“What do ye think of being improper, lass?” he murmured, shifting a little to kiss her again, his caress gentle and intimate and achingly tender.
That kiss alone might have made her fall for him, if she hadn’t been halfway there already. Her, with a Highlander. It was nearly as absurd as her marrying a sea captain. These MacTaggerts had upended all of London, and she, for one, found that fascinating. “I would say,” she whispered back, “that being improper in private is quite … exhilarating.”
“That’s a grand word for it. Ye do make my heart beat faster, Miranda Grace.”
“And how do you know my middle name?” she asked, actually not surprised he’d found it out. She knew his, after all.
“I asked Eloise.”
That made her smile. “So did I, Aden Domnhall MacTaggert. She said you and your brothers are all named after Scottish kings of old.”
“Aye. Niall Douglas, after James the Black Douglas—because our da thought James sounded too English. Coll has Arthurius, whom I reckon ye know as King Arthur, the lad with the round table. There were at least three Domnhalls, but with the spelling of mine I reckon I’m actually called after my great-great, who was made the first Earl of Aldriss Park by yer Henry the Eighth for agreeing that a man should keep after finding a wife who could bear him a son.”
Miranda snorted. “You’re teasing me.”
“Nae. Ask any MacTaggert, and they’ll tell ye the same. But who is Grace to ye, boireannach gaisgeil? A mighty queen? A bonny warrior lass?”
Her smile deepened, even as it occurred to her that she’d never thought to have a conversation like this, lying cozily in bed with the man who’d just taken—plundered—her virginity without first being made her husband. “Grace Harris was my father’s grandmother. From the stories I’ve heard she was very fond of cats, and owned at least two dozen of them.”
“Aye? Did she ever milk them to make cheeses?”
“Cheeses? Cat milk cheeses? What are you—”
“Och, nae ye mind. I know an old man on our land in the Highlands who makes cat cheeses.”
She had no idea whether he was jesting or not. “How does he milk them?”
“I’ve nae seen it. Coll has, and he says it’s a wee bit disturbing.” Aden slid his arm around her back, pulling her closer against his chest. “I dunnae want to talk about cats, Miranda. If Vale has any sense at all, he willnae give ye up, nae out of kindness. I will set ye free from him, lass. I swear it, by Saint Andrew.”
Miranda frowned. Did he want her free, or free to be with him? Perhaps that was a silly question under the circumstances, but it mattered to her. “You shouldn’t swear something when you can’t be certain of the outcome, however noble your intentions.”
“Noble, are they?” he returned, cupping one of her breasts. “But that doesnae signify. I swore by Saint Andrew, so that’s that. I’d nae be a Highlander if I took back an oath to the patron saint of Scotland.”
His touch was making it difficult to concentrate. “Aden, you’ve asked me to trust you, and I do. I think I just proved that. But thus far all you’ve done is let Vale know you’re a rival, belittle him in public, and break into my house. None of those things rescue me from his … his dastardly clutches. You could ruin me a hundred times, and while I would certainly enjoy it, my problem remains.”
“A hundred times isnae enough.”
Her cheeks warmed. “What is your plan? Do you have one? How am I a part of it? What should I be doing? What happens if he arrives on my doorstep tomorrow with a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury?”
Aden turned onto his back, pulling her up over his chest so they were eye-to-eye, with her looking down at him. “If I had the time, I’d twist Captain Vale about like a windmill, until he didnae ken up from down. But we dunnae have time, so I reckon I’ll go at him head-on. I’m nae certain yet of the details, but I’ve got nearly seventy percent of a plan. And because ye’re a horrid liar, my lass, there are parts of it I dunnae wish to tell ye.”
“So I’m to put everything into your hands and trust you with my life. With my family’s future.”
His gaze held hers, no trace of humor in his eyes at all. “I lost a card trick to ye. I made ye a promise. Now I’ve sworn an oath to ye. I’ve tasted ye, taken ye, and I’m still here, unwilling to part from ye. So tell me what else ye require of me, Miranda Grace Harris, and I’ll give it to ye.” He took a slow breath. “I ken it’s all just words, and since I’m being honest, I’ll tell ye that I prefer to avoid trouble. I slip away, no one the wiser. And I ken that ye came to find me because ye thought me a villain. Th—”
“I didn’t think you were a villain,” she interrupted, unwilling to let that pass by without comment. “I thought you were heartless, as all gamblers must be. But I don’t think I could like anyone heartless. And I do like you.”
