Книга - Claiming His Defiant Miss

Claiming His Defiant Miss
Bronwyn Scott


Seduced by her bodyguard!Aristocrat’s daughter May Worth is beautiful, headstrong…and in trouble. There’s only one man who can protect her: Liam Casek, her brother’s best friend, a government agent, and the man whose sinfully seductive touch she’s never forgotten.Rakish Liam always knew May’s wild beauty would be the death of him, but if he’s to protect her with his life, he’s damned if he’ll deny their still-sizzling chemistry! May is everything Liam wants—if only he dare claim this defiant miss for his own.







Seduced by her bodyguard!

Aristocrat’s daughter May Worth is beautiful, headstrong...and in trouble. There’s only one man who can protect her: Liam Casek, her brother’s best friend, a government agent and the man whose sinfully seductive touch she’s never forgotten.

Rakish Liam always knew May’s wild beauty would be the death of him, but if he’s to protect her with his life, he’s damned if he’ll deny their still-sizzling chemistry! May is everything Liam wants—if only he dares claim this defiant miss for his own.


Wallflowers to Wives (#u9ef7eef6-3ea4-5bab-83d2-0fcdcee2957a)

Out of the shadows, into the marriage bed!

In Regency England young women were defined by their prospects in the marriage market. But what of the girls who were presented to Society…and not snapped up?

Bronwyn Scott invites you to

The Left Behind Girls’ Club

Three years after their debut, and still without rings on their fingers, Claire Welton, Evie Milham, May Worth and Beatrice Penrose are ready to leave the shadows and step into the light. Now London will have to prepare itself… because these overlooked girls are about to take the ton by storm!

Read Claire’s story in

Unbuttoning the Innocent Miss

Read Evie’s story in

Awakening the Shy Miss

Read May’s story in

Claiming His Defiant Miss

Available now!

And watch for Bea’s story—

Marrying the Rebellious Miss—coming soon!


Author Note (#u9ef7eef6-3ea4-5bab-83d2-0fcdcee2957a)

May and Liam’s tale is a coming of age story at its core, which makes it a very relatable storyline. It explores the practicalities of what it takes for love to survive. Is physical passion enough? There’s young love thwarted by the ‘wisdom’ of older minds—May’s father—and by a healthy dose of caution on May’s part. There’s also the issue of surviving change. We are not who we were at seventeen—how does love survive when we change? These are the issues that May and Liam deal with as former sweethearts who are reunited under unexpected circumstances.

These were interesting aspects to explore—not only against a Regency backdrop, in which family and reputation are everything, but also as timeless issues to explore in today’s world, where we are beset with technologies that make reconnection more possible than ever. One marketing site points out that modern high school sweethearts who marry in their teens only have a fifty-four per cent chance of that marriage lasting ten years. Only two per cent of high schoolers who marry their sweetheart go on to get a college education. I think that’s what would have happened to May and Liam, Regency-style, if she had married him the first time he asked. May recognises that, while she loves him, there are things like family and her own sense of independence she has to sort out before she can be a successful partner. Only when May and Liam know themselves can they fully engage in the love they have for one another.

I hope you enjoy their journey. I invite you to come and post your thoughts about first love and your own love journeys at bronwynswriting.blogspot.com (http://www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com).


Claiming His Defiant Miss

Bronwyn Scott






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


BRONWYN SCOTT is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and the proud mother of three wonderful children—one boy and two girls. When she’s not teaching or writing she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages. Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, bronwynnscott.com (http://bronwynnscott.com), or at her blog, bronwynswriting.blogspot.com (http://bronwynswriting.blogspot.com). She loves to hear from readers.

Books by Bronwyn Scott

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

and Mills & Boon Historical Undone! eBooks

Wallflowers to Wives

Unbuttoning the Innocent Miss

Awakening the Shy Miss

Claiming His Defiant Miss

Rakes on Tour

Rake Most Likely to Rebel

Rake Most Likely to Thrill

Rake Most Likely to Seduce

Rake Most Likely to Sin

Rakes of the Caribbean

Playing the Rake’s Game

Breaking the Rake’s Rules

Craving the Rake’s Touch (Undone!)

Rakes Who Make Husbands Jealous

Secrets of a Gentleman Escort

London’s Most Wanted Rake

An Officer But No Gentleman (Undone!)

A Most Indecent Gentleman (Undone!)

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk (http://millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


For Catie, Tonia and my Brony, who came up with the name for this hero. Thanks for helping me create a memorable hero.

And to all the girls out there. If there’s one lesson I want you to have from this story, it’s that love will find you—sometimes you just have to wait.


Contents

Cover (#u51a5582f-0ecc-578d-87ab-35ff838dbe66)

Back Cover Text (#u1dd592b0-7d98-57d6-8269-be99f1216fdf)

Wallflowers to Wives (#u0a3606ed-76e6-5f00-bad1-48785b27e114)

Author Note (#u7f0cc8cb-f71a-5bbc-84dc-f7e304ca53fd)

Title Page (#u02e6d486-8b44-5af7-9beb-7351fbb0964f)

About the Author (#ud9e75151-3f80-5673-9587-1e8a13759f5e)

Dedication (#u0052ce10-adfc-5ce4-80d3-dd46560cab19)

Chapter One (#uf9e7491f-80e4-5be6-9afd-b89d53096f3a)

Chapter Two (#u99ec6fae-aed5-568e-b51d-4d7098b92710)

Chapter Three (#u779a9d4d-e6b4-5d6c-8b7e-ad84ac813a2d)

Chapter Four (#ueb710c74-63b9-5fd9-99f6-af335a23c670)

Chapter Five (#u9b2503ce-1eaa-593d-aaab-3e456ad673b8)

Chapter Six (#uf6ed9660-45ef-5497-ba30-ddc0a269e61e)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u9ef7eef6-3ea4-5bab-83d2-0fcdcee2957a)

Preston Worth might very well die this time. Liam Casek stripped off his shirt and tore away a wide strip with an efficiency born of too much experience—he’d patched up Preston more than once. But tonight might be the last time. He pressed the wad of cloth to the gash in Preston’s chest, alarmed by its location so near a lung and alarmed by the size of the crimson spread. It was too much for a mere strip of linen to staunch.

‘Case!’ Preston groaned with hoarse urgency, frantically grabbing at his arm to make him listen. ‘Leave me, they might be back.’ ‘They’ being the ambushers who’d come upon them on the road at dusk. There’d simply been too many to fight off, yet they had succeeded, at the price of Preston’s wound. It might have been Preston’s wound that saved them. The ambushers had retreated, perhaps convinced the natural course of events would finish off their prey.

‘Be still,’ Liam growled, all gruffness as he tied another strip around Preston’s chest to hold the bandage in place. ‘We have to get you stitched up.’ But the bleeding had to stop first. He racked his brain for a plan. The nearest town was two miles back. ‘Cover the bandage with your hand and press hard.’ Liam got his hands under Preston’s armpits. ‘We’re going to get you to the verge.’ He hated moving Preston, but the middle of the road was no place for a wounded man in the dark. It made an easy target for careless carriages and returning thugs.

Preston grunted against the pain as Liam hauled him to the side, no easy feat considering Preston was as tall as he was—a few inches over six foot, and nearly a dead weight—hopefully not about to become more dead. Liam propped his friend against a sturdy tree trunk and examined the bandage as best he could in the fading light. It would be entirely dark soon. Damn winter! There was never enough daylight and Liam desperately needed some now. He could feel rather than see the blood soaking the bandage.

‘I hurt, Case,’ Preston admitted and there was the briefest flicker of fear in his eyes.

