Daring

by Jillian Hunter

  Connor’s brows drew into a frown. “I’ll tell you what stand I’m going to take. I’m going to sack the whole aggravating lot of them.”

  “That is a rather drastic measure,” Maggie said. “It shows little understanding of human nature.”

  A muscle tightened in Connor’s jaw. “My capacity for understanding human nature has reached its limit. So has my attraction to you. Are you going to meet me later tonight or do I have to get forceful about the situation?”

  Maggie pretended to ponder the matter, wondering exactly how forceful he intended to be. “I suppose I’ll have to discuss the matter with Claude first.”

  “With—you’re going to discuss your private life with a butler?”

  Maggie turned away before giving him an explanation. A commotion had broken out among the guests. The duchess and Captain Balgonie were bent over Sir Angus’s chair, making distressed clucking noises like two oversized chickens. Sir Angus was grimacing as if he’d been mortally wounded.

  “Now what is it?” Connor said in an aggrieved undertone.

  Maggie moved away from him. “I think Angus has aggravated his lumbago. His doctor warned him this would happen if he got up too quickly. You shouldn’t have insisted he leave, my lord.”

  She hurried over to see if she could help, Connor following with reluctance. “What happened, Angus?” she asked in concern.

  “I hurt my back when I tried to get up.” Angus grimaced for effect. “These overstuffed chairs weren’t made for a man’s physique.”

  “It’s not the chairs, Angus,” the duchess said unsympathetically. “It’s your body. You’re built like a damn egg.”

  “Let me help you up,” Connor said, elbowing his way forward.

  “No. No. Nooo.” Angus let out a howl of agony and shrank deeper into the chair, holding out his hand in warning. “Don’t anyone touch me. I can’t bear it. The pain makes me wild.”

  Connor frowned. “You can’t sit in this chair all night, Angus.”

  “I know how to handle this,” Maggie said confidently. “He needs a hug.”

  Angus raised his head, regarding her with interest.

  “I’ll need your help, my lord.” She motioned to Connor, positioning herself behind the armchair. “Put your arms around him. As if you were going to give him a great big hug.”

  Connor’s frown deepened into a full-fledged scowl. “I don’t want to put my arms around him.”

  “I don’t want you to either,” Angus retorted. “I thought Lady Marguerite was going to put her arms around me. Having your big hairy arms around me is another matter.”

  “I’ll help.” The duchess stationed herself at the other side of the chair. “One good heave should get the egg on his feet.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t move him at all,” Captain Balgonie said, standing in the background. “You might end up doing him a permanent injury.”

  “Nonsense,” Maggie said briskly. “Come, my lord. Let’s get him out of this chair.”

  They did, Maggie supervising as Angus dangled like a rag doll between the duchess and Connor. “Now you must embrace him,” she instructed Connor, demonstrating on a startled Captain Balgonie. “Then you lift like this, and give him an enormous squeeze, as if you were two friendly bears who meet in the forest.”

  Balgonie grinned from ear to ear, hugging her back without prompting. Connor scoffed in naked contempt. “I am not hugging another man. Let the captain do it.”

  “The captain doesn’t possess your brute strength,” Maggie said quietly. “And if you don’t, it may be weeks before Angus can be safely moved.”

  Angus’s round face brightened. “I don’t mind staying here if it comes to it. My daughter can move in to take care of me. You remember her, Buchanan. Louise with the mean streak. She used to chase you through the woods with a whip. Knocked out her front teeth when she ran into a tree.”

  Connor hugged him. Angus’s spine gave a loud crack like lightning, and for a moment he swayed as if he might swoon. Then a look of utter bliss spread across his face. He straightened. He stretched and tested his back, turning this way and that.

  “Why, it’s better. I’m cured. You are amazing, my dear,” he said to Maggie, totally underplaying Connor’s part in the procedure. “That’s the first time anybody has ever been able to give me such immediate relief. Where did you learn this invaluable skill?”

