The groom stumbled down the steps, shouting back at the servants who were spilling out of the house. “Someone is trying to assassinate the Lord Advocate! Save yourselves.”
Maggie never had a chance to explain. All of a sudden she was flying backward, sailing over the steps, with Connor’s big hard body breaking the fall. She credited his reflexes that he reacted so swiftly. She’d been too stunned to do anything but stare.
He rolled her beneath him, cushioning her head with his arm. The impact knocked the breath from her body. A monument of muscle, bone, and sinew smothered her, making it impossible to move. The man might have been sculpted out of stone. His straight blond hair tickled her chin. His massive chest crushed hers, their hearts beating in wild harmony. She groaned to protest her discomfort.
“Lord Buchanan—”
“Don’t talk.”
“But there isn’t—”
“Damn it, be quiet, would you? This is a life or death situation. Someone wants to kill us.”
The others had all taken cover under the row of topiary animals that surrounded the darkened terrace. Ardath and her mother were crou
ched arm-in-arm under a spread-
winged evergreen dragon; Norah, the earl, and Dr. Sinclair huddled together in fear of their lives under a bush trimmed to be a pair of Minoan bulls.
Maggie winced inwardly as she heard the champagne bottle roll down the terrace steps toward them, where it began spinning like a Chinese firecracker.
Champagne sprayed through the air in a bubbling mist. Connor raised his head, muttering, “What the hell?” just as a final jet of yellow-label hit him full in the face.
Mortified, Maggie watched his expression of alarm transform into outrage as he realized what had happened. He pushed up on his elbows, allowing her the space to gasp for a breath, but not to escape. A shudder of apprehension seized her as he stared down at her in silence. She almost wished an assassin
would
appear.
Time stopped, ticking by in a slow agony of seconds. Even if he had released her, she couldn’t have broken the power of his heartless gaze. She was his prisoner in more ways than one, enwrapped in a web of suspense.
Champagne dripped down his lean cheek to tremble in the cleft of his chin. She could hear the scrape of footsteps behind them—the other guests emerging from their hiding places. She could hear the harsh rhythm of Connor’s breathing, as if words failed him, as if the anger that consumed him had pushed him beyond the point of coherent speech.
Brazen it out, bairns,
that master criminal, the Chief, would say as he shoved his little band of pickpockets into the streets.
Never admit your guilt to the law even if you’re caught red-handed. Maintain your innocence to the end.
So, with a self-possession that would make her venerable Highland friend proud, she slipped her hand inside Connor’s vest pocket to remove his handkerchief and soak up the Clicquot-Ponsardin on his jaw. His body stiffened in reaction. His facial muscles felt like granite under her fingertips.
In fact, if he glared any harder, his face would probably crack.
“Oh, my.” Ardath dipped her knuckle in the effervescent puddle on the step and tasted it with a baffled look. “It’s champagne. I believe you’ve just been christened, Connor.”
“Help the girl up, Connor,” the earl called down the steps. “Neither of you can be comfortable in that position.”
“Champagne?” Bella said in a puzzled voice, plucking a leaf from her boa. “You mean that someone was trying to assassinate Connor with a bottle of champagne? What will these criminals think of next?”
Connor didn’t answer. He was terrifyingly still.
Maggie drew a breath. Her gaze lifted for an instant to the balcony where Hugh was hanging over the railing laughing his head off at the scene below. The two male servants who’d been ordered to restrain him were having a hard time controlling their own sniggers of amusement.
Connor still hadn’t moved. She could feel the imprint of his body through her clothing. Intimate, angry, invasive. She wondered if they were going to stay all night in this humiliating position.
She dabbed at the spot of champagne on his chin that she’d missed. It seemed like the least she could do. “Well, you were right about one thing, my lord,” she said in a confidential tone. “It did keep its fizz.”
F
or the first time in a decade Connor’s mental faculties failed him. All he knew about this woman was that she had broken into his house, in an incredible act of daring, captivated and deceived him, and apparently played angel of mercy to his sister. Now, to add insult to injury, she was dabbing stolen champagne off his chin and damn if deep down in that irrational male part of his psyche, he didn’t find the act mildly arousing.