‘Pain is good,’ Liam offered encouragingly. ‘You’re doing great. You’re conscious, you’re talking, you’re not numb.’ Numbness was what Liam feared most, a sure sign of impending death. He’d seen it too often in the wars. He was no doctor, but he was a veteran of battlefields.

‘Those men,’ Preston ground out, ‘Cabot Roan sent them.’

Liam nodded, too busy with his triage. He was not surprised. The attack tonight confirmed what they’d feared. Cabot Roan was a wealthy businessman suspected by important men in both the Home and Foreign Offices of leading an arms cartel. The cartel was made up of wealthy, private citizens who had manufactured arms for England during the recent wars and were missing their incomes now that the wars were over and there was no need for arms contracts. Now, those businessmen were selling arms to various revolutionary efforts across Europe. It went without saying that many of those efforts did not necessarily align with the British Empire’s own foreign-policy aims, which made these men traitors. But proof was needed that Cabot Roan was behind the arms deals. That was Preston’s job. If the ringleader was indeed Roan, the man was to be discreetly stopped. That was Liam’s job.

‘The hunches must be right, then. That’s good news. Roan wouldn’t have sent his thugs if there was nothing to hide.’ Liam kept talking, kept smiling. He didn’t want Preston to panic. He thought the bleeding might be slowing down at last. There was still too damn much of it, though. He couldn’t wait any longer to get help. ‘Do you think you can ride? Just a couple of miles?’

Preston nodded. ‘Even if I can’t, we have to try. We can’t stay here and this is serious. You’re going to need light to work by, Case.’ As opposed to the other times Preston had been shot, knifed or otherwise needed his attentions, Liam thought wryly. If the situation wasn’t dire, he would have laughed. As it was, Liam thought he needed a sight more than light to make Preston right again.

Liam moved to help him rise, but Preston stayed him with a hand. ‘Wait, before you do that I have to tell you something.’ Liam heard the unspoken message. In case I become unconscious because moving hurts too bloody much. Which was better than the other unspoken message: In case I become unconscious and don’t wake up. Ever.

‘You can tell me after the doctor has you stitched up and you’re resting.’ Liam didn’t like Preston thinking in those terms. It was always bad when the patient recognised how serious the situation was.

Preston grabbed for his arm. ‘No doctor, Case. No inn. Promise me.’ He was breathing hard with the force of his words. ‘It’s too public. Inns are the first places Roan will look for us and doctors will be the first people he’ll question.’

Liam nodded in understanding. He had a plan now. He’d remembered something. ‘There’s a farmhouse not far back. But you have to let me go for a doctor.’

Preston shook his head, adamant. ‘You can be my doctor. You’ve stitched me up enough to know how to do it right.’ He tried to laugh and grimaced against the pain.

‘None of that now.’ Liam held him upright until the spasm passed. ‘We’ll laugh about this later.’ He doubted he’d laugh about this ever. But it was just like Preston to offer reassurance even when he was the one bleeding on the roadside.

The spasm over, Preston drew a shaky breath. ‘Now, will you listen to me? I found proof about Cabot Roan and the cartel yesterday, before you joined me.’

This was good news. ‘Where is it?’ If anyone had thought Preston had the information was on him the thugs would never have left him alive. Liam hoped it wasn’t in the saddlebags of the horse that had bolted.

‘I mailed two copies of the proof. One, straight to London and another to my sister in case the London mail is intercepted.’ Preston continued to grip his arm. ‘She’s in Scotland, outside Edinburgh in a small village with a friend. You need to go to her and keep her safe until the information can be used to bring Cabot in.’

Liam didn’t like the sound of that at all. He didn’t like the sound of anything that involved May Worth. ‘Why would Roan even think to go after your sister?’ After all these years, it was still difficult to speak her name.

‘Because...’ Preston was growing agitated ‘...Cabot Roan knows I’m the one who broke into his house. I was sloppy, he saw my face. He’ll go after May, Case, and I can’t be there to protect her.’

Obviously. Wounded, Preston could do nothing to protect anyone. But even hale, Preston would be a beacon leading Roan straight to May if he tried to reach her. Roan would be watching Preston’s every move...if he lived through the night. ‘Give me your word, Case. You will protect May.’

‘With my life,’ Liam promised, because he would have promised Preston Worth anything, even if it was walking into the special hell that was May Worth. ‘Now, let’s get you up on that horse.’ He owed Preston more than he could repay. He just wished he didn’t owe Preston that.

He had a thousand questions. What was May really doing in Scotland? It seemed an unlikely place for the daughter of an influential Englishman like Preston’s father. Which village? Preston hadn’t given him a name. But questions would have to wait. There was no chance for them now. Preston was unconscious before they’d even gone a quarter-mile, his body sagging against Liam’s as they rode, exhausted from the fight, the pain, the loss of blood. It was probably better for him this way, but it sure made it deuced hard to get off the horse with an unconscious man.

‘I need help! I have a wounded man!’ Liam called out as he nudged his horse cautiously into the farmyard. It was full dark now and strangers at this hour would make an isolated farmer wary. ‘I come peacefully!’ But he slid a hand over the smooth comfort of his pistol butt even as he spoke. A man could never be too careful.

He waited several long moments before the farmhouse door opened and a man emerged, lamp in hand. ‘Please, help us. He’s hurt badly. I need to stitch him up.’ Liam struggled to keep the panic out of his voice. Preston Worth would not die on him. But if he was going to be any help to Preston, he had to remain calm, had to take charge. People didn’t question authority, they responded to it. The man hurried forward, calling for others to come and help. Two tall, gangly boys spilled out of the house behind him, followed by a woman who came and silently held the lamp.

Hands reached for Preston as Liam eased him down. ‘Careful, he’s been stabbed,’ Liam ordered more sharply than necessary, but the family took it in their stride. His best friend was bleeding out right before his eyes and he’d never felt so helpless. What if his skill wasn’t enough? What if he should risk a doctor after all? Liam swung off the horse and tossed the reins to the other boy. ‘Take care of him, I’ll need him rested.’ The movement, the command, was enough to regain his focus. He couldn’t think about what he couldn’t do. He had to focus on what he could do. That was the trick to surviving disaster. He’d survived enough of those to know. Just think about the next thing that needs to happen.

He caught the woman’s eye and issued another set of instructions. ‘I need compresses, bandages and hot water heating.’ She gave a sharp nod and led everyone inside.

Liam scanned the room. ‘Clear the table and let’s get him laid out.’ It would be the best place to work, near the fire with plenty of heat and light. Liam took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, finding a basin of hot water ready at his elbow.

‘Leftover from cooking dinner,’ the woman explained with a kind smile. ‘It will do until fresh is ready and you’ll be wanting these.’ She produced a needle and thread.

‘And a candle, some whisky, too, if you have it.’ Liam pulled back Preston’s shirt, able to see the wound clearly for the first time.

‘You’re a doctor, then?’ The woman passed him a brown bottle.

‘Something like that.’ What he did could hardly be called doctoring. Doctors were wealthy men who went to schools and universities and had white lace-curtained offices. The only schooling Liam had was what Preston had given him and the only doctoring he’d acquired was on a Serbian battlefield. He prayed tonight it would be enough.

Liam pulled out the stopper, taking a deep sniff. It was good whisky, strong whisky, and it was going to hurt like hell. He nodded to the older boy. ‘Take him by the shoulders and hold him firm. He’s going to want to jerk when this firewater hits him.’ The boy was pale, but he did what he was told.

