspect not.” Sebastien was studying him with unnerving intensity. “It would seem, however, that in light of this alarming development, you are perhaps not the best person to protect Miss Saunders.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you are apparently a magnet for danger, Connor. Your sister has been abducted, your young
protégé
viciously beaten.”

Connor stood abruptly, resenting the criticism. When it came d
own to it he still believed in h
is own invulnerability and power, and he couldn’t bear the thought of entrusting Maggie to anyone else. “Donaldson knew the danger of visiting the docks alone. I warned him not to take chances on this case. Poor bastard—he’d better recover.”

Sebastien gripped the arms of the chair to rise. This time Connor could not miss the man’s subdued groan of pain, but he was too distracted to comment on it.

“I had no idea you had formed such an attachment to her,” Sebastien said, standing to face him.

“It wasn’t exactly something I planned,” Connor said in self-defense. “One thing led to another, and I fell in love.”

“I see.”

Connor swung around to the fire, swearing under his breath. “I
am
going to take care of her.”

“But you have to return to the ci
ty in a fortnight to assume office.” Sebastien sounded calmer now. “The Lord Advocate of Scotland can hardly seclude himself for an extended romantic interlude while a murderer runs loose in the capital city.”

“Romantic interlude. I should be so fortunate. I can tell you quite honestly that the prospect is looking bleaker and bleaker.”

Sebastien raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

Connor paced in front of t
he fire, his leonine head down-
bent in thought. “You’re sure Donaldson will recover?”

“That is what I was told,” Sebastien said. “Unfortunately he can’t remember much about the events leading up to his attack.”

“It was good of you to ride al
l this way by yourself.”

Sebastien pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket. “As it turns out, I had unexpected business in the area.”

“In this area?”

Sebastien offered nothing more.

“Aren’t you at least staying the night?” Connor said after a moment. “Your shoulder is obviously bothering you, Sebastien. Don’t tell me all this cloak and dagger business has given you bursitis.”

Sebastien forced a smile. “Just a run-in with an old friend. Besides, that other affair I mentioned is more urgent than I realized.”

“So it does have ties to espionage?”

“Something like that.” Sebastien walked to the door, then paused. “Your relationship with Miss Saunders
…
it hasn’t crossed any serious boundaries, has it?”

The smile froze on Connor’s face. “I can’t believe you asked me that.”

For an instant something dark and threatening flashed in Sebastien’s eyes, and Connor realized how little he really knew of the man. “Be careful, Connor,” he said, his expression once again masked. “I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to either of you.”

C
onnor was disturbed by the interview. He was fond of Donaldson and furious at the same time that the young fool
had risked his life to gather information. It was the reckless sort of thing Connor had done when he worked for the court as a legal clerk. It was the mark of a man who would go far.

He was also more worried than ever about Maggie and his sisters.

He threw on his black greatcoat and left the house to cut across the estate to the woods. It was a cold November day, the wind carrying the tang of peat and decaying leaves. Maggie couldn’t have gone far with Claude accompanying her. They shouldn’t be hard to find. He knew the area well, the hidden bridle paths, the maze of hazel coppice, the hilly lanes.

An hour passed.

He started to retrace his steps. Back to the gorge in case one of them had slipped on the path above the waterfall. Back to the old wooden bridge to make sure it hadn’t collapsed beneath their weight.

After another hour he returned to the house, charging into room after room in the hope he’d find her. He refused to believe she had vanished. By the time he burst into the kitchen like a cannonball, his long hair disheveled, leaves stuck to his coat, he had worked himself into an uncharacteristic panic.

“Did she come back?” he bellowed.

A scullery maid dropped a saucepan in fright at his dramatic entrance. Mrs. Urquhart and Dougie, apparently having reached some sort of truce, looked at him as if he’d taken complete leave of his senses from the long oak table where they sat sipping tea.

“Did who come back, sir?” Dougie asked in bewilderment.

“Lady Maggie,” Connor shouted.

Silence answered him. He suddenly felt like a moron, his emotions exposed, his legendary control shattering, but he couldn’t help himself. What if something had happened to her? “She went for a walk in the woods several hours ago! It’s almost dark, and she isn’t anywhere in the house! Neither is Claude.”

