Daring (31 page)

“If I were doing that good a job, you wouldn’t be worrying about your poodle.”

Her voice cracked. “I hate to admit it, Connor, but I do believe that infamous de Saint-Evremond sangfroid is deserting me.”

“It’s only natural,” he said gently. “This is your first time. I’m a little on edge if the truth be told.”

“Are you?” she said in surprise. “It certainly doesn’t show.”

He gave her a slow, easy smile. “Actually, it does if you know where to look, which being innocent, you don’t.”

Maggie glanced down without thinking, her eyes widening. “Yes, I see what you mean. Good gracious. How did we get ourselves in this position?”

“It was inevitable. I wanted you, and I got you. I never lose, lass. Never.”

“So I’ve heard, you conceited devil.”

He laughed low, moving over her, determined to enjoy his domination to the fullest. Trailing butterfly kisses over her breasts and belly, he brought his mouth to the fragrant hollow below. The female scent of her tantalized his senses. The taste of her intoxicated him. He was drunk on his desire for her. When she arched in surprise to escape him, he clamped his powerful forearms down on her legs and pinned her to the floor, immobilizing her with the seduction of his mouth.

“Connor.”
The pleasure, piercing and raw, took her unaware. She was trembling from shoulder to toe, wild impulses overwhelming her.

“Inevitable,” he murmured, savoring her fragrance. “Inescapable. I’d save my strength for later if I were you. You’re not going anywhere unless I take you there.”

“Monster,” she said, struggling now not to escape but merely to breathe. “Beast.”

“Beauty.” He gripped her wriggling white bottom, loving her with his tongue. “And every delicious inch of you is mine to enjoy.”

“I suppose there’s no point in arguing with you—”

“None at all.”

She suppressed a groan. “Or pretending to resist.”

“Do be quiet, Maggie,” he murmured, lifting his head to grin at her. “I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m having so much fun.”

She burned with need, unable to stop him. She stared into his beautifully rugged face, the face of a male conqueror, the man who had chosen her for his own, who would kill to protect her. Wicked desire smoldered in his eyes as they locked with hers.

“Are you ready for me to prove my mastery, lass?”

He lowered his head at her soft whimper of submission, and he hadn’t
l
ied when he promised he would show her no mercy. The pleasure he gave her broke down every barrier, every inhibition that stood between them. Maggie suspected it probably broke a couple of laws too.

“Yield to me,” he commanded, and she did. “Love me.”

“Yes,” she whispered, because she always had.

He raised himself up over her, his voice dark and compelling. “Touch me.”

She obeyed, running her fingertips down his back, teasing the ridged indentation of muscle until he trembled. Then suddenly he felt her hands closing around his bulging sex. He stared down in fascination, then squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering with pleasure. His mind went blank. He was lost. Her soft touch was his undoing. She had tamed him with tenderness.

“No one has
ever made me feel like this…
I’ll
die if I’m not inside you…
”

Then his body was covering hers, and he kissed her again, his mouth tasting of whisky and sin. “I can’t wait anymore,” he said roughly, tangling his hand in her hair. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I wasn’t afraid until you said that. Why should I be afraid of you?”

Still, she was frightened for a moment, that final moment when she hovered between innocence and becoming his. “Connor,” she said in a hesitant voice, “I might want to think this over just a little long—”

His look of raw determination silenced her. His long hair swung forward as he straddled her, spreading her thighs. When she felt his thick shaft penetrate her, branding her his own, she shivered and pressed her shoulders to the floor to anchor her. He thrust, and she arched with an age-old instinct, caught in an internal storm of thunder and lightning, electricity racing down every nerve ending. She couldn’t control the wild beating of her heart.

He took possession of her body until he touched her woman’s soul, until he found solace, forged the bond, made the alliance his lonely heart had ached for. He drove into her until there was no part of her that did not answer to him.

“And now we belong to each other,” he said with a l
ong-
drawn groan of pleasure as he surrendered to pure sensation. “I’ll never let you go.”

Chapter

32

H
e was trying to sneak her up to his bed when the midnight summons came. His shirt was slung around his shoulders, entangled with the sash on Maggie’s robe. They were a wee bit tipsy on blackberry wine and each other.

He’d even made it halfway up the stairs, Maggie snuggled in his arms. They probably would have reached his room sooner if he hadn’t stopped every ten seconds to kiss her. The house was utterly black, the lights extinguished hours ago. Uncensored fantasies filled his head as he contemplated the hours left until morning. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to debauch her on the landing. He felt powerful and insatiable.

Then Dougie, clomping up the stairs behind them with all the subtlety of a warhorse, ruined everything.