Liam bent over Preston and offered the explanation out of habit, the words more for himself than Preston, who remained unconscious. ‘I’m sorry to do it, old friend, but it’ll clean out the wound and cut down your chances of inflammation.’ He poured the whisky on Preston’s chest, lending his own weight when Preston roared and bucked. Good, good, Liam thought. Preston could still be roused, he still had some strength. ‘Be still, Pres, we’re at the farmhouse and I’m stitching you up just like you wanted,’ he murmured the reassuring words.

‘No doctors.’ Preston’s voice was hoarse and insistent.

‘No doctors.’ Liam smiled, his face close to his friend’s so Preston could see his eyes. ‘We’re safe here.’ He hoped that was true. He hoped Roan’s men wouldn’t come barging through the door any minute. He hoped they wouldn’t come and harass this kind family tomorrow. He’d been careful with his trail even in the dark, but there was only so much care one could take with a wounded man who needed speed more than he needed discretion. Discretion took time and Preston hadn’t any of that to spare.

‘Here’s the items you wanted.’ The woman held up a needle, already threaded. She offered a friendly smile. ‘I have to be prepared with these three around. There’s always cuts and bruises on a farm.’ She sobered. ‘How bad is it?’

Liam stepped aside, letting her look as he held the needle in the flame. ‘I don’t think anything vital was hit, but he’s lost a lot of blood.’ He nodded his head towards the whisky bottle. ‘Give him some to drink now, he’ll need it once this needle goes in him.’ With luck, Preston would pass out after the first couple of stitches. But first, he had to bathe the wound. He wanted a clean working surface. The fresh hot water was ready now and he dipped a cloth in it. Washing away the blood made it look better, better being a relative term. The bleeding had stopped, he could see that now, and he could put aside his worry that the knife had punctured a lung. But the gash was long and it was ugly, made by a jagged blade. Preston wasn’t going to get out of this without a scar.

The farmer took up a position at Preston’s head with one of his sons. ‘You’ll probably need two of us. Your friend looks like quite the fighter.’ The woman and the other son each grabbed a leg. Liam drew a deep breath, prayed for steady hands, crossed himself and began to sew.

* * *

It was over in a matter of minutes although it felt like hours. Liam was exhausted. He looked at his handiwork. Would it be enough? Had his precautions been enough to ward off inflammation? He’d been in enough battles to know it wasn’t the wound that killed a soldier. More often than not, it was the swelling that followed, or the poor medical work, lace-curtained training or not. He couldn’t bring himself to think of being the agent of Preston’s demise instead of his salvation. If it hadn’t been for Preston, he would still be scrambling for work and living hand to mouth in the streets.

The farmer slipped an arm about his shoulders, drawing him back from the table. ‘My boys will watch him while the wife cleans up. Let’s go and have something to drink. You’ve had a hell of a night.’

And it wasn’t even over. The farmer pressed a glass of whisky into his hand. ‘We’ll make up a pallet for you in front of the fire. You can be near your friend.’

‘No, I have to push on.’ Liam swallowed the whisky, letting the gulp burn down his throat and warm his belly. The illusion of warmth gave him the strength he needed to resist the offer. He wanted nothing more than to sleep and stay near, but he had promised Preston. He had miles to go before he could rest. The more distance between him and Cabot Roan, the better. ‘You’ve already done so much, but I have one more favour to ask.’

‘Consider it done,’ the farmer interrupted. ‘We’ll watch over your friend as best we can and hope no fever sets in.’ Preston was stitched, but that wasn’t a miracle cure-all.

‘I can pay you. He’ll need food, meat to build back the blood he’s lost.’ Liam reached in his pocket for a bag of coins and pressed it into the farmer’s hand.

‘It’s not necessary.’ The farmer tried to give back the bag.

‘It is, I assure you. You have done a greater good tonight than you realise.’ Liam furrowed his brow. ‘You’ve done so much and I don’t know your name.’

‘It’s Taylor. Tom Taylor. And yours?’

Liam grinned. ‘My friends call me Case.’ The farmer nodded sagely, understanding the protection Liam had offered him. Sometimes names could be dangerous. Better that this good family not know too much. Liam did not want them harmed in return for their generosity.

The farmer jerked his head towards the inside. ‘Do you think anyone will come looking for him?’ He’d want to know, would want to protect his family.

‘Maybe.’ Liam wouldn’t lie to them. He hoped not. Preston would need a couple of weeks to recover, a month even to be back to full strength. He glanced inside at Preston’s prone figure. He didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t wait. Edinburgh was a long way from where he was. He’d need a head start if he was going to reach May in time, assuming Cabot Roan even knew to look there. Liam hoped he didn’t. He wanted to gamble that May’s remote and unexpected location would protect her. Then he could stay until Preston was in the clear.

The farmer looked to the sky. ‘There will be rain tonight. A lot of it. Are you sure you want to go?’

He wasn’t sure at all. He didn’t want to go, but he’d given Preston his word. He had to go to May whether she needed protection or not, never mind she’d be about as pleased to see him as he was pleased to be there.

Liam didn’t bother to go back inside. His resolve was weak enough. The offer of a fire and a hot meal would do him in. He shook the farmer’s hand, thanked him once more and mounted up with a wary eye skyward. Maybe the rain would hold off, he was due some luck. Two miles down the road the clouds broke in a soaking deluge. Whoever said the Irish were lucky definitely hadn’t met Liam Casek.


Chapter Two (#u9ef7eef6-3ea4-5bab-83d2-0fcdcee2957a)

Village on the Firth of Forth, Scotland—November 1821

‘A penny and nothing more,’ May Worth argued, facing down Farmer Sinclair and his carrots in the market. Farmer Sinclair didn’t want to sell her carrots any more than she wanted to buy them from him, not at that price. ‘Three pennies for a bundle of carrots is highway robbery.’

‘A man’s got to feed his family.’ Sinclair rubbed his stubbly chin with a weathered hand. He gave her a steady look. ‘What do you care if they’re one penny or three, you can afford it either way.’

‘Being of means, as modest as they are,’ May emphasised, ‘doesn’t mean I squander them unnecessarily.’ In the four months she and Bea had been in residence, they’d tried to live frugally in an attempt to call the least amount of attention to themselves as possible. Still, despite their best efforts, there were some like Farmer Sinclair who’d concluded they were ladies of independent means.

Sinclair grumbled, ‘Two and a half. These are fine carrots, the best in the village, and the last fresh you’re likely to get until spring.’ It was hard to argue with that. Sinclair’s produce was always reliable. The carrots were likely worth two and a half this late into autumn, but May didn’t like losing. At anything. Now that she’d engaged in battle she couldn’t back down.

‘Two.’ Sinclair would lord it over her if she gave in too easily and so would Bea when she told her. Bea would laugh and that was worth something. These last few weeks had been hard on Bea. She was in the last month of her pregnancy, large and constantly uncomfortable. She was unable to walk as far as the market these days without her feet swelling. ‘Two. For Beatrice and the baby,’ May added for pathos.

That did the trick. ‘Two,’ Sinclair agreed. ‘Tell Mistress Fields I send my regards.’ He handed her the orange bunch and she tucked them victoriously into her market basket. But it was only a partial win and Sinclair knew it as well as she did. Bea would have got a better price without haggling. Everyone in the village liked Beatrice. It wasn’t that they didn’t like her, it was possible to like more than one person at a time. Liking wasn’t exclusive, but they were definitely wary of her.

The carrots were the last of the items on her list. It was time to head home. She didn’t like being away from Beatrice for too long with the baby due soon and she had letters to read—one in particular from her brother that she was eager to read. She knew Bea would be eager for it, too. News from home was sparse these days. The other was from her parents, which she was less eager to read. That one, she would read in private later. Besides, without Bea at the market, her own socialising opportunities were more ‘limited’.