Another silence. Then Mrs. Urquhart glanced around to the petite figure on the floor behind the chopping block. Connor, breathing hard, followed the direction of her amused gaze but did not immediately register a connection.

The petite figure had its head stuck in the oven. It also had a familiar shape, a pleasantly rounded posterior that wriggled back toward him. A delicate face appeared between the chairs, flushed with heat and annoyance. Maggie rose like Venus with flour on her nose instead of foam.

“Who, may I ask, is doing all the shouting and dropping of saucepans on the floor? It took me three hours to get that
soufflé
right and now the whole thing’s collapsed like a damn pancake.”

“It was me.” Connor’s voice, hoarse with relief, shook the herbs and onions tied to the soot-blackened rafters. “I’ve been looking for you for hours.”

“You were worried about me?” Maggie looked altogether too delighted at the thought of him spending an entire afternoon of self-torture on her account. “That was sweet of you, my lord. Sweet but rather silly. Claude and I went for a drive with the duchess. You know she wouldn’t have let anything happen to me.”

“You might have informed me,” he said, walking her back against the table. “At the very least you could have left a note
…
a trail of bread crumbs or—or lace. I’ve wasted an entire day’s work because of you.”

Maggie stared at him in wonder. He’d obviously been more frightened than he could show, and his concern was manifesting itself in a very bad mood. This was such a good sign. He cared deeply. She felt like celebrating with champagne.

“Would you like a cup of tea and some collapsed mushroom
soufflé
?” she asked him softly.

Connor braced his hands down on the table with a defeated sigh, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotion. The mischief and self-awareness in her dark blue eyes mesmerized him. He
never
again wanted to experience that sick rush of fear he’d felt when it seemed she had vanished. She meant more to him than he realized.

“Go out into the garden,” he ordered her. “I need to talk to you in private.”

T
hey stood on either side of a lichen-speckled sundial in the blue-violet haze of a Highland gloaming. An owl called softly from the nearby woods. A badger rustled through the blackberry brambles. Maggie rubbed a spot of flour from her nose and searched Connor’s face in the lengthening shadows, shivering a little as his eyes bored into her. Intense. Magnetic. Possessive. She had been awed by him from the first day she’d sp
otted him in the street with a l
ine of smitten admirers in tow. Well, she was one of those smitten by his charisma now. More than smitten if the truth be told. She loved the beast with every beat of her heart.

He lowered his head, frowning at her across the sundial. She sighed, sensing a lecture coming on. “As of today, there will be no more walks in the woods.”

“I wish you would make up your mind, Connor. I thought you wanted me to walk in your woods.”

“Not without me,” he said fiercely. “It isn’t safe anymore. Donaldson was brutally attacked and left for dead.”

Maggie drew in a shocked breath. “Attacked—in your woods?
I
had no idea he was even in the area. I wonder— dear heavens, you don’t suppose Donaldson is the wounded man we’ve been trying to find? The man Claude ran through with his sword? It could all be a tragic misunderstanding, like Romeo and Juliet, Oh, Connor.”

He lost several moments trying to decide at which point in the conversation her train of thought had derailed. “I am not talking about these woods. Donaldson was attacked in Edinburgh, presumably by someone who hopes to thwart the murder investigation.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “I realize you are renowned for your courtroom eloquence, my lord, but frankly there are times when your logic eludes me. Did you or did you not just state that these woods weren’t safe?”

“I meant that they might not be safe.”

“Were they safe yesterday?”

“Yes.” What the hell was she getting at? “I assumed so.”

“And being safe yesterday, they are no longer safe today because a man was beaten in Edinburgh?”

Connor suddenly wished for a glass of whisky. Arguing with Maggie was as exhausting as appearing before the High Court of Justiciary.

“The woods aren’t safe because whoever attacked Donaldson could have followed us here,” he said in exasperation.

“There is no need to use that tone,” she said. “This is
exactly what I’ve been trying to explain to you for the past fortnight.”

She had him there.

