Duncan's Rose

by Safi, Suzannah

  “Don’t leave,” she whispered.

  “I won’t.”

  He slid under the warm covers, and hugged her close to his body.

  Darkness enveloped the room, and Mac lay awake, watching the shadows dance. He replaced the mask on his face and his hand lingered for a second, touching it. He scowled at the ceiling as he replayed every minute of the night. The echo of Miranda’s gasps and luscious cries of pleasure remained in Mac’s mind long after their intimacy. A sense of urgency to dive into her again clawed at him.

  He remembered his lack of response to the comely prostitute who fondled his bare chest, displaying half of her breast. He had felt nothing, nothing. He’d had to concentrate all his manly power to get that erect with the prostitutes. But with Miranda, one touch, one kiss, did it all. He shot hard as stone just remembering her soft, plump breast beneath his palms.

  He had wanted to taste her to get rid of that possessive feeling, hoping to convince himself that she had no control over him—that she was just another woman. But taking her tonight had been…mind-boggling. Just touching her trembling body…

  She had seen his face, his body, all the ugly scars. The sweet desire she showed was overwhelming and completely unexpected. He had believed no woman would look twice at his burned face, or if they did, would run miles away.

  What if he never experienced that fierce passion again…without her?

  Twenty years had passed since the fire so horribly damaged his face and body. As he’d predicted, the only way he was able to sleep with women was to hire them, and he’d done so for the last ten years. Yet there were only so many times a man could tolerate looking down at a woman he was using and seeing her thinly veiled revulsion, especially after he’d paid for her services.

  One unsatisfying release after another had taken their toll, and eventually his body couldn’t seem to be bothered to desire, to ache, any longer. He hadn’t even missed the sexual intimacy.

  Until now…

  How was he going to convince Miranda of the danger of publishing her book, the danger to both of them?

  The secret of his past haunted his present and endangered their future. Mac was aware his true identity would be revealed, and his privacy blown to bits at the moment the book came out. His deception would add fuel to the villager’s hatred.

  On top of that, he was still disturbed about his vision, about Miranda believing he was willing to kill her. If that happened, it would destroy him. He rubbed his eyes, his head pounding with gloomy thoughts.

  He no longer wished to hurt the villagers; he actually never intended to carry out his uncle’s plan. His uncle would fight him and try to accomplish his goal. His uncle’s excuse was that the doctor and some villagers had helped drive Mac’s father insane, and that was why he had burned his own family.

  Ah, I don’t know what to think any more.

  All he wanted was to live in peace on this island with Miranda, maybe have a family one day, with children to fill their life. He gazed at Miranda’s angelic, sleeping face beside him. He sighed. She would love to have a family, wouldn’t she?

  I must convince her to write something else. There are plenty of subjects she could find. But he knew her well; she was stubborn and strong-minded. She would ask for an explanation of why he resisted the publishing of the book.

  He gazed at her face again and grinned.

  She would be one tough cookie. How could he make a woman who was so strongly devoted to her book love him enough to give it up? Love led the way to redemption. Perhaps his love would convince Miranda to trust him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mac stared down at Miranda’s perfect features, which were bathed in the soft glow of the moon coming from her window. Framed by her hair, her face was delicately sculpted and heart-shaped. His groin tightened. This was a woman who would heat any man’s blood.

  Surrendering to the urge, he lightly grasped a handful of the fire-red curls spread over the pillow. She moaned at his touch. As he rubbed his thumb over the silky hair, he pondered the mysterious appeal of holding a woman in her sleep. He’d heard that some men liked it. He remembered Thomas, his guard, talking once about his fiancée, Karla. Thomas had said, with that moonstruck look on his face: “When I held her in my arms…I knew right there and then that she was mine, and I’m her protector.”

  Mac eased his hand out to feel the enticing warmth of Miranda’s body. Willing her not to awaken, he edged closer and stretched out behind her, only wanting to test this for a moment.