May understood quite plainly she was tolerated because of Bea and she understood why. She was too blunt for some of the ladies and too pretty for some of the wives who worried she’d steal their men. If only they understood she wasn’t interested in men. She’d come here to escape them. So far, that part was working out splendidly. The men hadn’t any more idea what to do with her forthright behaviour than the women did. No one knew what to make of her, no one ever had, except Beatrice and Claire and Evie.

Her friends had never tried to make her fit a mould. They’d simply accepted her as she was, something her own parents had not succeeded in doing. Instead, they’d threatened to marry her off to the local vicar back home if she didn’t find a husband by next spring. She didn’t really think they’d do it, they were just trying so hard to make sure she was betrothed before spring. She highly suspected the second letter in her basket was a long-distance attempt to reintroduce the theme as they had done this past summer.

They’d made countless attempts, some subtle, some less so, during the Season to throw eligible men her direction. She’d thrown them all back and her parents were definitely frustrated. One more Season had passed and she still hadn’t become the dutiful daughter. Here she was, nearly twenty-two, with three Seasons behind her and no suitor in sight, all because of one man.

She’d loved deeply once, although she’d been warned against it. She was too young, he was too ‘dangerous’ in the way unsuitable men are for well-bred girls who are restless and fresh out of the schoolroom. But she had done it anyway and now she was paying. She couldn’t have him. Their harsh parting had seen to that. There could be no going back from the words and betrayal they’d flung at one other. But that didn’t stop her from measuring all others against him and no one could possibly measure up. Her father called it disobedient, outright rebellious. Her mother called it a shame.

Perhaps they were right. Maybe she was rebellious. Maybe she was a shame to the family. There was certainly argument for that. For all outward appearances, she had everything a successful debutante could want: she was pretty, her family was respectable, her father the second son of a viscount, a valued member of Parliament, and she had a dowry that more than adequately reflected all that respectability. What was not to like? She should have been an open-and-shut case, a prime piece of merchandise snatched off the marriage mart after two Seasons.

Although, to her benefit, all that parental frustration had probably been the reason her parents had let her accompany Beatrice into Scottish exile while she waited out her pregnancy: the errant daughter would be out of sight, out of mind. Perhaps her parents hoped a few months in Scotland would change her mind, show her what life was like alone and isolated from society. A spinster could expect nothing more.

May smiled to herself and gave a little skip along the dirt road. If that’s what her parents hoped for, they couldn’t be more wrong. She loved it here. Never mind the villagers didn’t know what to make of her. That could change in time. Even if it didn’t, she liked being on her own, just her and Beatrice. She liked doing for herself. She’d discovered she had a talent for cooking, for shopping for their small household, for growing things. She and Bea had the most spectacular greenhouse where they would be able to grow vegetables year-round—not enough to live on, not yet. They would still be reliant on the Farmer Sinclairs of the world for a while. But come spring... That put a stop to her skipping.

Would they still be here in the spring? She hoped so, but Beatrice’s parents might call her home after the baby was born. Her own parents certainly would want her back at some point. This had become an anxiety point for both of them over the last few weeks. The baby coming changed everything and ‘everything’ was uncertain. Beatrice feared someone would come and take the baby away. She was unwed after all, never mind that the village called her Mistress Fields and thought Mr Fields was a small merchant explorer away at sea, a fiction they had liberally borrowed and enhanced from one of Bea’s favourite romance novels. The truth was, Beatrice had been indiscreet last winter and now she was paying for it. When this was over, Beatrice didn’t want to go home any more than May did.

‘We simply won’t go.’ May had told her just last night when Bea had been up worrying again. ‘They can’t make us.’ That was only partly true. Their parents could make them. Their parents could cut off the allowance that let them keep the spacious cottage and buy food. Maybe Preston would stand up for them. Preston always did. He was the best of brothers. He was what May missed most about being away from home.

But she couldn’t rely on Preston for this. This was her decision alone to make, hers and Bea’s. They had to rely on themselves. They were already saving part of their allowances in case they were cut off. They had the greenhouse. They’d have their garden in the spring, they could make preserves, maybe enough to sell in the market or to trade. They had the clothes they’d come with and the horses too, although horses needed hay. If they economised, they could be countrywomen in truth. It was a daring plan to be sure and not without some risk. They would be giving up life as they knew it, but they would have their freedom in exchange.

Nothing changed until you did. That was the motto of the Left Behind Girls Club, of which there remained only two members now, her and Bea. Claire and Evie had both married. She’d gone to Evie’s wedding in October. Evie had been a radiant autumn bride, proud to stand beside her handsome husband, a royal prince of Kuban who’d given up his title for her and become a country gentleman in Sussex. If Dimitri Petrovich could do it, perhaps she and Bea could do it, too. They had to be the agents of their own change. They had to stand up for what they wanted, even if they had to fight for it.

The heavy weight in May’s skirt pocket reminded her of how literal that fight might be. Promise me you won’t let anyone take the baby, Beatrice had pleaded tearfully with her. If anyone came, they wouldn’t stop at an argument, something May could win. They would resort to physical force. It was a sad truth that men could simply overpower women to take what they wanted when reason failed, but guns were great equalisers; Preston had taught her that. She had one now in her skirt pocket, just in case. She’d promised Bea no one would take the baby as long as she had one good shot. A Worth’s word was golden.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she approached their cottage. Usually the sight of their neat brick home with its steep slate roof brought her a sense of comfort. Today, she felt unease. Perhaps all this thinking about someone taking the baby had put her imagination on edge. The baby wasn’t even born yet. May tried to talk herself out of the premonition. Her mind was playing games. But it was no use. Something was wrong. There was mud tracked up the porch steps to the door, the way boots tracked mud. Boots meant men. Men meant trouble. It was market day, no one would make a special trip out. If there was business to be dealt with, she would have taken care of it in town.

May set down her basket and scanned the yard, her eye catching the anomaly. There! A horse, not one of their own; an animal too sleek to be a farmer’s. This was the kind of horse owned by someone who rode. Horses meant money and this one looked vaguely familiar. Her mouth went dry. Had Bea’s family come already? May slipped her hand into her pocket and slowly pulled out the pistol, letting calm slide over her. Just think about the next step. It was a trick Preston had taught her, something he’d learned from his work for the government.

Through the window, she could see the top of a man’s head. Someone was sitting in the front parlour’s spare chair. Good. Whoever it was couldn’t see her. Take them by surprise. Don’t give them a chance to think. The only one thinking should be you. Preston had taught her that, too. She’d know where to turn once she came through the door; she’d know where to aim her gun. She wouldn’t waste a moment learning the layout of the room and who was where.

May drew a breath and threw open the front door with her shoulder, using more force than necessary. It banged against the wall, making noise and startling the room’s occupants. She whirled towards the chair at the window, the pistol trained on the man. The light from the window might obscure the details of his face, but she could see enough to hit him. She would aim for his shoulder. ‘Get out, we don’t want you here.’ She let the ominous cock of the pistol fill the stunned silence of the room, a silence that didn’t last nearly as long as it should have.

Most people took guns seriously. Not the man in the chair. He laughed! The sound of it sent a shudder of recognition down her spine as he drawled, ‘Hello, Maylark. It’s nice to see you, too.’ With those words, the element of surprise was neatly turned on her.

May froze. Liam Casek was here? She blinked against the light from the window, against the improbability, trying to digest the reality. Liam Casek—her brother’s work partner, her one great moment of foolishness, the man against whom she measured all other men and found them lacking—was sitting in her front parlour in the middle-of-nowhere Scotland, the last person she’d ever have expected to see. In truth, he was the last person she wanted to see here. He could only bring her trouble as he’d so aptly demonstrated on earlier occasions. How would she ever explain him to Beatrice? She lowered the gun, her arm suddenly heavy from the weight, and his eyes flickered towards the motion.