His face forbidding and cold, he peeled the soggy handkerchief from her fingers and lifted her to her feet, glancing down hard at the pastry that had fallen between them. He bent to pick it up, studying it in disbelief.
“What the—God ab
ove, it’s one of my own damned é
clairs
.”
The earl stepped a little closer, shaking his head in admonishment. “I can’t believe you’d eat dessert at a time like this. Don’t you care about anything except your own selfish pleasures?”
Connor vented an uncivilized curse.
Ardath straightened slowly, her voice placating and low. “Connor, it was only champagne.”
He ignored them all, rounding on the petite girl who stood in a puddle of moonlight. God help him, she was exquisite, her eyes huge in that fragile face. But he should have known better. Life had taught him that much. A tapestry princess was too good to be true.
“Who are you?” His voice blasted across the terrace like a blizzard as he strode toward her. “Damn it, you will answer me if we have to stand here all evening.”
She raised her chin, eyeing him with the aristocratic disdain which reduced him to the social equivalent of a snail, and which, over the past few decades, had gotten most of her ancestors beheaded. “I am Marguerite Marie-Antoinette de Saint-Evremond. In deference to the Scottish side of the family, I go by the name Maggie Saunders. Not,” she added as an afterthought, “that it’s any of your business.”
Chapter
6
C
onnor squeezed back against the railing to allow the procession of servants to pass him on the stairs. He, the master of the house, had ceased to exist. His staff barely spared him a glance. They were too busy vying for the honor of serving the courageous woman who had single-handedly taken on the kidnappers. It was the talk of the whole street, if not the city. Her brave act had taken on epic proportions.
Towels, heated water, pots of tea, Norah’s nightclothes. Not a luxury was denied the dubious heroine who, against Connor’s ignored complaints, had been installed in the recently refurbished guest chamber.
“Oh, sir, would you mind carrying these before I ruin ’em?” a chambermaid said over a mound of pillows, struggling to thrust a bouquet of scraggly Michaelmas daisies at him. “It’s the best we could do at such short notice to brighten the poor mite’s room. You must be so proud of her, sir, trying to save your sister.”
Stunned, Connor stuffed the flowers under his arm as the maid barreled around him. “This woman has had a very unsettling effect on my entire household,” he explained to the bewildered young Welsh police inspector who tried to
follow him up the crowded stairs. “Not that either my family or my staff go out of their way to respect my wishes, but her presence has definitely made things worse.”
“I can see that, my lord.” The inspector leaned his halberd against the banister. “Were she and your missing sister acquainted by any chance?”
Connor paused. “Not that I know of, but you’ve brought up a good point. A connection between the housebreaking and Sheena’s abduction did cross my mind. You’ll have to question the girl in depth. I’m afraid my first reaction was impulsive, and probably not wise. I tried to follow the carriage on horseback, but it had already disappeared. No one I questioned on the way had even seen it. I should have kept my head and summoned help right away.”
“Few of us know how we would react in such circumstances, sir.”
Connor’s expression was grim. “Perhaps, but I should have known better.”
He led Inspector Davies to the luxurious suite of interconnecting rooms usually reserved for the families of visiting judges or Members of Parliament. It might have been occupied by a foreign princess for all the excitement buzzing through the house. Connor would have been amused at any other time.
“Take heart, sir,” Davies said, reassuring him again. “We’re having all the seaports watched and the city gates barricaded. Your colleague Donaldson has already provided us with a list of known criminals and felons with a grudge against you. Your sister will turn up in time.”
“I hope to God you’re right,” Connor said. “She could be anywhere by now.”
His face dark with worry, he opened the door. The sight that greeted him briefly wiped every other thought from his mind.
Maggie reclined amidst a sea of lace-embroidered pillows in the middle of a lofty four-poster bed with feathered finials, accepting all the attention as if she were Cleopatra on her royal barge. She looked perfectly natural in her luxurious surroundings. She looked more at home than Connor had ever felt in this fussy room with its gilt-lacquered wardrobe and flocked wallpaper depicting angels and frolicking shepherdesses.
His uncle sat at her bedside, discussing his travels. Ardath was arranging a pink silk ribbon around the bandage on the little usurper’s head. Bella and Norah were trying to decide which wrapper Maggie should wear over her nightrail. God forbid she should take a chill and start to sneeze during the night. Dr. Sinclair stood at the dressing table mixing a headache powder for her with the absorption of an alchemist turning base metal into gold.