  Gently, he tucked her body against his. He craved being inside her again, but the simple action of hugging her gave him a perplexing sense of satisfaction. His gaze slipped over her naked back: she was slim but voluptuous, utterly tender. Her hips flared from her tiny waist, giving her an hourglass shape. Her behind couldn’t be more luscious. And the two dimples above it? Mac stifled a groan. He wanted to press his thumbs over them as he held her in place and thrust against her.

  The things I could do to her…

  As much as he loved the feeling, he had to leave her warm body. He’d never in his life had the luxury of sleeping beside a woman he had feelings about. The idea daunted him. He was afraid his attachment might scare her off.

  Mac slipped out of bed and pulled his trousers on, then threw on his shirt. Not caring to button it, he slipped out her room as quietly as he could. As he walked through the corridor and down the staircase to the mansion’s lower level, he found comfort in the familiar acts.

  He wandered sometimes at night. In fact, he used to wander just to pass the time as his nights became lonelier with each passing day. Now Miranda was here. Her warmth filled his days. As he passed near the main entrance door, the sound of his guards quarrelling reached him. Why in hell are they fighting in the middle of the night?

  He opened the door and stepped outside; the two men stopped shouting and turned to face him. “Mr. Wardlaw?” Jack asked, his eyebrows forming a surprised arch.

  “What the bloody hell are ya arguing about at this late hour?”

  “Jack wanted to take my shift, driving through the village,” Thomas declared.

  Mac turned his attention to Jack. “Why is that?”

  “Sir, I can’t sleep, and I thought he might be willing to stay here and guard, instead.”

  “I didn’t authorize the change. What did I say about changing your schedules without consulting me first?”

  “Your uncle…”

  “My who? I am the only one here who gives instructions, do you hear?” He was losing control over Jack to his uncle, and he didn’t like it. Soon, he would show them all who the master was. He took a long, slow breath. If he could exhale fire, he would do it now. Although he maintained the calm facade, his eyes revealed his true feelings. Jack shrank two inches shorter.

  “Yes, Sir, my apologies.” Jack lowered his gaze.

  Mac turned to Thomas. “Next time, don’t fight like a bully. Come walk with me, I need to talk to you.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Both guards were looking at his bare feet and open shirt. He had never gotten that comfortable around them, but this time he’d forgotten to dress properly. Mac and Thomas left Jack and went to his office.

  “Close the door behind you.” Mac eased into the leather chair behind his desk and leaned back.

  Thomas stood in front of him, scowling. Mac searched his face, puzzled by his concerned expression. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t want to start trouble, Sir.”

  Mac had chosen Thomas and Mathew ten years ago. They’d been in the army, and when they were discharged, he hired them as his guards. The two soldiers were loyal to him. He knew their personalities: both could be hunters for blood with vengeance, but they were fair in the game. They followed him wherever he went, helping him where he needed help. Thomas was especially loyal, because Mac had helped convince Karla’s parents to allow them to be engaged. Karla’s father had been headstrong, claiming the man was not suitable for his daughter a
nd lived too far from London. But Mac offered him a sum greater than he could earn as an accountant for years.

  “You know you can talk to me freely, Tom,” Mac said, easing his tone.

  “Miss Blair talked to Dr. Bradford, and…”

  “You’ve told me all that. What’s the matter?”

  “I think…we have a rat in this mansion.”

  “Interesting,” Mac said, scowling. “Tell me.”

  “Jack spent all day roaming around Doc’s house. I think he wants to drive through the village tonight to harm him.”

  His uncle had never favored Dr. Bradford. He had accused the doctor of having an affair with Mac’s mother. He even claimed that was the main reason his father set the house on fire that night: a fire of rage. The doctor had wanted to protect himself and had turned against the whole family.

  “And why would he want to do that?” Mac asked, hoping for an answer that would prove his uncle claims.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then how do you know he would do such a thing? What proof do you have of these accusations?”

  “I heard him talking to Bob about teaching someone a lesson. I’m assuming he was talking about the Doc.”