  Captain Balgonie nodded approvingly. “Of all the chits you’ve paraded in and out of this house, Buchanan, she’s the only one worth a walk to the altar.”

  Maggie looked up slowly. “The chits, eh?”

  “It’s high time you got married,” the duchess said in agreement. “It’s a damn disgrace that a man your age is still playing peekaboo in the bushes with young girls.”

  “I do not play peekaboo in the bushes,” Connor said hotly.

  “Of course,” the duchess continued, “what a man does with his wife after they’re married is nobody’s business.”

  Maggie arched her aristocratic brow. Her voice was composed. “Be that as it may, your grace, I’m afraid that a marriage between his lordship and myself is out of the question. My family would never have approved.”

  “That’s him coming now, Mrs. Urquhart,” Maggie whispered. “What did I tell you? Men are the most predictable creatures. His pride has been hurt. It needs building up. Hide before he spots you. You’ll see how it’s done.”

  “His lordship never seemed to me to need building up, my lady.” The housekeeper glanced uneasily as the heavy footsteps stopped outside the bedroom door. “He’ll be furious if he catches me eavesdropping.”

  “Then we won’t let him catch you.” Maggie sprang up from her desk and pushed the woman behind a silk-paneled dressing screen. “Don’t move a muscle.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mrs. Urquhart touched her cheeks. “I’m going all hot. This is dangerous.”

  “Nonsense. If you want to regain control of your marriage, not to mention this household, you must be able to bring the men involved to their senses.” Maggie returned to the desk, carefully drawing her dressing robe together at the throat. “If there was one thing I learned in Heaven’s Court besides swearing, it was how to bring a man to his senses. Nobody could calm the Chief like me when he was on one of his rampages.”

  She sat at the walnut writing desk, illuminated like a medieval figure etched in stained-glass by a soft circle of candlelight. Her unbound hair cascaded to her hips. Her feet were bare, toes tapping the polished wooden floor. She paused, pen in hand, as she heard Connor enter the room. A smile flitted across her face. The beast had taken the bait.

  She didn’t need to glance around to ascertain it was him. She knew the feel of his presence, the dark, exciting energy by heart. Her body, pulses, and temperature knew it too, and reacted accordingly.

  “You left before you explained yourself,” he said curtly.

  She pressed the pen to her lips. “Oh, I’m sorry. You were wondering about the technique for the back. I learned it from a Swedish physician Papa employed to strengthen Robert’s spine. Actually, I learned the procedure from Robert. He used to experiment on me, the wretch, and some days—”

  Connor cut her short. “I meant you did not explain why a marriage between us is out of the question, and you know it.”

  He moved deliberately between her and the candle sconce on the wall, blocking her light with his broad frame. Maggie stared down at the letter on her desk. The words were blurred, overshadowed by the massively built figure who hovered over her.

  “I took your answer to the duchess as an insult,” he said, managing to sound hurt and intimidating at the same time.

  She began to write again. “Well, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. However, to state the obvious, I am the daughter of a duke, and you are only the public prosecutor.” She could feel the indignation rising off Connor like steam. She bit the edge of her lip to stifle a chuckle.

  “I am not an ‘only’ anything,” he said. “I have just been ap
pointed Lord Advocate of Scotland, damn it.”

  “Congratulations, my lord.”

  “Quite a few women consider me a prize catch.”

  “Those would be the chits?” Maggie murmured, her expression impassive.

  “I’m not responsible for the asinine remarks of my neighbors.”

  “But you are responsible for the parade of aforesaid chits and playing peekaboo in the bushes, aren’t you?” Maggie asked matter-of-factly, not interrupting her writing.

  Connor smirked and sat down on the edge of the desk, making it impossible for her to see. She nudged his heavy thigh with her elbow. He did not give an inch. A slab of marble sat beside her, commanding her attention. This man would not be moved.

  “The chits are neither here nor there,” he said, leaning over her with an infuriating smile. “There’s no reason for you to be jealous of them.”