“Yes,” he conceded, “and I’ve done some serious thinking on the subject—”

“So have I,” Maggie interrupted him, circling the sundial Like a lawyer summarizing a case before a jury. “And I realize now that Claude and I have probably overreacted. I don’t feel threatened here at all. If there was any danger to me, I would surely sense it. I have good instincts about such things.”

Connor frowned. “What about the wounded man?”

“Ah, yes. Well, neither Claude’s eyesight nor his mind is what it used to be. It is entirely possible he imagined the whole incident. I would never tell him this, of course.”

“And the figure in black at the farmhouse? The man who knocked at your door at the Golden Sovereign?”

She wandered over to the garden wall. “
I
can’t really explain it,” she called over her shoulder. “All I know is that I’m not afraid anymore.”

“But I am,” he said quietly, looking past her into the woods. “I have come here every autumn for seven years straight, and I, too, have good instincts. There is someone watching us. I can sense it at this moment. There is someone in those woods who does not belong.”

C
ha
pter

31

C
onnor stared into the fire, savoring the late-night silence. In Edinburgh he rarely allowed himself time for contemplation. But he’d bought this house as a retreat, which he rarely used. There were no unpleasant intrusions here to bother him. There were no happy ones either.

No children, no wife, no meddling in-laws. No complications, or commitments.

He took a drink of whisky. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Let her love me back. Don't let me lose her. I’ve never cared like this before.”

He lifted his head, hearing the servants joking in the garden where Claude was giving fencing lessons.

For the first time since Connor could remember the house seemed alive, lit by the foibles of human interaction and laughter. Maggie had brushed angel wings of warmth and brightness over his life. How had he come to need her this badly? Need her to the degree that instead of protecting her, he risked putting her in greater danger.

The door creaked open behind him. Light footsteps approached his chair. He drew an expectant breath, releasing it into the darkness. A knowing smile spread across his face.

He’d been waiting for her. He had willed her to come to him. Sensual tension thrummed through his veins.

“Sit down beside me, lass,” he said with deceptive calm. “I’ll pour you a glass of wine.”

“That would be nice, my lord, as long as you aren’t going to give me another one of your scoldings.”

She sat down in the wing chair opposite him and took the glass of wine he gave her. To his surprise she was wrapped in only a dark burgundy velvet dressing robe. In fact, all he could see of her was her face and finely boned hands and feet. It was, unfortunately, more than enough to stimulate his erotic imagination.

Her delicate sensuality stirred a desire in him that bordered on savage. He didn’t know how he managed to maintain a facade of detachment. Dangerous undercurrents roiled beneath his surface calm. He watched in a pretense of composure, calculating his next move, while she propped her feet on the tapestried footstool, wriggled her toes in abandon, and took a sip of wine.

“This is just like old times, isn’t it
,
Connor?” she said with a blissful sigh.

He resisted the urge to run his hand along the instep of her foot to her thigh. She wouldn’t be so relaxed if she knew what he had in mind. “Old times?”

“You trying to get me drunk in front of a fire. It reminds me of the night we met.”

“Do you know a man named Sebastien?” he said unexpectedly.

Maggie lowered her wineglass to give him a long critical look. “I hope you pay more attention to what other people are saying in the courtroom than you do to me. It’s very disconcerting to talk to you sometimes.”

“Do you know anyone named Sebastien?” he repeated.

“I’ve known several Sebastiens,” she replied. “The first one was my father’s secretary. He disappeared the night Papa died. We suspect he may have been executed in Marseilles. Then there was old Sebastien, the gardener’s uncle. He was caught in a compromising position behind the privet hedge with Maman’s seamstress.” Maggie sipped her wine, smiling. “Apparently, this lascivious conduct was a family
trait because young Sebastien, the gardener’s son, was caught in—”

“Do you know a man named Sebastien who lives in Edinburgh? He may have had dealings with the Chief.”

She mulled this over for a moment. “No. Why?”

“Because he seems to know quite a bit about you,” Connor said with a scowl.

“That’s very flattering.”

“It isn’t flattering,” he said. “It’s disturbing. I don’t like other men being that interested in you. You’re daft if you think I’m going to allow it.”