  What was going on? There had been a source of unrest within the walls of the mansion for some time. Could it have escalated so far that his staff was thinking of resorting to violence? He’d have to figure out who and why, and deal with the situation.

  “I’ll talk to my uncle and clear up some of these issues,” Mac mumbled, shifting in his chair.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sir.” Thomas’ eyes gleamed.

  “What? Do you have something against him, too?” Mac cast the man a menacing look.

  “I wouldn’t dare say that, Sir. But, Miss Blair…” Thomas seemed hesitant about continuing.

  “Miss Blair is not the point of our discussion!”

  Thomas lowered his head and took a step back.

  Mac huffed in frustration. It was becoming increasingly clear that Thomas knew something, and it looked like he might have better luck getting that information from him. He worried that what Thomas would say might prove Mac had lost control over Jack. He realized with a start that, since Miranda’s arrival, all his concentration focused on her. He had neglected to see what was going on in his mansion, and his uncle had been so quiet lately…

  “What about her?”

  “Sir, I fear for her life, as well. I don’t like the way Jack looks at her.”

  Mac was silent for a couple of minutes, digesting what he heard, trying to control his impulse to go and pummel the bastard—whether Thomas was right or not.

  “And how does he look at her?” he asked in a calm, controlled voice, despite the igniting fire in him.

  “Like a cat eyes a mouse, Sir.”

  “Well, Jack has always been my uncle’s man, and his loyalty isn’t to me. In a desperate situation, Jack would choose my Uncle Ken’s side. He has done some questionable things, so I have never trusted him. I’ve always had to look behind my back where Jack was concerned,” Mac murmured. His voice was low, speaking more to himself than Thomas.

  Mac stood. “Watch her, Thomas. Be her shadow when I’m not around. As for the doctor, bring him to the dungeon, and don’t let anyone know this--not even Karla.” If Thomas were right in his suspicions, Mac would have no choice. He had to protect the doctor and Miranda. But could his uncle go so far as to hurt her? As unwell as he was, his uncle wouldn’t have the strength. Still, the elder man had a long reach, something Mac had learned the hard way.

  He sighed. “Help me, Thomas. At least until I figure out what’s going on.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “And, Thomas,” Mac said, rubbing his hands on his thighs. His stomach was tied in knots. “Speak of this to no one. I’d just as soon have the upper hand, in case there is trouble.”

  Thomas smiled and gave a brief nod. “Of course, Sir. My lips are sealed.”

  As Mac watched his servant disappear into the shadows, he swore, low and mean. He could feel trouble coming. But come Hell or high water, he was going to save what he could.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Miranda stood in the shower and savored the warm water sliding over her body. Remembering last night’s lovemaking made her shiver, and a smile curved on her lips. She’d awakened alone in her luxurious bed, the sheets crumpled around her.

  Mac must’ve carried me to my bed after the sensual lovemaking we shared. She recalled asking him to stay, and he did—but when did he leave? She knew he hadn’t stayed all night; she had awakened patting the left side of the empty, cold bed. Why did he leave, after they had just made love? Maybe he regretted their intimacy. She finished her warm bath and stepped outside her bathroom, wrapped in her cotton robe.

  A circle of bright sunlight beamed through her lace-curtained window, confirming it was late morning. She’d lost track of time, oversleeping. After a few minutes, a knock on the door brought her attention from drying her hair with the towel. She tightened the robe around her. “Come in.”

  William stepped into the room; trailing behind him was a servant holding a tray. “Good morning, Miss Blair. I’ll put your breakfast on the table near the window. I hope you will enjoy it.”

  “Good morning, William.” She nodded to the servant, as well, a tall woman she hadn’t seen before.

  Although her Continental breakfast smelled delicious, she frowned at the thought of eating alone. Had she slept in too late and missed Mac? His lack of invitation this morning didn’t bode well for the day.