‘How like you to greet gentlemen with pistols.’ It was an insult if ever there was one. The last time she’d seen him had been five years ago, a mere seventeen-year-old girl. She was far more grown up now. She should say something witty, one of her famed biting retorts, but all she could do was stare.

He was much as she remembered him: blue Irish eyes that sparkled in the face of danger—she didn’t know many men who would take a pistol aimed at them sitting down—untrimmed hair falling over his shoulders in a tangle of dark waves that rebelled against any attempt at convention, a body that dwarfed anything in a room. Tall and lean, Liam Casek had always known how to take up space, only there was so much more of him now. There were new things about him, too: the tiny curving scar high on his cheek near his left eye, the long, refined cheekbones that gave his face its sharpness. Its shrewd intelligence was new, too—signs of the man that had been carved from the boy she’d once known.

But, oh, his mouth was the same. He had the mouth of a gentleman; thin on top and falsely hinting at aristocracy, full on the bottom suggesting sensuality. That mouth was the merest suggestion of softness set above the square jut of a rugged chin, to remind a woman that any pretence to tenderness was illusion only. That mouth knew how to tease a woman, to lead her on, intimating that other mysteries might lurk beneath the rugged façade should that woman dare to look. She’d been that bold once, that naïve. She’d thought to discover those mysteries once upon a time. Back then, she’d been on the brink of womanhood, and he on the brink of manhood at twenty-one, still not quite full come into the man who now stood before her. They had been reckless, she most of all. He was not for her. They both knew it with a certainty which made it inconceivable that he was sitting before her now.

May’s mind started to work again. ‘What are you doing here?’ He wasn’t here for her. They’d parted badly. But if not for her, then who? Preston? No! Her thoughts became a whirlwind driven by not a little panic. The letter she’d picked up at the market! It was at the bottom of her basket.

May darted to the yard where she’d dropped the basket, her mind working at full speed. She grabbed the letter and raced back inside, firing off questions. ‘What’s happened to Preston? Where is he? Is he with you?’ It wasn’t beyond possibility he had come with Liam, and was off on an errand. She tore into the letter. Two loose pages fell out. She was not interested in them, only in the bold scrawl of Preston’s handwriting. She scanned the letter, trying to assimilate the information. May glared at Liam. ‘Tell me. What, exactly, has happened to my brother?’

‘He’s been stabbed, May,’ Liam began evenly, perhaps in the hope of not panicking her. But there was no way the word ‘stabbed’ could be received with bland reaction. There was a gasp behind her, a reminder that Bea was still in the room, silently watching this unexpected reunion play out.

May took a step backwards and sank next to Bea on the little sofa, vaguely aware of Bea taking her hand in support. She would not panic. She would not go to pieces in front of him. ‘When did this happen? Tell me everything.’

‘Six days ago.’ Liam flicked a questioning glance Beatrice’s way and May’s stomach knotted. He would only tell her part of the truth without knowing Beatrice’s full measure. It worried her greatly if Liam was considering mincing words. What needed to be hidden? May picked up the papers from the floor. She studied the sheets. She could see now that they were ledger pages recording expenditures and funds received. There were names and amounts, very condemning proof indeed for whatever had happened and Preston had sent it to her. It spoke volumes about his injury. ‘Is he going to pull through?’ They were hard words to utter. She had to presume the wound had been dangerous enough to warrant Liam coming to her. For the sake of her own sanity, she had to also assume Preston was alive, at least six days ago. Bea’s grip tightened around her hand and she was grateful for her friend’s support.

Liam hesitated. ‘I stitched him up as best I could. I took him to a remote farmhouse.’ He answered her next question before she could ask it. He’d always been good at that—knowing her thoughts before she did. It was a damn annoying habit when it wasn’t being useful. ‘Preston wouldn’t let me send for a doctor.’ Of course not. Her brother would be concerned for the safety of anyone he implicated. Whoever the villain in this mission was would seek out doctors in his search to find a wounded man. ‘Preston made me promise to come straight to you.’

‘To me or to the letter?’ May queried, but Preston’s actions already indicated the gravity of the situation. He had sent her information that needed protecting by someone whom her brother would trust with his life.

‘Do you even need to ask?’ Liam scolded her. ‘Your safety was Preston’s first thought as he lay bleeding in the road.’

His words shamed her. She’d known better than to assume otherwise. They also frightened her. She heard the unspoken message. Preston had thought there was the possibility he might die if he’d sent Liam as his proxy. An idea struck her. ‘You can take me to him.’ He would know where Preston was. She half-rose from the sofa, plans coming rapidly. She would pack, they would go by horseback for faster time. ‘We can leave today.’ Within the hour.

That got a literal rise out of him. The very idea of travelling any distance with her accomplished what the explosive end of a pistol had not. Liam was out of his chair in an instant. ‘And take you in to the lion’s den with the very evidence your brother risked his life to get?’ His incredulity was obvious. ‘What kind of fool-brained idea is that? Your brother sent me to protect you, not to expose you.’

Expose her to whom? She wanted details, but she wasn’t going to get them with Beatrice in the room. ‘I can protect myself just fine. I will shoot anyone who crosses that threshold uninvited, as you are very well aware.’

‘It is irrelevant.’ Liam’s reply was sanguine. ‘I am sure you can shoot one man. I recall you have excellent aim. There are men’s lives at stake, shooting one won’t be enough.’ Again the vagaries. She had no choice but to get Liam alone if she wanted more information. ‘If the man in question is caught, he faces treason and the noose. He will not send one man. He did not send one man against your brother and me on the road. He will not send one man against you. He will not care there is a pregnant woman in the house or a baby.’ What had Preston got himself involved in now? She knew his work was more than what it appeared on the surface, but tracking treasonous individuals? That was far more than she’d anticipated.

May tried not to look affected with the dire picture he painted. Her desire for details warred with her concern for Beatrice. She didn’t want Liam upsetting Beatrice who had enough to deal with. ‘Whoever this new enemy is has to find me first.’

‘He’s desperate. He will find you. He’s a man with resources and you were just in Sussex for a friend’s wedding. Your family knows. Presumably they will have mentioned it to someone, perhaps several people. Someone, somewhere, will know you’re here.’

‘Surely you’re not suggesting we leave.’ Suddenly the thought was appalling, although it had been her very thought just moments ago. This cottage, this village, had become her world. This was where she was free. To leave would be to march straight back into society’s silk-and-lace prison. While she would have given up the cottage to go to Preston in his need, she would not give up this cottage on the outside chance she would be discovered. They couldn’t possibly take Beatrice with them in her condition and yet Beatrice couldn’t stay. If anyone was looking for her, the trail would lead here. Beatrice wouldn’t be safe.

Liam leaned back in his chair, hands laced over the flat of his stomach, his eyes skimming hers. ‘Not at all, Maylark. We stay here and wait it out.’

‘You’re going to stay here?’ It was her turn to be incredulous. In this small cottage? With her? Cosy was already becoming cramped. How would they ever manage to share this space?

Liam grinned, an irritatingly devilish smile full of smugness. She hated having risen to the bait. The dratted man had known how much that idea would irk her. ‘That is exactly what I’m suggesting. I can sleep in the barn.’

‘No, we have a spare room.’ Bea put in quickly. ‘The barn is too cold in winter.’ May shot her a hard look. When had Bea turned traitor? Couldn’t Bea see she didn’t want him here? Maybe not, to be fair. Bea didn’t know Liam Casek. May had told no one, not even her close friends, about that summer at the lakes, the summer Jonathon Lashley hadn’t come on holiday with the Worths and her brother had brought this friend instead.