“There’s a letter just come for her ladyship,” he announced loudly enough to awaken the entire household. “Thought it might be important.”

“Not now,” Connor said through his teeth. He made a meaningful signal with the hand hooked around Maggie’s bottom. “We’re on our way
upstairs.
I’m carrying Lady Maggie to my room.”

Dougie raised his candle to her face. “Dinna tell me the lassie’s no feelin’ well,” he said worriedly. “Best to put her in her own bed, my lord. My granny always said ye’ll catch a nasty chest cold switchin’ beds—”

Connor snatched the expensive vellum envelope from Dougie’s hand. “When did this come?”

“A few minutes after midnight,” Dougie answered dourly. “Looks like an invitation. Hell of an hour to be sending letters if ye ask me.”

Connor let Maggie slide down to her feet. “What is it?” she asked, covering her mouth to hide a hiccough.

Connor’s face darkened as he tore open the envelope. “ ‘Dear Miss Saunders,’ ” he read slowly. “ ‘The honor of your company is requested tomorrow morning at nine o’clock in Glamhurst Castle on a matter of the utmost secrecy. It is advised that you come alone. Most sincerely yours, Lord Anonymous.’ ”

Maggie wobbled backward, balancing herself against Connor’s arm. “Lord who?”

“Anonymous.” Connor stared down at the note, cold fury g
li
ttering in his eyes.

"Glamhurst Castle has been empty for nigh on twenty years,” Dougie said quietly.

Maggie met Connor’s gaze. “The duchess mentioned that someone had moved in a few days ago,” she said. “A man no one has seen or heard. She thought he might be a rich American. He brought quite an extensive retinue with him, footmen and maidservants. She was afraid he means to use the woods for hunting.”

“Funny name, Anonymous,” Dougie said. “I dinna trust him.”

C
onnor’s voice rose into the darkness from the depths of the brocade-curtained bed. “You’re not going to that castle, Maggie.”

“Of course I’m not going. Do you think I’m quite mad?” She scooted back against the carved pine headboard, then bent over him in alarm. “You aren’t going, are you? Not by yourself.”

“No.” He avoided her eyes, drawing her back down against his chest, his big hand wrapped possessively in her hair. She sighed in obvious contentment. He, on the other hand, was a burning tangle of anger and anxiety.

“Do you think it’s from the man who has Sheena?” she whispered.

He stroked her shoulder, absently staring across the shadowed room at the door. “I don’t know, lass.”

“Why would he be so open if he meant me harm?” Maggie thought aloud. “Would he dare to hurt me knowing I was under your protection?”

“You’d be surprised at what some people are capable of.” He looked down at her thoughtfully, his chest tightening with emotion. “Or perhaps you wouldn’t. You’ve seen your share of sorrow, haven’t you?”

H
e set out for the castle at dawn. When he left the room, Maggie was dead to the world, curled around a goose-feathered pillow with her dainty feet hanging over the bed. She didn’t so much as twitch an eyelid when he bent to kiss her. She was safe, and he meant for her to stay that way.

“No more bad dreams for you,” he said with grim resolve. “I’m putting an end to it today. Nothing is going to hurt you again if I can help it.”

He dressed in his heavy woolen hunting clothes and took his pistol from the bureau drawer. As he tucked it into his coat pocket, the meeting in the parlor with Sebastien broke into his thoughts.

Your shoulder is obviously bothering you, Sebastien. Don’t tell me all this cloak and dagger business has given you bursitis.

Just a run-in with an old friend.

I ran him through the shoulder, sir
…

What did he really know of Sebastien? Letters of character could be forged, even from the Prime Minister and members of Parliament. Seals could be stolen. Connor had never bothered to check Sebastien’s credentials. Why would he have? The man moved in elite circles. He’d always gone out of his way to help Connor, and until recently, Connor had no reason to suspect him of any malice.

After all, even a spymaster had to retire sooner or later, and Sebastien certainly wasn’t the first Frenchman to settle in Scotland. The two countries had been political allies for ages.

But suddenly he realized that Sebastien knew far too much about Connor’s life than he needed to, and he was undeniably interested in Maggie. Obsessed with her, perhaps. Nothing else could have brought him all this way across Scotland. There hadn’t been a spy in these remote hills for almost a hundred years.

The truth hit him like a thunderbolt.

Sebastien was the elusive wounded man, and whether or not he was linked to the Balfour murder, he had to be insane to think Connor would let him get to Maggie.

M
aggie surfaced from the dream, fighting for breath. Tears of frustration burned her throat. She’d been so close this time. She had actually reach
ed the bedchamber door at the cha
teau and opened it. She had seen her sister’s silhouette against a backdrop of brilliant light, and the answer to all her questions had been just within her—

Connor was gone.