She put down her wineglass and reached for his hand. “You’re turning dark in the face, my lord. I wish you wouldn’t worry. I told you I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

“But I am,” he said quietly, grasping her hand in his powerful grip. “I’m afraid of what I feel for you, that someone will hurt you because of me. I’m afraid for my sisters.”
He slid out of his chair and pulled her down against him, gripping her against his massive chest. “I need you so badly, lass.”

The brilliant arguments, the veneer of sophistication crumbled to dust in her presence. He was the lion captured by the princess. The beast that would lay down its life for the chance to win her love.

Maggie came without resistance, stroking his face with her hand. A shudder of raw desire went through Connor’s large body at her touch. Everyone assumed he had no weaknesses, but he did. He yearned for tenderness. He yearned to be accepted for his flaws as well as his strengths.

“You’re seeing me at my worst,” he said, embarrassed by his emotions. “When everything is over, you’re going to marry me.”

She leaned back to look at him. “That’s a nice thought, Connor, but you’ll have to ask—”

“I’m not asking anybody,” he said forcefully. “The matter is not open for debate. Especially not after tonight.”

She looked intrigued. “What’s going to happen tonight?” she whispered, unconsciously holding her breath.

Devilish lights danced in his eyes. “You aren’t leaving this room until I make you mine.”

Before she could react to this display of male assertion, Connor worked her robe open to the waist, loosening the sash with a skillful tug. Maggie gasped in astonishment at his audacity and sat bolt upright in his lap.

Connor himself was in shock, immobilized by a powerful surge of desire that robbed him of speech. She was naked under her robe. Sinfully, deliciously, temptingly nude. He drank in the sight of her like a beggar drowning in a fountain of wine, her full rose-peaked breasts, her belly, the dark triangle of hair between her legs. He had trouble breathing.

She was lithe and tiny, perfectly fashioned. Soft, sensuous, unique. His throat closed over an animal growl. His heart thundered against the wall of his chest.

“Dear God,” he exclaimed, shaking his head incredulously. “Where are all your clothes?”

“Upstairs,” she said in irritation. “I’d just taken a bath when I realized I hadn’t let Daphne out for her evening puddle. I popped in to wish you good night, never dreaming that I was to be rendered naked for ravishment.” She yanked the robe back together at the neck.

He gave her a beastly grin and, with a flick of his wrist, rendered her naked again to his hungry stare.

“Ravishment, is it?” He untied the sash at her waist, using it to drag her into him. “Am I expected to live up to my reputation?”

“I am inexperienced, my lord,” she said primly, drawing her knees into her body.

“Oh, I know.” His voice was tender; the passion in his eyes was not. “My very own little virgin. Mine to ravish and enjoy.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Her hair tumbled down over her bare arms and breasts. It was such an erotic sight that Connor couldn’t help himself. He cupped her chin in his hand and bent to kiss her. Then, grasping her wrists in his other hand, he gently forced her back down onto the rug. The firelight illuminated every inviting swell and hollow of her supple form. Aroused beyond belief, he brushed his lips back and forth across hers with deliberate sensuality. She arched upward in anticipation.

“How can anyone so small have such an unsettling effect on me?” he mused aloud. He smoothed the curls from her face, his deep voice amused. “Why are your eyes squeezed
shut, Maggie? Am I really such a beast that you can’t bear to look at me when we make love?”

She cracked open one eyelid at a time. “You are not a beast at all,” she said. “You’re the most beautiful man in the world, if not a little overpowering. It’s just that you’re so good at this sort of thing. I’m nonplussed, that’s all.”

“What sort of thing?” he teased, blowing in her ear.

“Seductions—well, at least I can’t accuse you of stealing my virtue because you have a trial in the morning.”

“What does a trial—ah, yes, the virgin on the eve of battle.” A smile flickered across his face. “I’d forgotten about that particular rumor.”

Maggie hoisted herself up on her elbow to frown at him. “I notice that you aren’t denying it. Is it true?”

He took his sweet time before satisfying her curiosity. “Well, lass, like most rumors, I suppose it had its origin in a kernel of truth.”

She nudged his hand off her hip. “How big a kernel?”

“I suppose that somewhere in the hazy past I might have seduced a woman who was passing herself off as a maiden on the eve before I opened a case.”