Liam nodded gratefully at Bea. ‘I appreciate it, Mistress Fields.’ Bea actually blushed. May rolled her eyes. He’d already got to Beatrice with his rough brand of gallantry. She’d forgive her friend. She knew how easy it was to fall for that charm.

‘I’ll go ready the room, Mr Casek. May can show you around our little place.’ May stifled a groan. Mister this, and mistress that. Good heavens, all this polite formality was going to kill her if showing Liam around didn’t do it first.

‘How long do you suppose you’ll be here?’ May asked bluntly.

Liam’s blue eyes narrowed to dancing flints. ‘As long as it takes to keep you safe. Until the new year, I imagine.’ He shot Bea a considerate glance. ‘I’ll be sure to make myself useful. Looks like that barn roof could use a little work and you’ll need an extra set of hands once the bairn gets here.’ That was his breeding showing or lack of it. No gentleman friend of Preston’s would have considered the impact of one more mouth to feed and care for. Neither would a gentleman have mentioned a pregnancy even if a nine-month belly was staring him rather obviously in the face. Liam Casek might have a gentleman’s mouth, but he’d been raised working poor. Life held no secrets for him.

‘It will be good to have a man around the house,’ Beatrice acceded with another smile. Not that man, though. The last thing May wanted was to be alone with him, and now she would be for months, not because she felt threatened by him but because of who she was when she was with him. That frightened her a great deal even as it thrilled her.


Chapter Three (#u9ef7eef6-3ea4-5bab-83d2-0fcdcee2957a)

Liam stepped outdoors and scanned the yard, looking for a destination. The stone fence to his left seemed as good a place as any to have this conversation. He strode towards it, aware of May behind him. He’d give her five strides before her patience broke and she started demanding information.

One... May Worth could still frighten the living daylights out of him. That hadn’t changed in five years. He would have thought a man who’d been to war, a man who’d seen men die, who’d often delivered that death personally and intimately on behalf of the Crown, would not be so easily frightened by a single female. But logic failed to account for May Worth. There was so much to be frightened by: her beauty, her intelligence, her overwhelming confidence in the rightness of her opinion, but it was her stubbornness that frightened him the most, not because she intimidated him but because he revelled in her fearlessness.

Two... He’d once found her fearlessness so intoxicating he’d believed he could change the world for her. He’d been drawn to it like an addict to opium. He was a stronger man now, his own ideals and expectations better tempered by reality. Was she? He feared that reckless stubborn streak would be the author of her demise someday.

Three... Look where it had led already today: it had her pulling a pistol on a guest and demanding safe passage to her brother’s side, then refusing to leave the cottage. Very shortly it was going to prompt her to ask for every ounce of information he possessed regarding Preston and she was not going to like what he had to say.

Four...

‘Tell me everything,’ May blurted out, catching up to him. Five strides had been too optimistic. ‘We’re alone now, there’s no reason not to.’ There was a scold in there somewhere for him. She was angry he’d held back. She was anxious, which made her anger excusable, understandable even, but he still made her wait until they reached the stone fence. Someone had to teach May patience.

He leaned his elbows on the rough surface of the stone and looked out over the expanse of green field. It was far less disconcerting than looking at her and seeing those beautiful green eyes that could stalk a man like a tiger or burn with emerald passion, the rich walnut sheen of her hair, the elegant sweep of her jaw, the defiant point of her chin, the delicate, straight length of her nose set to perfection on her face, all of which informed a man without asking that this was a lady born to wealth and luxury. And then there was that skin, so perfectly translucent it called to mind every cliché he’d ever heard about silk and pearls and alabaster. It was indeed hard to speak when one could choose to look at May Worth instead. He’d learned to cultivate the skill, however. His sanity and male pride had depended on it.

‘The Home and Foreign Offices sent your brother to track down a man named Cabot Roan.’ He began in low tones, glancing around out of habit. They were in the middle of nowhere, but he couldn’t help it. One could never be too cautious. ‘Roan is suspected of leading an arms cartel whose interests do not always parallel Britain’s.’ He would not patronise May with an elementary explanation. She was intelligent. She would understand the implications.

‘Apparently my brother found him,’ May said drily.

‘Yes, and then they found us, on the road out of town at dark.’ Liam paused, letting her digest the information. She knew the rest from what he’d told her inside. ‘Roan will come looking for you. If he can’t find Preston, he will want to use you as leverage to get to him. The protection I offer is real, as is your need for it.’

May scoffed and repeated her earlier argument. ‘Hardly anyone knows I’m in Scotland. I rather think my location is my best protection.’

‘You’ve already heard my answer to that. Roan is very resourceful. He will find the people who know. Now that his life is on the line, he will be even more redoubtable. We must proceed as if he will find out.’

May was instantly wary. ‘Does this process involve more than sleeping in my cottage and repairing my barn roof?’ He could feel her eyes on him, probably narrowed to emerald slits of consideration.

Liam mentally braced himself for the storm. She wouldn’t like this next part. May did not tolerate being told what to do under the best of circumstances. ‘I am to be with you at all times and, if not, I need to know where you’ll be, when you’ll be there and who you’ll be with.’ He had to look at her now. The temptation was too great.

She shook her head and the storm broke. ‘I will not be treated like a small child who can’t be out of her mother’s sight on the off chance this Cabot Roan might come looking for me. So if you’ll excuse me, I have vegetables to put away before they wilt.’ May’s eyes flashed and she turned on her heel, presuming to walk away.

Liam reached for her, grabbing her arm, forcing his body to absorb the shock of touching her again after so long. ‘This is not the time to be stubborn, May,’ he growled, determined to make her see reason.

Her gaze went to his grip on her arm, her voice sharp. ‘Take your hand off me. I will not allow you to be my gaoler.’

‘Not your gaoler, May, your bodyguard. Please, May. This is not about what you want or even what I want. This is about Preston, about keeping Mistress Fields and the baby safe.’ It was his best argument, this appeal to pathos. May would do anything for the ones she loved, the ones who needed her protection. It was yet another way she was like her brother.

Some of the fire went out of her eyes and she relented. ‘How long before we know if Roan is coming?’

Liam shook his head. ‘We don’t know. He could come tomorrow, perhaps he is just a day or two behind me. Perhaps it will be a couple of weeks or months depending on how long it takes Roan to discover where you are.’

‘Perhaps he’ll never come.’

‘We can hope for that.’ The odds weren’t convincing. He knew Roan. The man was tenacious.

May wrapped her arms about herself and shivered in spite of the wool shawl she wore. It was cold out, the day brisk even for November, but he thought the shiver was from something more than the weather. ‘We’ll have to tell Beatrice.’ She shot him an accusing glance. ‘You could have told her inside.’ Now that she had her information, she could indulge in the scold he’d sensed was brewing earlier. ‘You didn’t have to hold back. You can trust Beatrice.’

It was his turn to go on the defensive. ‘How was I to know if I could trust her or if it would be too upsetting in her condition?’ He had his suspicions about Mistress Fields and her seafaring husband, but he wasn’t going to voice them out loud and risk alienating May. He had more important battles to win today.

‘I had only an acquaintance of minutes to rely on for my judgement. I erred on the side of discretion for the sake of the baby.’ If Beatrice Fields had secrets, it was hardly any of his concern. In his line of work, he’d learned women had secrets just like men, and like men, they, too, could be dangerous creatures. He wasn’t going to underestimate anyone simply because they were female. At the moment, his only interest in Beatrice Fields was her connection to why May was in godforsaken Scotland.

