Daring (29 page)

Dougie put his tray on the floor. Then he bent to inelegantly pull up his baggy stockings before he clomped across the room and banged a bowl of scorched porridge on the table. “Not anymore. Kenneth is gone to work for the duchess, and I canna say I blame him. This is yer breakfast. Dinna complain about it. I did my best, but I’m a steward, not a damn butler.”

Connor stared down at the bowl in distaste. “What, pray tell, happened to the cook?”

“The last I heard she was playing cards with the scullery
maids,” Dougie answered. “All the women are on strike for better working conditions.”

“I’ll take care of this right now.” Connor started to rise from the table only to hesitate as Maggie stayed him with her hand.

“It isn’t a good idea, my lord.”

“It isn’t?”

She wagged her finger at him. “I told you to take action earlier. The strike is too well established now to thwart. I do suggest, however, that you intervene to stop the crisis smoldering under your very nose before it too blows up.”

“Crisis?”

“In this very room.”

Connor turned his head to see Claude and Dougie sizing each other up across the table like a pair of Roman gladiators. There was definitely a rivalry brewing between them. A battle of the butlers.

“Eat up, my lord.” Dougie was standing over him like a mother hen. “A man your size needs his oats to start the day.”

Claude stepped forward, straightening the lapels of Connor’s jacket with a possessive tug. “His lordship is having
des saucisses
this morning. A man his size needs his meat.”

Dougie sniggered. “Day—sew what?”

“Des saucisses,”
Claude replied solemnly. “That is sausages to the ignorant.”

“Sausages. These are sausages?” Dougie made a face. He picked up a link from Connor’s plate and dropped it on the table with a loud
plink.
“And here I thought they was skinny brown stones from the bu
rn
.”

A militant gleam lit up Claude’s faded gray eyes at this insult. “Undercooked pork can kill a man.” He handed Connor a fork. “Enjoy your meat, sir.”

Dougie pushed the bowl of porridge in front of the plate. “Have some healthy Highland ambrosia, sir. ’Twill put the roses back in yer cheeks, as my granny used to say.”

Maggie nudged Connor’s foot under the table. He turned to her, catching his breath at the unexpected jolt of sexual desire that struck him as their eyes met. “It’s time to assert yourself,” she whispered. “Let it be known who’s the master.”

He gave her a roguish grin. “Follow me up to my room and I’ll show you who is the master.”

“Master of the house,” she added softly, staring into her lap.

His dark gaze devoured her. His need for her was so powerful he didn’t care if he ever ate again. “What do you suggest I do?” he asked reluctantly.

“Well.” Maggie pursed her lips as she contemplated his dilemma. “If you offend Dougie, you’ll turn the domestic crisis into a full-scale civil war, and that could be very unpleasant all the way around. On the other hand, if you offend Claude, then he probably won’t give you permission to court me.”

Connor frowned. “This is not sounding very hopeful.”

“It is a bit of a pickle,” Maggie admitted. “I suppose if I were you, I’d consider doing something along the lines of what Solomon did. Do you understand what I mean?”

“No. I don’t.” He leaned a little closer. “I do know that I’d like to pull you onto my lap and nibble on your neck,” he said in an undertone. “Your skin reminds me of fresh cream. And your mouth—”

“Restrain your baser side, my lord. Claude is staring at you. I suspect he learned how to read lips in Heaven’s Court.”

Connor slumped back in his chair. “What in God’s name does Solomon have to do with this, anyway? Am I supposed to divide myself in half to please two butlers?”

“No,” Maggie said. “You’re supposed to eat both their breakfasts.”

Connor didn’t have a chance to comment on her unsatisfactory suggestion because Claude had elbowed Dougie aside to reclaim his authority. “A fresh serviette, sir?” he inquired, whipping away the spotless napkin on Connor’s lap to replace it with another.

Dougie took exception to this. He barreled his way back between Claude and Connor’s chair, muttering, “This French fellow is getting on my nerves.” Then he snatched away the square of linen from Connor’s lap and proceeded to tuck it into Connor’s cravat like a bib. “No need to be layin’ the blasted thing over yer legs like we was diaperin’
ye. A man wants his nappie where it’ll catch the dribbles and spills.”

Connor’s face reddened. “Enough is enough,” he said, tearing the
napkin from his throat. “Claude
—”

“Your cravat is crooked,” Maggie murmured.

Connor shot her a look. “Claude.”

The butler straightened, regarding Connor with a challenging air. “You wish something of me, sir?” he inquired with a meaningful look in Maggie’s direction.

Connor gripped the edge of the table, unable to articulate what exactly it was he wished at that moment. A new identity? To wake up and find it was all a bad dream? Was his love life really dependent on the whims of an eig
hty-four-y
ear-old butler? Yes, it was. And he was helpless to do anything as long as he coveted the demure young thing trying to conceal her enjoyment of his predicament beside him.

“I wish to compliment you for breakfast.” The breakfast that was sitting in his stomach like a sack of coal. He rose, looking resolute but feeling a trifle queasy. “Dougie, I would like a word with you in my study. And pull up those stockings before you fall flat on your face.”

D
ougie shook his head in dejection. “I canna control the women in this household, my lord. I canna control my own wife. That’s why I’ve decided to seek a divorce. I’ve chosen ye to represent me.”

Connor paced in front of his desk. “I can’t represent you in a divorce. I only handle criminal cases.”

“Well, my marriage is a crime, my lord.”

Connor glanced out the window, catching sight of Maggie walking toward the woods. Where was she going? he wondered in amazement. He watched her vanish between the trees, hips swaying, the breeze teasing the glossy black curls that spilled down her back. She was as alluring as a wood sprite. Even the way she walked drove him wild.