  “Jealous? Me? What an imagination. What conceit.” She made a show of trying to hold her letter up to the light to re-read it, but after a while it became impossible to even pretend. “Is it necessary for you to perch on my desk like a hawk?” she said in annoyance. “I find it difficult to concentrate in your presence.”

  “Good. I have the same problem around you.”

  She started to lean to the side to study her letter, then gasped as he plucked it out of her hand and flicked it negligently into the air. “Do control yourself, my lord.”

  “I am tired of controlling myself,” he said. “I’ve been controlling myself ever since I met you.”

  “You certainly didn’t in the woods today.”

  “You have no idea how I controlled myself.” His face looked fierce and chiseled in shadow. His silhouette appeared enormous and menacing against the wall. He lowered his head to hers. “We didn’t finish what we started.”

  “The courtship business again,” Maggie said, frowning. “This is all very sudden.”

  “What do you mean it’s sudden?” he said in amazement. “I haven’t been able to keep my hands off you since we met.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” Maggie murmured.

  Connor brushed a strand of hair off her shoulder. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

  “I can’t argue that,” she said, holding back a smile.

  He leaned forward on his elbow, closing the space between them. Maggie suppressed a shudder, breathing in his evocative scent—musk, male, and wood smoke. “You do care for me,” he said. “I know it. And you’re a woman—”

  “I can’t argue that either.”

  “—and I want you to be mine.”

  She rose slowly from the desk, feeling a tingle of anticipation as her breasts brushed his shoulder. His eyes glittered with irony as he watched her. Maggie reminded herself that she was supposed to be setting an example for Mrs. Urquhart on the fine art of male-female negotiations.

  “What exactly are your intentions toward me?” she asked somberly.

  His white teeth flashed in a wolfish grin. “I usually follow my instincts in these matters, lass. But since you’ve demanded a plan of attack, I suppose I’d start by kissing your adorable mouth. Then, while you were swooning from my kiss, I’d untie your robe—”

  She glanced in alarm at the dressing screen, praying that the prudish housekeeper wouldn’t drop into a dead faint. “I was referring to the future,” she said with starch in her voice.

  “I—hell, I don’t know.”

  She sighed. “I see.”

  “You’ve got me so turned around, I don’t know night from day anymore.” He forced her chin up with his big knuckles. “Let’s follow our instincts, lass. This is not a usual situation with rules to follow.”

  Maggie curled her fingers into fists. She sensed he was going to kiss her. “It most certainly is not,” she said.

  “I am going to make love to you all night long,” he announced unexpectedly.

  There was an almost inaudible squeal from behind the dressing screen. Connor seemed not to notice it, but Maggie dropped her pen and backed away from him, hitting the desk with her hip. Connor grasped her by the forearms before she could collapse into the chair.

  He pulled her up into his arms and kissed her deeply. Then he brought his hands down her shoulders, sculpting her body through the thin silk of her dressing robe. He knew exactly what he was doing. She felt his palms grazing her breasts, circling the tender peaks until she responded. Arousal bubbled in her veins. Her legs were folding under her like the sticks of a fan.

  His calculated aggression brought out something daring inside her, a longing that matched the dark hunger in his eyes. She suppressed a groan and leaned into him. Her reaction wasn’t part of her strategy for awakening his more reasonable side. In fact, it seemed that instead of bringing him to his senses she had surrendered control of her own.

  Connor swallowed with difficulty, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re warmhearted and wonderful. You make me look forward to the next day instead of dreading it. This house was a tomb before I brought you here. I was dying inside until you came along.”

  He sat down heavily in the chair, drawing her down into his lap. “Now I’ve embarrassed myself completely, but it’s the truth. I’ve never met anyone like you, Maggie.”

  She rested her face against his shoulder, whispering mischievously, “Not even among the chits?”

  He chuckled, cupping the curve of her bottom in his big hands. “Not one of the chits could hold a candle to you,” he said with a sigh. “I think I’m in very serious trouble.”