‘I’ve told you what I know, now it’s your turn. What are you doing here? Why didn’t you stay in Sussex with the family after the wedding?’

‘That should be obvious. Beatrice needs me. She can’t deliver a baby on her own.’ May fidgeted a little and looked past his shoulder out to the field. There was more to this than the loyalty of friendship.

‘That’s what doctors and midwives are for. Have you delivered many babies in the last five years, then? With a gun in one hand, none the less?’ Liam pressed. May wasn’t lying—May never lied, not even to spare a man’s feelings, so he had learned. But she wasn’t telling him quite the truth either.

‘This is the wilds of Scotland. Two women on their own can’t be too careful. I wasn’t expecting company, that’s all,’ May snapped. He realised it was as close to an apology as he was going to get for being greeted with a pistol.

He arched a dark brow. ‘I disagree. No one carries a pistol when they’re not expecting anything. I think you were expecting something—trouble, perhaps?’

‘Trouble doesn’t follow me everywhere,’ she began.

‘No, it doesn’t. You follow it, as I recall. There was that incident with the oak tree, the rowboat, the cigars—need I go on?’

‘I was precocious in my younger years.’ Her cheeks burned with the admission. He shouldn’t have teased her. She would hate having her adolescence thrown in her face as much as he would.

‘I’d wager you are still precocious.’ His tone softened and he allowed himself a smile. It was dangerous to let himself entertain even a moment of nostalgia where May was concerned. ‘I always liked that about you, May. Never afraid of a challenge, which leads me to conclude that’s really why you’re here. You’ve followed your friend into exile perhaps, as you say, to help her birth this whelp, perhaps to thumb your nose at your parents and society. Perhaps a little of both. But, there is something more. Neither of those are a particular challenge to you.’ He was quiet for a minute, studying her, searching for the answer. He hadn’t ferreted out the real reason she was here. ‘What is Mistress Fields going to do with the child?’

‘Raise it. It’s what you do with children,’ May said too sharply. He’d hit pay dirt.

‘Hence the need for the pistol,’ Liam surmised with no lack of sarcasm. ‘She’s afraid her family will come and take the child from the home of a woman with only an errant husband to provide for her.’ With no man in the house, a protective, financially secure family would want to see a child raised in far safer circumstances. Assuming there was a husband at all—he had his doubts there, but no proof.

‘No one will take it,’ May said firmly, her eyes locking on Liam’s, her reckless stubbornness in full bloom. May thought she could hold off Beatrice’s family with a gun and the two of them could play house and raise the baby on their own. It was an admirable goal even if it was a bit over-innocent in its assumptions. Two women alone would be prey to all sorts of mischief. May didn’t know true danger. He never wanted her to know it.

Something protective stirred in him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. There’d been only trouble down that path last time he trod it. May Worth wasn’t for him. She was beautiful and headstrong, naïvely confident that she could overcome anything. That was what money and a good family could do for a person—create the innate belief that you were as close to immortal as one could get. There wasn’t anything you couldn’t conquer. He didn’t want the world to crush that out of May.

They stood in silence, the wind picking up around them. May shielded her eyes and looked towards the empty road, Beatrice and her dubious husband forgotten. ‘You think he’ll come.’ She let out a deep breath.

‘Yes, I do. But I’ll be here, May. You needn’t worry.’ In that moment he wished it were all different; that he hadn’t been born a poor, Irish street rat, the unwanted son of a St Giles whore, or that he hadn’t aspired above his station, that Cabot Roan didn’t pose a threat to her, that he hadn’t had to come here and endure the exquisite torture of being in her presence. It was a moment’s whimsy only. All he had to do was remember how they parted and the anger would come rushing back, the resentment. In the end, class and wealth and privilege had all proven too big of a chasm to cross. When it had counted, she hadn’t wanted him. Even five years later, she still looked at him as if he was the biggest mistake she’d ever made.

‘I wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been for Preston.’ Perhaps if he defined the rules out loud they would serve as a clarification of the boundaries for both of them; a clarification they both needed if there was to be no repeat of their previous foolishness. That might be excused as the folly of the youth. But now? Now, there would be no excuse. They both knew better. ‘This is strictly business, May.’

She glared. ‘I know. You’ve made that abundantly clear.’ She turned towards the cottage and this time, he let her go, pretending the rules would indeed succeed in preventing disaster from striking twice.

Who was he kidding? The rules had never held any power over him, not where May was concerned. After all, despite her protests to the contrary, he’d seen her pulse beat fast at his nearness and his own thoughts had wandered towards nostalgia more than once. They were both in jeopardy here, rules or not. All it would take to shatter their fragile restraint would be for him to decide he wanted to try on that brand of foolishness one more time, just to be sure it didn’t fit.


Chapter Four (#u9ef7eef6-3ea4-5bab-83d2-0fcdcee2957a)

He’d looked at her like she was the biggest mistake he’d ever made! He wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been for Preston! He had made his feelings perfectly clear. May hacked at the feathery green tops of the carrots and began slicing with more ferocity than finesse. She threw the carrot pieces into the stewpot.

‘Toss, May.’ Beatrice leaned across the worktable in the kitchen and put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘We toss the carrots into the pot. We don’t hurl them. Especially when they’re Farmer Sinclair’s carrots,’ she added with a wry smile. May smiled back, apologetically.

‘Good. Now that I have your attention, tell me what’s wrong. Is this pique of yours entirely about Preston or is it something more?’

‘Something more?’ May snapped, reaching for another carrot to dismember. ‘Isn’t it enough my brother is lying wounded in an obscure farmhouse at the mercy of a treasonous villain and no one will take me to him?’

Beatrice smiled patiently, years of experience in dealing with May’s hot temper and outbursts behind her. ‘It is enough. I am worried sick for him myself.’ Her hand went unconsciously to her stomach and rubbed it in a soothing, settling gesture. ‘I think the baby is worried about him, too.’

She laughed a little, but May frowned. ‘Are you all right, Bea?’ Bea had struggled the last two weeks with swollen feet and the occasional contraction, and she was huge.

Bea waved a dismissive hand. ‘We were talking about you. Don’t try to change the subject. You have a bad habit of doing that whenever the subject gets too hot.’ Bea reached for the mallet to hammer out meat for the stew. ‘Speaking of hot, May, Liam Casek is no iceberg.’ May didn’t miss the sly look Bea gave her. ‘Do you know him? I don’t recall Preston ever bringing him around.’

‘Bea! Shame on you for noticing. You’re about to give birth.’ May opted for a teasing scold.

Bea gave her a sly smile. ‘It doesn’t mean I don’t notice a handsome man.’

May finished putting the ingredients in the stewpot and lifted it, trudging over to the large arched brick hearth and hanging the heavy pot over the fire. She wiped her hands on her apron before responding. ‘He’s not the sort to be brought around.’ How did one explain Liam Casek and how he’d somehow risen from a pickpocket to being one of the Home Office’s most prized agents. She wasn’t sure exactly what he did, but he worked with Preston and that carried some weight. Preston did important and apparently dangerous work that could only be entrusted to the best.

‘But obviously Preston brought him home at least once.’ Bea was persistent, studying May with an intensity that boded no good. Suddenly, Beatrice snapped her fingers. ‘I know when it was! The summer of 1816, the summer you went to the lakes and Jonathon Lashley was home recovering from his wounds.’ May watched in dismay as the wheels of Beatrice’s sharp mind began to turn. ‘Preston always took Jonathon on holiday with your family, but that year he was unable to go.’