That made him grin, before his serious face reappeared. “I hope ye mean that, lass, because I’m nae here for…” He paused, a brief frown furrowing his brow. “A gambler’s reputation is everything to him. A reputation means when ye sit at a table the other players lose just because they cannae concentrate with either trying to figure ye out, or worrying how much they’re about to lose. A reputation is more important than skill, in the end. Ye ken?”
She nodded. Though she wasn’t quite certain what his point might be, the information felt … invaluable. On her own, without him as her partner, something like a man’s reputation all on its own affecting his success at the table wouldn’t have occurred to her. “We’re going to destroy Vale’s reputation, I presume?”
“Aye. Someaught like that. I’ll tell ye when I’ve enough facts to face the argument ye’ll give me. Will ye trust me that far?”
At this moment, with him in her bed, she would trust him with anything. Miranda kissed his cheek. “I will.”
“Good. I reckon I need ye to poke as many holes in my plan as possible. That’s the only way to be sure it’s seaworthy.” He stroked a hand down, between her legs, and she arched against his hand before she even realized she was doing it. “But I’m nae there yet, and it seems a shame to waste the rest of the night, doesnae?”
“Oh yes, it does,” she agreed, and then couldn’t speak as his fingers dipped into her. No, she didn’t want to waste any of this. Or any time with him. Because however much trust she had, Vale had at least as much of a reputation as Aden did, and at the moment the captain held every single card. Every card except her heart.
* * *
“Mia! Damn it, Mia, I need to talk to you!”
Aden started upright. Miranda, draped across his chest, slid down to his lap and rolled to look up at him, sleepy-eyed. Christ. What the devil time was it? The edges of the lass’s curtains were well lit, and as sense returned he could hear the house about them well past stirring. He’d fallen asleep. Soundly. In a lass’s bedchamber. In Miranda’s bedchamber.
“Mia, you can’t ignore me forever,” came through the door, which thudded again.
Her chocolate eyes widened, her face paling to ashes. “Matthew,” she hissed, sitting up and knocking Aden in the chin. “You have to hide! Oh, dear Lord!”
Rubbing his face, Aden slid from beneath her and rose. He grabbed a spare blanket off the bed and tied it around his waist as he strode for the door. Behind him Miranda gasped and hurried after him to grab his arm. “Leave off, woman,” he grunted, continuing forward with her dragging at him.
“Aden, you can’t,” she whispered, her voice sharp.
“This isnae how I had planned it, but aye, I can. I need a word with yer damned brother. Now is better than later.” He glanced back at her, taking a moment to appreciate just how bonny she was in nothing but her long, dark hair. “And ye’re naked. I appreciate it, but I dunnae ken if Matthew will.”
“Damnation!” Slapping him across his bare back, she retreated to dive behind her bed.
Making certain she was where she wanted to be, he turned back to the door, unlocked it, and pulled
it open. Before Matthew could do more than open his mouth, Aden grabbed him by the cravat and hauled him inside the room, closing and locking the door again before he released his grip.
He could see immediately why the lad had proven such an easy target for Captain Vale. Every emotion took a turn on Matthew’s pretty face, shock to disbelief to rage to confusion. Good God, a blind man could read the young Mr. Harris. “Shut yer damned mouth,” he grunted before Matthew could say something to ruin everyone’s plans.
Matthew snapped his gaping jaw closed, squared his shoulders, and opened his mouth again. “Where is my sister, MacTaggert? What have y—”
“Ye worried she’ll nae suffice any longer to pay yer debt to Captain Vale?” Aden interrupted, stalking forward as Matthew retreated. “Ye troubled that he may nae get all he’s paid for?”
“I—”
“Sit down, and keep quiet.”