He pushed the curtain aside. He didn’t like the thought of her wandering in the woods all alone. She could get lost. She could trip over a tree root and hit her head, or she could fall into the gorge. She could stumble over the wounded man—

He sighed in frustration. The truth was,
he
was the biggest
beast who’d ever lurked in those woods. Maggie had as much to fear from him as anyone. He was determined to learn all of her secrets if it killed him.

Dougie’s voice broke the silence that had fallen. “Do ye think I have grounds for divorce, my lord?”

Connor edged closer to the window, half listening. “Has your wife been unfaithful to you?”

“Not that I know of. Who would want her? She’s so mean.”

“Has she refused you relations?”

Dougie looked uncertain. “She wasna happy about my mother visitin’ last month, if that’s what ye mean.”

“That is not what I mean,” Connor said in annoyance. “Has she refused to have congress with you?”

“Well.” Dougie scratched his head. “She might have. Then again she might not. ’Tis hard to say.”

Connor tinned reluctantly from the window, losing sight of Maggie in the landscape. “That doesn’t make sense. Hell, man, can’t you remember whether you’ve had congress with your own wife?”

“I suppose it depends.” Dougie toed the edge of the carpet, his voice a sheepish mumble. “What exactly is congress, sir?”

“Congress is
…
well, it’s coitus.” Connor closed his eyes, wondering if he could take the shortcut through the woods to meet her. “Intercourse. Connubial bliss.”

Coitus. Intercourse. Bliss. Maggie open and vulnerable beneath him, willing and warm, the essence of woman. A treasure no man had ever touched before. Desire crashed over him in waves. A predatory growl rose in his throat at the thought of taking her innocence the way his Highland warrior ancestors had taken their women.

He opened his eyes in irritation and looked around. “It’s sex, damn it. I’m talking about your sexual affairs.”

Dougie gasped, shocked to the tips of his pointed ears. “I dinna think that’s any of yer concern.”

“Neither do I,” Connor said tightly. “In fact, I don’t ever want to discuss the distasteful subject again. Just do the job you were hired to do and make the most of your marriage while you remain in this house. Is that understood?”

“Aye, my lord,” Dougie said unhappily.

Connor nodded in relief. “Now get on with your work. I’ll deal with the women later. I’ve some pressing business of my own to attend to.”

He hadn’t taken two impatient steps toward the door when Mrs. Urquhart herself appeared, bristling with self-importance. She dismissed her husband with a contemptuous look, then cleared her throat. “There is a visitor to see ye, sir.”

Connor suppressed a string of curses. Not his neighbors again. What did he need to do to have Maggie to himself? “Tell whoever it is that I am unavailable for the rest of the day.”

The housekeeper paused a moment. “He’s come all the way from Edinburgh to see ye. He said he has a verra important message. Something about a dangerous development in the murder case.”

C
onnor experienced a jolt of excitement mingled with resentment that reality was intruding on his life. Of course he wanted a break in the case, but the timing was terrible. Instead of chasing after Maggie in the woods, he’d had to send Claude out to watch over her.

It was the only sensible thing to do. Sensible but a damned strain and sacrifice. He was astonished at the emotions a single woman brought out in him. Sacrifice was not a concept he applied to his dealings with the opposite sex. As a rule he took what he wanted, and it usually was offered to him before he had to ask.

He wouldn’t be able to think straight until he knew how she really felt about him. Or at least until he’d gotten her into his bed. Her feelings could wait until later. Connor had confidence that once they’d gotten that far, their future together was assured. He was a damn good lover if he did say so himself.

He paused before he entered the drawing room, clearing his thoughts. As he was halfway through the door, the visitor seated before the fire turned to acknowledge him.

“Sebastien,” he said in surprise. “You’re the last person in the world I expected to see here. I thought you were leaving the country.”

“So did I.” Elegant in a knee-
l
ength cashmere coat and
straight-legged trousers, Sebastien gave a little shrug. “The affair I was working on became more complicated than anticipated.”

Connor took the opposite chair. Logic as well as intuition warned him something was wrong. Sebastien looked rather gray and unwell, glancing repeatedly at the door. “What happened?” Connor said bluntly. “Have you brought information about my sister?”

“No.” Sebastien slid to the edge of the chair, grimacing slightly as if the effort pained him. “But I do have some disturbing news, news that will officially reach you in a few hours—Connor, are we completely alone? I prefer not to be seen.”

Connor did not immediately question the man’s strange request. He understood that in Sebastien’s profession, anonymity was desirable if one wished to assume different identities. Such a precaution, however, did seem rather out of place in this isolated setting. “I have a small staff of local servants.” Connor paused. “All of them put together couldn’t scrape up the bra
ins to be involved in any espio
nage, though.”

“What about the girl?” Urgency laced Sebastien’s voice. “Is she still here?”

“What girl?” It took Connor an instant to remember that Sebastien knew about Maggie, that in fact he knew more about her mysterious background than he did himself. For the first time the thought struck him as strange, and he felt both jealous and concerned, resenting that there was still so much about her he had to learn. “Yes, she’s still here,” he said guardedly.

“Well, aren’t you supposed to be protecting her?”

“I have been protecting her,” Connor said with a touch of irritation.

“Then where is she?” Sebastien demanded. “Who is watching her while you’re sitting here alone with me? Is she with people you can trust?”

The ormolu clock on the stone mantelpiece ticked in the silence. Connor’s brows drew together as he straggled to understand. “She went for a walk. I sent her butler out after her as a precaution. But what is this odd preoccupation you have with my witness? She’s perfectly safe on this estate.”

“I hope so,” Sebastien said.

Connor felt a prickle of unease, confused by the man’s demeanor. “My housekeeper said something about the murder case. Why are you here, anyway? What is all this secrecy, Sebastien?”