Connor left the room abruptly, closing the door with enough force to resonate like a thunderclap in the room. As he reached the hall, his temper cooled a few degrees and he told himself he shouldn’t take out his frustration on her. He thought again of the gripping terror on her small face, and his gut tightened. Her fear had touched him in a visceral way, triggering impulses he refused to act upon, the urge to comfort, to defend—but against what? She hadn’t looked that traumatized last night when he’d found her in the courtyard.
But even if everything else she’d told him had been a lie, something had hurt her in the past, and he struggled to subdue that part of him that wanted to soothe her pain. He wouldn’t soften toward her, though. She’d brought this recent grief on herself.
And so, in a strange way, had he. After all, he’d only gotten what he wished for last night. The chance to have her all to himself.
Well, he’d gotten that and more, he thought wryly, hurrying down the stairs. In fact, it was now his official duty to be alone with her. God help him.
Unless he could figure out a way to foist her off on someone else, he had just become her self-appointed bodyguard.
Chapter
12
Maggie had begun to doze off within minutes after Ardath and the earl had tiptoed from the room to let her rest. She awakened with a start as the door opened and a robust young housemaid in a crooked mobcap clumped up to the side of the bed with a tea tray. It was Emily, Hugh’s “contact” in the house.
“It’s me, Maggie,” she whispered, glancing back nervously at the door. “I’m not supposed to be upstairs, but I thought you might need help.”
Maggie opened her eyes all the way. “Help to do what?”
“To escape his lordship, of course. The man is so wicked when it comes to women that I fear for the loss of my virtue nearly every night I spend in this house.”
Maggie arched her brow, thinking that the girl’s virtue had probably been lost, or at least misplaced, quite a few times already. “You shouldn’t be here, Emily,” she said under her breath. “His lordship will think we’re plotting to rob him if he catches us together.”
Emily plunked her tray down on the bed, undeterred by the warning. She’d been caught robbing a coach six months ago, and Lord Buchanan, knowing her father was a minister, had offered her the chance at reform by working in his house. Emily hadn’t committed any other crimes lately, although she still had close friends in Heaven’s Court.
“I haven’t stolen a damn thing in ages,” she stated.
“You gave Hugh the information about where Lord Buchanan kept the confession,” Maggie whispered. “He’s going to think you were in on the conspiracy.”
“Well, I was,” Emily retorted honestly. “But it isn’t my welfare I’ve come to discuss. It’s yours.”
Maggie laid her head back against the pillow, seized by an involuntary shudder of fear. “You mean the kidnappers?”
“The who? Och, no. I mean a more immediate danger.” Emily pushed the tray aside, positioning her plump bottom on the bed. “I’m talking about his lordship. There are things about the man you have to know, seein’ that the pair of you have been forced into such an intimate association.”
Maggie’s sleek black eyebrows drew into a frown. “What are you blethering about?”
“You’ve heard about his penchant for seducin’ virgins on the eve of opening a trial, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Emily, I have, and I was quite worried about that trait last night before I met him. But I must say that I’ve given the matter a little thought, and I doubt there are enough virgins left in the city to meet such a demand. Besides, now that I’ve met him in person, he’s not that big a beast.”
“I think I might be too late,” Emily said in chagrin. “Listen to you defend him. You know what they say about the pact he made with the devil seven years ago, don’t you?”
“I might have heard some nonsense about selling his soul to Satan in a graveyard.”
Emily lowered her voice to a tantalizing whisper, leaning over the tea tray. “It isn’t nonsense. ’Tis the gospel truth. The deal between them stopped the watches of the passersby. A friend of Hugh’s even saw one of the stopped watches himself, when the Chief had a terrible bunion and they had to drag a young doctor into Heaven’s Court to operate. The doctor kept it as a souvenir.”
Maggie pretended nonchalance as she poured herself a cup of tea. “The bunion?”