He wasn’t surprised when Matthew seated himself in one of the chairs by the cold hearth. While he didn’t generally approach trouble head-on, he also generally didn’t care whether he won or lost a particular hand. This time, he did. And he knew what he looked like, half naked and over six feet tall and accustomed to a hard day’s work.
While Matthew watched, Aden went over to Miranda’s wardrobe and found a clean shift and a pretty blue walking dress. Keeping his gaze on her brother, he walked to the corner of the bed and set them in front of where she crouched, naked and clearly extremely annoyed with him.
He wanted a minute to contemplate where he was, and what it meant that he’d not only relaxed enough in her presence to fall asleep, but that he’d evidently slept well into midmorning. That conversation with himself would have to wait, though, because he had several things to set into motion, and most of them would depend on the other angry person in the room.
“Ye set aside what ye think I’m doing here for a minute and what that means to the plans ye’ve hidden from yer ma and da,” he said, taking the seat opposite Matthew. “Vale took ye for a fool, and ye didnae disappoint him.”
“George introduced us,” Matthew said, his voice clipped. “I had no reason not to trust either of them. They’re cousins, and George is a good sort, so—”
“They’re nae cousins. Vale dug into Humphries’s pockets first, and used him to get to ye. Ye ken?”
“He’s n…” Young Mr. Harris sat back in the chair, his eyes losing focus. He was no doubt running through his first encounters with Vale all over again with new eyes. “Why w—”
“I reckon he’s been in London longer than the seven weeks he claims,” Aden interrupted. Proper young ladies had maids, and simply because Miranda’s hadn’t yet tried to enter the room didn’t mean she wouldn’t do it any second now. “He’s been watching and chatting with people here and there, and whatever he learned pointed him to yer sister. Everything else has been part of his road to her.”
“But I beat him several times at the tables. How could he have planned ahead of time that I would lose … such a substantial amount to him?”
“Because he let ye win, so he could see the face ye show, so he’d learn which bets ye’d take and which ones ye’d shy away from. He was leading ye about the paddock like a buyer trying out a horse’s paces before he plunks down the blunt to buy him.”
“He couldn’t be that certain,” Matthew insisted. “I’m a fair gambler, I’ll have you know.”
A faint feminine growl came to Aden’s ears in response to that. “Ye’re nae a fair gambler,” he stated. “Ye’re a horrid one. It’s nae yer fault; ye and yer sister both show yer every feeling clear as glass on yer faces. What ye did wrong was listen to someone who told ye otherwise and then likely took ye for all ye had in yer pockets and then some.”
“That is not so. I refuse to believe you. Especially with you sitting, naked, in my sister’s bloody room, you bas—”
“Dunnae finish that insult, or I’ll be forced to punch ye,” Aden warned, rising. He found his coat crumpled up on the floor, and freed a deck of cards from one pocket. As he returned to the chair he shuffled it, then handed the deck to Matthew. “Pick any card, and put it on top of the deck. Keep the deck.”
Scowling, Matthew did as he was told. Sliding a card from the deck, he examined it with absurd caution, looked at all the other cards in turn because evidently everyone thought Aden kept decks of single-denomination cards in every pocket, then set his on top of the deck. “Now what?”
“Look at me.” Once the lad had reluctantly met his gaze, Aden took a slow breath. “Ace,” he said, then, “one, two, three,” and on, slowly, until he’d gone through every possible number a card could be. “Club,” he continued, “heart, spade, diamond.”
“What does—”
“Yer card is the nine of clubs,” Aden cut in.
Before he could reach forward and turn it, a graceful female arm reached past him to do so. “Nine of clubs,” Miranda said, turning the card so the three of them could all see it.
“Bloody … How did you do that?” Matthew demanded.
“I read it on yer face, lad. The same way Vale did, every time he placed a wager with ye.” Taking the card from Miranda, he looked up at her.
She’d donned the gown he’d selected for her, her hair in a careless knot and the dress’s buttons still open at the nape of her neck. Mesmerizing. No tears from her last night, no lamenting the loss of her virginity, no fretting over her very uncertain future. Rather, she’d been an enthusiastic if inexperienced delight who made him more randy than he could ever recall being, and who had thrice pushed him over the edge before he’d been ready to give up the game.