Maggie herself was gazing blankly at a selection of chocolates in the large box on her lap. Her blue eyes narrowed when Connor entered the room, then widened in astonishment as she noticed the police inspector behind him.
I knew it, Connor thought, refusing to acknowledge a surprising stab of disappointment. This isn’t her first run-in with the law. She’s probably a professional. Damn her. She was good. He would have sworn she had been gently bred. He could usually read people at a glance.
“I assume you have already met Inspector Davies, Miss Saunders?” he said, not bothering to hide the derision in his voice.
Before she could answer, the young Welshman made a beeline for the bed. “What has this man done to you, Maggie? Why are you wearing a bandage on your head?”
Connor straightened, unable to believe his ears. “Did I miss something?” he said archly, turning to Ardath.
Maggie raised her face to receive the affectionate kiss Inspector Davies planted on her cheek. “I thought you’d gone to Glasgow, Thomas. How are the children?”
“On their way back here with Gladys, and missing you something dreadful. But never mind them.” He cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder at Connor. “Housebreaker indeed. What power does to some people. What happened to your head, Maggie love?”
The earl gave her a grateful look. “She banged it up trying to rescue my niece from her abductors. We’re lucky we didn’t lose her.”
Connor came up behind them.
“
By the way, that’s the niece whose abduction you’re supposed to be investigating, Inspector.”
“You have to find her soon, Thomas,” Maggie said, her forehead creased in concern. “It was such a horrible thing to witness—I couldn’t stand by without trying to do something, could I? She was so helpless.”
“Do you have any other convictions?” Connor demanded.
“Convictions?” Maggie paused to think. “I was raised a devout Roman Catholic. Does that count?”
He gave her a rather nasty smile. “I meant do you have any past criminal convictions.”
“How dare you. What an impertinent thing to ask.” Inspector Davies straightened his narrow shoulders. “It’s just as I suspected, Lord Buchanan,” he said with satisfaction. “Maggie Saunders had nothing to do with any abduction.”
Maggie gave him a fleeting smile. Connor watched her in reluctant fascination, trying to see beneath the surface. How did she do it? For a criminal she looked incredibly sweet with her hair streaming in soft waves over her shoulders. No wonder she had fooled him. The girl apparently enchanted everyone she met.
“Are those for me?” she asked him unexpectedly, motioning to the bedraggled flowers stuffed under his arm.
He glanced down at the mangled daisies and vented a deep sigh. In all the furor, he’d forgotten he was even holding them. “Yes. Take the damn things.”
He dropped the flowers on the bed. Maggie bit her lip in confusion, wondering why he’d made such a nice gesture as bringing her flowers only to dump them in her lap. “I tried to tell his lordship I was only an innocent bystander,” she explained in a small voice to the inspector. She paused to straighten one of the daisies’ twisted stems. “He wouldn’t listen.”
“There’s no telling my brother anything once he’s made a decision,” Norah said. “I’ve always claimed it’s easier to move a mountain than to change Connor’s mind. He’s been that way ever since I can remember.”
Maggie shook her head in sympathy. “It’s probably too late to change him now. At his age character is well established.”
Connor crossed the room to the window, his shoulders stiff with tension. He’d removed his evening jacket and black
velvet waistcoat. The party was obviously over. He frowned in annoyance. What did the girl mean, ‘at his age’? And God, where
was
Sheena?
“How many men are out searching for my sister, Inspector Davies?” he asked curtly.
“Every man under my command is looking for her, my lord, including the entire brigade of volunteers.”
“I’m going to join them,” he muttered.
“You’re probably wiser to stay here,” Davies said. “Just in case this was an attempt to lure you out into the open where some lunatic might be lying in wait for you. And, I hate to bring it up, sir, but the kidnappers will probably send a ransom note to the house.”
Connor turned, his face shadowed with anxiety, and just a touch of irony. “And you are convinced that this woman didn’t have anything to do with Sheena’s abduction?”
“Did you have anything to do with the abduction, Maggie?” Inspector Davies asked her with an indulgent smile that indicated how ridiculous he found the question.
Maggie drew herself upright in the bed. “I did not.”