“No, the watch.” Emily picked up a freshly baked scone and bit into it with a meaningful shake of her head. “Both hands were stuck dead at midnight, and the crystal face was shattered.”
“Stop filling my head with this claptrap. The man makes her nervous enough as it is. Anyway, there aren’t really any demons.”
“Yes, there are,” Emily said with conviction. “And they do say that where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
“Or where there’s sulfur, there’s brimstone,” Maggie added unthinkingly.
Emily nodded in satisfaction, munching the scone. “My father gave a sermon on demons once. I remember he suggested ringin’ a church bell in the possessed person’s ear while the person is asleep. It’s supposed to drive out evil spirits.”
“I might try a less drastic method myself,” Maggie murmured.
“Well, I’ve considered puttin’ a nail in his lordship’s socks. According to Mrs. Macmillan’s professor, demons can’t abide iron.”
“Not too many people enjoy walking around with a nail sticking in their feet, Emily. Isn’t there a better way?”
“The only other thing would be to have him chase you across a burn. The devil can’t cross runnin’ water, or so I’ve heard.”
“That would only prove he’s a devil,” Maggie felt obliged to point out. “It wouldn’t make him less of one.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” Emily pondered the matter for the moment. “I wonder if I could persuade Papa to perform an exorcism. Of course, if his lordship caught on, he’d probably dismiss me on the spot.”
“I should think—”
Maggie broke off in embarrassment to see Connor suddenly standing in the doorway, his frame casting a giant shadow on the floor. His face suspicious, he stared at her for several seconds before entering the room. Maggie tried not to look guilty. Only last evening she herself had been willing to believe the gossip about him, and she had to admit that she still perceived a streak of darkness in him that gave her pause.
But would a man with a black heart stay up all night watching over someone who had caused him so much trouble?
“I forgot my portfolio,” he said curtly. “Emily, I believe Cook is looking for you to slice leeks for some broth.” That message delivered, he strode past the bed to the armchair, glancing at both girls surreptitiously in the mirror. He must have guessed they were talking about him by the utter silence that had fallen, the furtive way Emily edged off the bed to her feet. Maggie marveled at the breadth of his shoulders beneath his black greatcoat. She tried to remember what he’d looked like in his wig and legal robes. A sigh escaped her. A man like that made any costume seem masculine.
“I don’t really think he’s evil,” she whispered to Emily as soon as he left the room.
Emily was backing into the hallway. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Warn her about what?” Ardath squeezed through the door, glancing curiously from one girl to the other. “You’re not gossiping about his lordship again, are you, Emily?”
“Of course not, ma’am,” Emily said indignantly. “I never gossip. Excuse me now. Cook needs me to slice her leeks.” The girl fled.
Ardath raised her brow in amusement and approached the bed. “I hope she wasn’t filling your head with that nonsense in the newspapers. If you want to know any of Connor’s dark secrets, you’ve only to ask me.”
“He doesn’t really have any dark secrets, does he?” Maggie asked in an undertone.
“I’m afraid anything I tell you about him will sound ra
ther banal in comparison to the kitchen gossip,” Ardath began slowly. “But perhaps you do have a right to know.”
Maggie’s heart skipped a beat. “A right to know what?”
Ardath stared across the room. “Connor is a difficult man to understand. He’s struggled almost his entire life just to survive. His father was a Sheriff’s Advocate in the Highlands and was beaten to death while hunting down a child murderer. Connor and Norah found their father’s body in an abandoned wagon. Connor was only eleven at the time, and she was two years younger.”
Maggie put down the cup. It wasn’t easy to picture the strong, self-confident man, who could be alternately cruel and charming, as a child faced with such a senseless tragedy. Unfortunately, she knew just how he felt.
“That’s horrible,” she said.
“You must pretend you don’t know. Connor has never told me this himself, understand. Norah did. You see, their mother died shortly after her husband’s death. Connor was thirteen and left with the raising of six young girls, if you can imagine such a thing.”