“Lass,” he drawled, taking her hand and pulling her down to sit on the arm of the chair beside him.
He’d clearly overset Matthew, because her brother didn’t even make a squawk at the appearance of his half-dressed sister. Rather, the lad sat where he was, staring at the remaining deck of cards and wearing an expression on his face that would have saddened a professional mourner.
Finally Matthew cleared his throat. “How did you … find out about all this?”
“I told him,” Miranda supplied. “After you informed me that you’d sold me to Captain Vale, I went to find another competent wagerer who could provide me with some insight.”
“Seems to me he gave you more than insight.”
“And if you say a word about it to anyone, I will wring your neck,” she retorted. “I’ve kept your secret. You will keep mine.”
“But…” Matthew’s face reddened. “But he just told me that Vale reads my every expression like a book. What if he asks about you and Aden?”
“I imagine he will,” Aden put in. “And ye’ll say ye can’t imagine Miranda would allow me near her bed, and Vale will know ye’re lying.”
“And then I’ll still owe him fifty thousand quid, and I’ll be ruined.”
“As ye should be, ye nodcock. Ye couldnae help losing to him, but ye might have stopped wagering with him. That’s on yer head. But nae, he’ll nae call in yer notes. He would have wanted to be Miranda’s first, but as long as Society’s opinion of her doesnae change, he’s nae going to alter his plans. He may even decide punishing her will be more fun than breaking her in.”
“Aden,” she whispered, and he tightened his grip around her hand.
“I cannae stop him from imagining, but I can stop him from acting. If he’s dead he cannae harm ye, Miranda.”
“But then you’ll—”
“I swore ye an oath. I’m nae going back on it. One way or the other, he’s lost ye.”
“You can’t beat him,” Matthew supplied, his shoulders slumping. “Believe me, I’ve tried. And even if you could, I’ll still be destroyed. My entire family’s name will be ruined.”
“Do ye want Eloise?” Aden asked.
Matthew’s face grayed even further. “Of course I want Eloise. She’s my soul, my heart, my—”
“Aye, I ken. Do ye reckon I’ll allow her to marry a man who’s sold away his ow
n younger sister?”
“Aden,” Miranda murmured.
“So that’s it, Mia?” her brother snapped. “I’ve hurt you, and so you’ll hurt me? I thought—”
“This isnae yer sister’s idea. It’s mine. And if ye want Eloise, ye need to prove to me that this was just a moment of weakness, that ye lost yer head this one time and it’ll nae happen again. In order to prove that to me, I’ve a few tasks for ye. And ye’ll do them exactly as I set them out. For yer sake, for Eloise’s sake, and mostly for Miranda’s sake. Do ye ken that, Matthew?”
He slumped again. “It seems I’m a slave to two masters, then. Thank you so very much, Miranda.”
“Thank her later,” Aden stated, wondering if the lad knew just how precariously he was holding on to his temper. “This master has a mind to set the two of ye free.” And to claim one of them forever, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud now. Not while someone else held her chains.
Chapter Thirteen
“Is her ladyship home?” Aden asked, brushing from his shoulders the last of the rose petals he’d acquired climbing out of Miranda’s window.
The butler bent down to pick up one of the petals and crush it in his fingers. “Lady Aldriss is in her rooms. She has a luncheon this afternoon.”
He’d forgotten about that. Francesca and Eloise were about to hie themselves over to Harris House to dine with Miranda and her mother. Well, his timing continued to leave something to be desired, but he’d already begun the hunt. No time now to call back the dogs. With a short nod he trotted up the stairs.
“Master Aden, your cravat is untied,” Smythe called up after him.
“Aye.” Slipping it off, he hung it over one of Rory the stuffed deer’s antlers. Somewhere the stag had now acquired a red dancing slipper with one lace broken off, but it looked rather fine tied about his front left hoof.
His mother’s bedchamber door stood open, but he stopped short of the doorway and knocked on the heavy oak frame anyway. He and his brothers barreled in on each other all the time, but he didn’t feel nearly as familiar with Francesca—which made the conversation he was about to have even more awkward and pride-pricking.
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