The inspector turned back to Connor. “She denies any involvement in your sister’s abduction, my lord.”
“I heard perfectly well what she said,” Connor snapped. “But that still doesn’t explain why she and her young hoodlum friend broke into my house.” He stared down his nose at Maggie. “Does it?”
“Don’t be bullied into believing he can keep you here against your will,” Ardath advised Maggie under her breath as she pretended to plump up the pillows. “It’s called ‘wrongful imprisonment.’ ”
Maggie looked directly at Connor. “I’m not ignorant, my lord. I know what you’re trying to do to me. It’s called ‘wrongly imprison us.’
”
Connor made a rude noise in his throat.
“Don’t answer any more questions, dear,” Ardath said. “Not without a legal agent present. It isn’t wise.”
“Connor is a legal agent,” the earl pointed out. “He’s a damn fine one too, even if he does have the devil’s own temperament. But don’t worry your pretty head about court representation, Miss Saunders. If you have trouble with the law, my nephew is the man you want.”
“I am not representing this woman,” Connor said quickly. “It’s more likely I’ll end up prosecuting her than defending her.”
“Prosecuting me?” Maggie turned white at the very idea, a daisy drooping in her hand.
The earl’s bushy eyebrows gathered into a frown. “How could you even
mention
prosecuting her after all she’s done for Sheena? I didn’t see
you
attacking that carriage driver in your sister’s defense.”
“I didn’t even see the damned carriage driver,” Connor retorted. “Do you think he’d have gotten away with Sheena if I’d been in the courtyard?”
“Be that as it may,” the earl continued, “bravery must be rewarded. There’s too much apathy in the world. It would be better for everyone if we concentrated our efforts on finding Sheena instead of harassing this young woman. She only meant to help, and we must do the same in return.”
Connor rubbed his face, refusing to be drawn into a debate he could never win. No matter how many triumphs he claimed in the courtroom, no matter that the rest of the country regarded him with awe, he had never won an argument with his own bullheaded family. They were his personal cross to bear. And now this girl, this urchin-princess, with the beguiling blue eyes and incredible arrogance—what was he supposed to do with her?
He drew Inspector Davies to the door. “Tell me what I can do to help find Sheena. I can’t stay in this house another hour.”
“There’s nothing much to do at this point but to wait,” Davies said somberly. “There’s no chance your sister knew the assailant, is there?”
“How would I know?” The ugly blade of reality was cutting through Connor’s composure to fray his nerves. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “Yes. It’s a valid question. Sheena didn’t have many friends, and I disliked the ones she brought home. Until recently she was engaged to marry a convict, completely against my wishes, of course.”
“A convict? Dear me.”
“I made certain he left for Italy over a fortnight ago,” Connor said, his face darkening at the memory of the ugly
scene that had ensued. “Sheena saw his ship off and hasn’t spoken a civil word to me since.”
Davies pursed his lips. “I see. Well, there are quite a few people who still hold grudges against you, my lord, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do know.” Connor hated the thought that, just now, in her own way, Sheena was one of them. But she would come around. She would see the wisdom of his decision and forgive him. If
—when
she was found. She had always been a sad child, beyond the scope of Connor’s capacity to influence. Sometimes he suspected she deliberately tried to upset him, to make him prove he cared.
He glanced toward the bed at the pale girl who watched him in guarded curiosity. Had one of his enemies sent her? Was her innocence the subtle weapon that would break him down when more brutal tactics had failed? No. No. It didn’t make sense. But then nothing about Miss Saunders did, her allegedly noble background and connections to the criminal underworld, her presence in Connor’s house. She was a mystery. Unfortunately for her, however, solving mysteries was his strong point.
H
e returned to Maggie’s side after a moment’s deliberation. He refused to be moved by the sight of the bandage wrapped around her head. He refused to worship at her tiny feet like everyone else in his blasted household. She had been caught red-handed in a criminal act. He knew how to treat her type. The thought counteracted the sting of guilt he felt as her eyes met his, bright with alarm.
He ignored the faint start she gave as he towered over her, his stance purposefully intimidating. To his frustration he couldn’t decide if he was more angry because she had broken into his home, or because he had started to fantasize a romantic future with her on the basis of their one absurd encounter. He must have sounded like an utter moron to Elliot.