  After last night, she thought, what happens between us will change. It will make him friendlier, maybe. She didn’t know how he would react to their intimacy, and in fact, she didn’t know how she should react to it. What if he wanted to lure her into abandoning the idea of publishing her book?

  Miranda said, “Thank you, William,” and eased into the cushioned chair. She poured coffee into her cup and dribbled in some creamer and one spoon of sugar. The hot liquid soothed her throat. William turned to leave, but as he opened the door, the two dogs dashed in. “What are the two beauties doing here, William?” she asked. They immediately settled beside her.

  “Oh, Sir Mac Wardlaw probably sent them.”

  That wasn’t good; she wanted to explore the mansion without guards, and definitely without these two. “Can you please take them out? I need to be alone.”

  “Ah, Ma'am, I am so sorry, but…”

  “You knew about this, didn’t you? He told you to leave them here watching me, is that it?”

  “Well, yes. I…”

  “That’s fine. You can leave, William. I guess the master had his say in this.”

  “Sir Mac Wardlaw is just looking after your wellbeing, Miss.”

  Protecting me from what? The garden? The horrifying beach? Or, oh wait, maybe the ghosts that lurk around? She was close to saying something to the butler, but she bit her tongue and let him leave in peace.

  He had his orders from Mac, and so he had no choice. But she had a choice.

  Miranda quickly pulled on her white dress and called the dogs. Offering them her bacon, she lulled them into eating before she sneaked out of her room and closed the door behind her, as quietly as she could. She breathed a sigh of relief, satisfied she tricked the dogs with the food.

  Now, where should I start?

  Miranda wanted to explore the mansion, and maybe take pictures for her book, if Mac would allow her to. She glanced at the left side of the long corridor, on the opposite side of the stairs, and continued walking along the passageway. Small, triangular windows on the wall revealed a view of the beach and the garden. She reached three small steps, then turned right into another hallway. Closed doors stood guarding that hallway on both sides; she wondered what was behind them. One was partially open. She peeked inside the dark room; shadows of shelves standing against the walls caught her attention. She hoped she might find a book, perhaps a memoir, about this house or the Ward
law family. Miranda slipped in and closed the door behind her.

  After a futile search for a light, her eyesight adjusted to the dark. She spotted a faint sliver of light coming from behind a window covered with heavy curtains. Miranda stumbled on the furniture but finally reached the window and pulled the heavy blue fabric aside. A stream of soft light eased in, making it easy to view parts of the room.

  The walls were painted dark red; a Navy blue sofa sat in the dead center of the room, and a huge set of shelves on the right was filled with books. As she neared the shelves, her fingers brushed over the thick layer of dust that settled on the leather-bound books. Guessing from the titles, they were all about finance and law, and very old. Her gaze roamed the walls, which were covered with framed paintings.

  Miranda squinted, noticing a painting that hung in the corner of the room, hiding in a shadow. It was hard to make out the details of it, but something urged her closer; as she did, her heart pounded in her chest and her eyes widened. It was a portrait of “Duncan,” with his long, pony-tailed hair, chiseled features, and vibrant, grayish-blue eyes. Suddenly the room swirled and her vision blurred. She knew what was going to happen next.

  Her body fell into a black zone…and she opened her eyes...

  She was sitting in a rocking chair, staring at the cracked ceiling, humming a song. Silence filled the brownish room, and sadness overwhelmed her. The doorknob turned, making a squeaking noise; she tore her gaze from the ceiling and shifted it to the door.

  “Sister, you haven’t touched your food,” her brother said, concern in his voice.

  Why would he care? Rose gazed at the wall behind him, still humming a song. It was one Duncan had loved to sing to her when they were in each other’s arms.

  “You did this to yourself,” her brother said. “What we did was the best.” He knelt beside the rocking chair and stared at her, then he grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him. His nails dug into her flesh; she wanted to scream, but all she could do was spare a drop of tear left behind after she spilled all she had over her beloved Duncan. “I will throw all your paintings away; you don’t need them, especially his picture. You have shamed us.”