“How did he manage?” Maggie asked.
“He lied about his age,” Ardath said. “He moved them around from parish to parish before the authorities could catch on.”
“So that the family would not be torn apart,” Maggie said reflectively.
“Connor knew what could happen to a child on the streets, the workhouses, prostitution, and servitude.”
“Why was it allowed?” Maggie asked. “Weren’t there any relatives to take them in?”
“Only his uncle, who was off on some tropical island picking flowers. The authorities never caught on because Connor kept moving his little family before anyone could realize there were no parents. He supported them all by whatever means he could.”
Ardath paused, sighing deeply. “I never asked the girls what ‘whatever means’ meant, and I’m sure they’d never tell. Apparently Connor was forced to do a few things that damaged his male pride. No one is allowed to discuss it.”
Maggie thought about this. Ardath’s revelation put Lord Buchanan in an entirely different light. “So he hasn’t always been a ruthless bastard. I suspected as much.”
“Apparently not,” Ardath said.
“But how did he get to his position of power? It couldn’t have been easy.”
“His uncle returned from his botany adventures and beat Connor within an inch of his life for the ‘whatever means,’ ” Ardath explained. “Then he sent him away to school. Connor achieved the rest himself on sheer talent and determination.”
“At least the story had a happy ending,” Maggie said with a sigh.
“That remains to be seen.” Ardath’s voice was troubled. “I worry about Connor’s future.”
“Are you and he—”
“No,” Ardath said firmly. “Not anymore. In fact, I have been encouraging him to find a nice girl to settle down with. Someone just like—”
A muffled scream from the adjoining chamber where a young Irish maid was dusting interrupted her. Ardath glanced up sharply to listen. Maggie, who had found the conversation strangely reassuring, held her breath.
“Lord help us!” the maid shrieked.
There was a little thud, then silence. Ardath and Maggie glanced at each other in alarm, thoughts of abductors and avenging murderers running through their minds.
“I’ll sneak out to fetch help,” Ardath whispered, already halfway out of the room. “Maggie, hurry—hide under the bed. The kidnappers must have waited until Connor left the house to come for you.”
Chapter
13
“I appreciate your coming,” Connor told the slender middle-aged man who seated himself across the desk in the cramped courtroom antechamber. “I wasn’t sure if you were still in the country.”
“By the end of the week I might not be.” The man laid his silver-knobbed walking stick against his chair. His face devoid of expression, he studied the dozen or so letters Connor slid to him across the desk. “You look exhausted.”
“Last night my sister was—”
“Yes, I heard. What a frightening business.”
Connor leaned back, composing his thoughts. He shouldn’t be surprised. The retired French spymaster he knew simply as Sebastien had the omniscience of a hawk when it came to keeping an eye on the criminal activities in the city.
“This is the thirteenth ransom note I’ve received.”
Sebastien gave him a wryly sympathetic smile. “The story has already appeared in the newspapers. I’d expect more of the same before the excitement dies down. You’re a public figure now, Connor.”
Connor shook his head. “They appear to all be fraudulent. This last one is from a goldsmith who still holds a grudge against the government for the fine he had to pay last year. As far as we can tell the others are all pranks. Including the one with the black rose seal.” Connor’s mouth tightened at the corners. “For a few moments I almost believed in ghosts.”
“William Montrose,” Sebastien said slowly, studying Connor’s face. “The notorious murderer who died years ago?”
“Yes. Incredible, I know. Lord, my brain is so tired. Why would someone take Sheena? To complicate matters I have a houseguest, a woman. The unbelievable creature broke into my home to steal a confession from an old tramp I might have to defend in the Balfour murder.”
Sebastien’s soft outburst of laughter startled Connor. “Marguerite de Saint-Evremond, isn’t that what she calls herself? The little transplanted French daisy struggling to survive among society’s thorns.”