She sat up in the bed and stared, bewildered, around the room. The bureau drawer was half open, and with a flash of panic, she remembered awakening to watch him load his pistol during the night.

“I’m going hunting in the morning,” he’d said when she sleepily inquired what on earth he was doing.

A shiver of fear shot through her.

Hunting an enemy. He would shun the laws he represented in order to handle the matter like a Highlander. She should have known he’d been too composed last night when he’d read that note. A man like Connor would always confront danger.

By the time she’d dressed and rushed downstairs, she discovered that Claude and Daphne, as well as Connor, had been missing for hours.

The three of them had been spotted by the kitchen maid shortly after sunrise on the hilly road to Glamhurst Castle. The man she loved, her butler, and her pet. All she cared about in the world on a mission to protect her, to confront a madman. Panic washed over her like a tidal wave. What
if she was too late to do anything? Why had she not sensed the fury beneath Connor’s deceptive calm?

It was market day, and Dougie and Mrs. Urquhart would not be back until late afternoon. Most of the servants had accompanied them to bring home supplies. It took two hours to reach the nearest village on horseback. She didn’t know where to turn. She only knew she had to help Connor, or go mad with helplessness and fear.

She was on her way to the stable to saddle a horse, intending to ride to Rebecca’s cottage when the duchess’s coach rolled up into the driveway. Before the woman could plant one booted foot down on the steps, Maggie rushed over to meet her, her face white with worry.

“Good morning, Maggie,” the duchess said in her brusque voice. “Claude’s promised to give me fencing lessons in the garden. Thought I’d improve my riposte. I’ve brought Rebecca along with horse liniment in case my shooting shoulder gives out.”

“Claude isn’t here.” Maggie blinked hard, pulling the sinister note from her cloak pocket. “Neither is Connor. They’ve gone off to confront Lord Anonymous in the castle.”

Rebecca leaned across the seat to look through the opened door. “Lord who, dear?”

The duchess scanned the note, shaking her grizzled head in grim pronouncement. “Considering everything that has happened so far, I don’t like the sound of this.”

“I don’t either,” Maggie burst out. Hadn’t she once been afraid that somehow she would indirectly lead Connor into danger? Hadn’t he himself sensed a threat in the woods?

“Odd seal. Quite impressive.” The duchess ran her callused thumb over the blurry blob of wax on the envelope. “It looks expensive.”

“It isn’t a black rose, is it?” Rebecca asked in alarm.

“I don’t think so,” Maggie said. “At first I thought it looked a little familiar, but it’s too smeared to distinguish.”

“Presumptuous bastard, this Lord Anonymous,” the duchess murmured.

Maggie drew a steadying breath. “We’re not helping Connor by standing here in idle chitchat. His life might be in danger at this very moment.”

“I rather doubt it,” Rebecca said reassuringly. “Connor could make micefeet out of any man stupid enough to confront him. Besides, Maggie, the note was written for you. This person doesn’t seem to be interested in my brother.”

“Which could be a trick,” the duchess said. “For all we know, the madman might have Connor hidden in the castle dungeon right now.”

Maggie’s composure began to collapse. “Along with Claude and Daphne. They’ve been gone for hours. Anything could have happened to them.”

Rebecca and the duchess shared concerned looks. “The wee doggie is
missing too?” Rebecca said. “Morn
a, why are we wasting time blethering? We can devise a plan to rescue them on the way.”

The duchess gave Maggie a gentle prod toward the coach. “Frances can drive us halfway there, but after that the road narrows to a footpath. Damn good thing I brought my guns. It looks like we’re going to do battle, girls.”

Maggie climbed into the coach, her face pinched with anxiety. “Shouldn’t we alert the authorities—perhaps ask Captain Balgonie or Sir Angus to join us?”

“I don’t see why,” the duchess said, climbing in after her. “Angus would complain about having to walk. Balgonie would complain that he was getting his trousers dirty, and the delay could cost us at least an hour. What do you say, Becky? Do we need the men to help us or not?”

Rebecca gracefully drew in her skirts to allow room for Maggie on the seat. “I shouldn’t think so. After all, you have your guns and I have Ares. That ought to be more than adequate protection. It’s not as if we haven’t tackled trouble before.”

“True,” the duchess said. “It won’t be much different than the time we rescued those foxes from Lady Rosyth’s wretched hunt in Naim two years ago.”

“Or set all those hedgehogs loose last summer when the gypsies were hunting them for stew,” Rebecca agreed, flipping her braid over her shoulder.

“Then it’s settled.” The duchess rapped against the roof with her rifle butt. “The men would only be in the way.”