“You don’t remember?” she said crossly.

“I don’t remember any of the women I met before you came along,” he answered, settling his hand back on her hip. His thumb traced the fragile curve. “Was there anyone else?”

He moved his mouth down her throat to her breasts. Everything about her aroused him. The breathy sigh of enjoyment that escaped her only made him more excited. When she arched against him, he felt his body harden in answer. His hands trembled when he touched her. “You’ve changed my life, Maggie,” he whispered. “I never used to do things like shoot up scarecrows, and lift carriages out of bogs.”

She smiled. “I can’t take all the credit. The Chief always says a man never knows his mettle until he’s pushed to the limit.”

Connor exhaled through his teeth. “I’m pushed to the limit right now.”

“You mean…
”

He began to unbutton his shirt. “Yes, lass. That’s exactly what I mean. No, don’t shy away. I want to feel your body next to mine.”

The warmth of her soft flesh against Connor’s bare chest was a delightful shock to his system. He took his time exploring the contours of her body. He marveled at how flawless and fragile she was.

“Maggie, we have a problem.” He breathed a sigh into her hair. “A serious problem. It’s been on my mind since this morning.”

“I know.” She cuddled up contentedly against his chest. “Breakfast nearly killed me, too,” she confided. “I didn’t want to hurt Claude’s feelings, but I had indigestion for hours.”

He skimmed his forefinger across her buttocks, tracing the sweet cleft. “Breakfast, although an abomination to the human stomach, isn’t the problem.”

“You’re right.” She shivered as he splayed his hand over her belly, his thumb circling her navel. “The burnt salmon we had for supper was. I haven’t felt well since.”

“In two weeks I have to return to Edinburgh to take office,” he continued. His hand drifted lower. He began to stroke the downy softness between her thighs. “I had been considering asking Donaldson to come here and take care of you. Of course that’s out of the question now. Everything has changed.”

“It certainly has.” Maggie’s breath rushed out. What was he doing to her? “I can’t go back to Heaven’s Court.”

“Good God, no. The Lord Advocate’s wife? I should hope not.”

“Assuming that I agree to marry you. I might just prefer to remain a witness.”

He smiled darkly, his eyes burning with an emotion that made her feel like he was holding her heart over a red-hot flame. “Then I’ll have to put you under arrest,” he said with mock regret. “The Court is bringing a charge against you for the malicious mischief you inflicted on the night of October twentieth.

“And”—he dragged his hand over the tangle of curls between her thighs—“for the mischief you’ve inflicted on me every night since. How do you plead?”

“Who is to be my judge?” she whispered.

“I am.”

“And the jury?”

“Judge, jury, and jailer. This is a one-man courtroom, lass.”

“In that case, I suppose I shall have to throw myself at the mercy of the court.”

He laughed softly. “This court is not known for its mercy.”

Maggie stiffened as he slipped his finger inside her, stroking, rubbing, stretching her tender flesh. His mouth went dry as he stared down into her face. He loved her reaction, her blend of inexperience and instinctive passion as she moaned, her muscles tightening around his finger. He loved the wet heat of her.

“Are you—” She caught her breath. “Are you sure this is legal?”

“Search and entry,” he whispered with a wicked smile. “The Court is exercising its right to make sure you aren’t holding anything back from us.”

“As if I’d dare.”

“Is that a smile I see on your face, Miss Saunders? I assure you the complaints against you are quite serious
…
and my cross-examinations have been known to go on for days.”

“Days?” she whispered, shaking with pleasure.

“Sometimes weeks. Oh, Maggie.” His husky voice wove a spell over her senses. “I don’t think I can wait. You’ve destroyed me.”

The fire shadows played up the size and virile strength of his body. She could sense the power he held in check, the passion.

He sat back to take off his trousers. Maggie’s gaze lifted to the mantelpiece. “I hope Claude remembers to let Daphne in for the night. Do you think that I should remind him?”

“Right now?” Connor said in horror.

“It will only take a moment.”

He sighed. His trousers hit the floor. “I’m trying to seduce you, Maggie.”

“I know,” she whispered. “You’re doing a remarkable job of it too.”