“You know her too? Good God. Am I the only man in the city who hasn’t fallen under her spell?”
“Perhaps you’re moving in the wrong circles.” Sebastien paused. “Not that I believe it for a minute, but street gossip has it that you’re holding her against her will in your bedroom, Connor.”
“My prisoner was being served a breakfast of buttered toast, eggs, and sausages in bed when I left the house,” Connor retorted dryly. “She’s milking her role as witness for all it’s worth. Anyone would think she really believed all that nonsense about being a duke’s daughter.”
Sebastien’s amusement faded. “That nonsense just might be true. A tragic story, if you believe it. She claims her father was involved in a British-supported plot to assassinate Napoleon. I have yet to talk to her myself.”
Connor was intrigued. “And?”
“And more than that, the young woman would have to tell us in person. Perhaps certain details of her past are better forgotten.”
Connor frowned. He never asked how Sebastien garnered his endless treasure trove of information. Popular rumor claimed that he had been a double agent for France and England a decade ago, that he had turned British informant to repay the moral debts he had incurred while dealing in deception. He had appeared in Edinburgh less than a year ago, an enigmatic figure who flitted between polite society and the underworld. Connor would have trusted him even without the personal letters of reference from the Prime Minister and Foreign Office.
But why all this mystery about the audacious Maggie Saunders? How could a girl who consorted with thieves have caught the ear of a man who had made his mark in espionage?
“She’s my only link to Sheena’s disappearance,” he admitted reluctantly. “And all she can remember is that my sister disappeared in a black coach. The driver was an older man who’s probably sporting a nasty bruise on his noggin, courtesy of a champagne bottle.”
“How—”
“Don’t ask. Miss Saunders seems to think he knew me.”
Sebastien toyed with the tip of his walking stick. “There’s something peculiar about all this, Connor. What happened to the man Sheena wanted to marry?”
“I bribed him to move to Venice. The greedy bastard left without looking back.”
They stared at each other in silence, ignoring the conversation of clerks and lawyers in the outer chambers, the muted cries of hot-eel sellers in the street.
“I suppose Sheen
a’s kidnapping could be tied in with the Balfour murders,” Sebastien said thoughtfully. “Lord Montgomery might be hoping to deter you from bringing charges.”
“All the more reason to pursue the investigation,” Connor said quietly.
“I wouldn’t want to be in his place.” Sebastien rose from his chair, his green eyes glittering. “I’ll make all the inquiries I can about your sister. In the meantime, take my advice and treat this Miss Saunders well. You wouldn’t want to risk offending her many friends.”
“What am I supposed to do with her?” Connor asked darkly.
Sebastien smiled. “They call you a protector of the innocent, don’t they?”
“Among other things.”
Chapter
14
Given a choice, Maggie would have fled the room with Ardath rather than face the kidnappers alone. Whoever would dare to break into Connor Buchanan’s house in broad daylight had to be desperate, dangerous, and determined to find her.
She ignored the pain in her shoulder and wriggled under the bed as the door to the adjoining room slowly opened. A pair of scruffy black boots crept into her line of vision. Was he a killer the kidnappers had hired, a man paid to ensure her silence?
Praying that Ardath would return before he found her, she waited in anxious silence as he walked cautiously around the room. Every so often he would stop and tap the side of his right leg with a heavy wooden cudgel.
Then suddenly, through her haze of fear, she realized that the gesture seemed familiar. When she heard him start muttering to himself, she gave a sigh of relief that shuddered through every constricted muscle in her body
“Maggie?” The intruder was peering behind the mahogany dressing screen. “Where are ye hiding, lass? What has the bastard done to ye?”
“What are you doing here, Arthur?” she whispered, easing out from under the bed. “Aren’t I in enough trouble as it is?”
He scowled at her like an irate father forced to extricate his child from an embarrassing situation. “I should have guessed ye’d make a mess of everything.”
Daring Page 12