  Maggie raised her face to his, whispering, “I think we both are.”

  His conscience tried to rear its head, but his desire for her overpowered it. He understood he had sworn to protect her, and God knew seducing her could hardly be considered a government duty, but somewhere between Edinburgh and the Highlands, she had stolen more than a confession from him. She had stolen his unsuspecting heart.

  He was flooded, all at once, with a disconcerting wave of affection and raw arousal for the woman who had brought such turmoil into his life. His little tapestry virgin. He ran his hand up her hip to her inner thigh, feeling her muscles tremble at his touch. He loved how she responded to him. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t have to teach her how to reciprocate in bed. She was as natural a temptress as Eve, eager and passionate.

  “Let’s lie down together,” he whispered, tugging the robe off her shoulder.

  She yanked it back up, horrified at the thought of the housekeeper witnessing this. “But I’m not tired.”

  “Neither am I.” He blew lightly in her ear and pulled her against him until her robe rode up to her hips. “I’ll rub your back. My hands are very strong.”

  “Why don’t we play a nice game of… of chess instead?” she suggested brightly.

  “Chess? In bed? Naked?” He sat forward and began to unbutton his shirt, grinning at the thought. “Well, that will be a first for me, but I like it. Very original. Intellectually Stimulating and sexual at the same time. What a naughty imagination you have, lass.”

  Maggie blushed and wriggled backward onto her feet. “I do not have a chessboard, and I’ve never played chess naked, either.”

  “What about whist?”

  “Oh, honestly, my lord. I wish you wouldn’t say such things in front of people.”

  “In front of people. Maggie, you come out with the silliest things.” His eyes sparkled with gentle mockery. He threw his shirt over his shoulder. “I can’t very well play chess naked with myself, can I?”

  “It is not an endeavor I care to discuss,” she said stiffly. “However, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  “Does it involve taking our clothes off?”

  She stared at his muscular torso, momentarily distracted by the sight. “It most certainly does not.”

  “Go ahead, lass,” he said good-naturedly. “I’m listening.” She backed away from him, stealing a glance at the dressing screen.

  Did she want to undress in private? Connor w
ondered, excited by her modesty. It occurred to him that she was acting a little strangely, but then she was a virgin, for all of her exposure to the criminal element. He warned himself not to spoil her first experience with his impatience.

  “Well,” he said, shrugging his wide shoulders. “I’m all ears.”

  She forced her gaze to his face. “We had a statue in the chateau pleasure garden that looked exactly like you. It was of some Greek god carrying a young woman away in a chariot.”

  Connor glanced over at the dressing screen. “How interesting,” he said politely.

  “In fact, we had several statues,” Maggie continued, her face softening as it did whenever she discussed her family. “The gardeners always complained about having to trim around them. One day Robert took it into his head to cover all their privy parts in gilt paint. He—”

  “Excuse me. Whose parts are we painting?”

  “The statues.” Maggie paused, frowning at the interruption. “Robert thought they were indecent. He thought that since Papa was away so often on private business—actually, it was espionage—he should protect the family.”

  Connor sprawled back in the chair. “Robert—your brother?”

  “Yes, he was such an awful prude. The funny thing was that the gilt paint drew your eye right to the very spot he meant to hide. The statues were nude, you see.”

  “Yes, I gathered that.”

  “Well.”

  Silence then as Maggie struggled with the emotions she had evoked.

  Connor studied her, aching with lust, yet surprisingly touched by the images she had conjured. He could see her childhood, could sense her sorrow. He could see the young girl she had been, playing on the grounds of a story-book chateau. Innocent. Secure. Sheltered until her world had been shattered. He wondered about her nightmares. What had she witnessed? What horror had her young mind repressed?

  “What happened to Robert?” he asked after a moment.

  “I don’t know.” Her anguish was palpable. “That was what I wanted to talk to you about.”