It had been a terrible year. Jonathon’s brother had gone missing in action and Jonathon had come home near death after Waterloo, something no one had expected. He was an heir. He was supposed to have been kept safe delivering dispatches behind friendly lines. May remembered hearing the news. Jonathon was one of her brother’s closest friends. The family had gathered in the drawing room, quiet and sombre. Her indomitable mother had been pale and her father had taken her grown brother in his arms and held him tight as if to convince himself his son was alive and healthy. They’d gone to the lakes that summer and Liam Casek had come in Jonathon’s place. Her father hadn’t entirely approved of Liam in the beginning. Her father had liked him a lot less by the end.

‘It’s funny you never mentioned him.’ Bea cocked her head to one side, considering. The next moment she let out a pained gasp, one hand on her belly, the other on the worktable to steady herself.

May was instantly beside her. ‘What is it, Bea?’ Beatrice had gone white.

‘I don’t know. Oh!’ Another pain took her and May got an awkward arm about her waist.

‘Let’s get you to your bed. You can lie down.’ It was all May could think of to do. It was hard work moving Bea from the kitchen to the downstairs bedroom. May was thankful they didn’t have to go upstairs. But Bea wouldn’t lie down. She held on to May’s arm.

‘You need to go for the doctor, May,’ she said softly. ‘I think I’m bleeding.’

‘I’ll go.’ Liam’s voice in the doorway made May jump. She’d have to get used to him being around all over again.

‘I’ll go, I won’t get lost. You don’t know where he lives,’ May insisted. If he was out seeing patients, Liam would never find him.

‘Then give me his direction,’ Liam insisted, his eyes hard as they squared off. ‘We can hardly have you out riding willy-nilly over the countryside presenting an easy target and we can’t both go.’

‘Just someone go!’ Bea said through clenched teeth, doubling over as another sharp pain took her, her grip on May tight.

May relented at the sight of her friend’s agony. ‘He keeps an office in the High Street next to the solicitor’s.’

‘Ah, so you can sue him if you don’t like his remedies.’ Liam chuckled. ‘Very nice arrangement.’ Even Bea smiled a little at the jest.

* * *

Liam was fast in bringing Dr Stimson, a tall, sombre man whose face showed no emotion. He wasn’t the friendly encouraging sort, but he’d been educated in Edinburgh. May didn’t especially care for him under the best circumstances. Today, she had no use for him at all.

He examined Beatrice, suggested she was likely experiencing false labour which was entirely normal and which seemed to have stopped once she lay down. He prescribed bed rest until the babe was born and pocketed a little more of their coin.

‘I could have done as much!’ May challenged, following him out to his horse. ‘It has to be more than false labour. How do you explain the blood?’

The man didn’t even glance at her as he mounted up. ‘All babies come into this world in their own way.’ His voice was weary. ‘When you have birthed as many children as I have, you can tell me how to do my job, Miss Worth.’

May grabbed the bridle of the big horse. ‘She will not be one of the twenty per cent, sir.’

That got a response. He cast her a condescending look down the long pike of his nose. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Twenty per cent of women die in childbirth. She will not be one of them.’ It was a recent great fear of hers since Beatrice had got so big. What if there was no one around to help when the baby came? What if they didn’t have enough skill if the birth was difficult? She knew Bea worried, too, and all she could give her friend were empty promises she didn’t know if she could keep.

‘May, let the good man go. I had to call him away from his supper.’ Liam was behind her, his hand over hers, removing it from the bridle, his touch, no matter how perfunctory, sending sharp pricks of awareness up her arm. He was too close. She had nowhere to go that didn’t involve backing into his chest.

It was too close for the doctor, too. ‘Are you her husband?’ Dr Stimson’s eyes slid between them.

‘No, sir, I’m a friend of her brother who has come to watch over them,’ Liam offered and May bristled. He made it sound like they were children who needed a nursemaid.

The doctor shrugged, ignoring her entirely. ‘Too bad. That one needs taking in hand, a strong hand.’

‘Duly noted, sir.’ Liam nodded and May stepped on his foot. How dare he engage in a conversation about her when she was right there?

‘Ouch! What did you do that for?’ Liam scowled once the doctor had ridden away.

‘Why didn’t you defend me?’ May railed. ‘I despise that man and you kowtowed to him. “Duly noted, sir,”’ she mimicked.

Liam laughed. ‘You don’t need defending, May. You can handle yourself perfectly well when you want to. But you have to learn not to alienate the entire neighbourhood. Don’t you know you catch more flies with sugar than vinegar?’

May folded her arms across her chest, studying him. ‘Is that what you’ve been doing these past years? Catching flies with sugar?’ There’d been nothing but vinegar about him when she’d first met him, this glorious, angry young man who rebelled at everything, who was fiercely proud of being from the streets. He’d been rebellious in ways she couldn’t be or didn’t dare to be. She’d admired what she thought of as his courage.

‘When it suits me, yes.’ The rebel was still there in his long tangle of hair, the rough-hewn planes of his face and the hard muscles of a man who knew how to labour. But the rebel shared space now with a man who carried intelligence behind his blue eyes alongside his anger. This was a man who knew how to control himself, whose anger was no longer tossed about indiscriminately. She wasn’t sure if she resented him for that or if she envied him that control. ‘It’s important to be nice, May, until it’s time to be something less...nice.’

‘You sound like Preston.’

‘Maybe because that’s where I learned it.’ That gorgeous mouth of his smiled at her as winter dusk fell about them. Her knees wanted to go weak. This was the real danger, not the elusive Cabot Roan, but these moments when she could forget the past, forget the problems of the present and lose herself in him. She didn’t want to succumb to his rough charm again. One disaster was enough.

* * *

Disaster seemed to be the theme of the day. May sat on the edge of her bed, unopened letter in hand, staring at it. It was going to be bad news, she just knew it, but there was no sense in waiting. If she didn’t know what was in the letter, she couldn’t begin to plan against it. She drew a fortifying breath and slid a thumb beneath the seal. Her mother’s flowery script always looked so innocent. But she’d learned long ago that doom lurked in those elegantly cultivated letters. May skimmed the opening paragraphs, confirming they were her mother’s standard opening gambit: news about town, friendly gossip to soften the reader up so when the real punch came, it would blindside you.

There it was, four paragraphs in. May re-read it slowly.

We will be in Edinburgh for the holidays in order to conduct some business of your father’s regarding shipping and manufacturing that I don’t pretend to understand. We would kindly request your presence.

We’ve taken a town house in New Town, the address is at the bottom of the page. I’ll pack your gowns since you’ll have nothing suitable with you to wear. We are looking forward to spending the holidays together even if we are not able to spend them in London.

I have heard Edinburgh is quite festive this time of year and there will be plenty of entertainment. We’ll expect you December first. Several of your father’s business associates will be in town as well with their families.

Families. May crumpled the paper. She knew what that meant. Sons. Sons who had been groomed to run wealthy, productive businesses, who were ready to take their place in society as wealthy men. Some of them would probably have titles, all of them would have connections to some sort of nobility—perhaps their grandfathers if they were in business and allowed to make money, but still acceptable for the daughter of a second son like herself, still well placed enough in society to rise above the stigma of trade if need be.

She’d been so sure she’d run far enough that her parents couldn’t get to her here, that she’d be safe from their matchmaking efforts. All along she’d been worrying over the summons home. But they’d proven her wrong. If they couldn’t bring her home, they’d simply come to her and they had. Suddenly Scotland didn’t seem so big any more. Edinburgh was just a ferry’s ride away from their village on the firth and she didn’t think her mother’s letter was as harmless as it sounded. Her mother likely had a suitor picked out, or two or three.

She would not panic. She still had some time and she had Liam Casek under her roof, the one man in all of England her father truly despised. She could only imagine the look on her parents’ faces when she showed up on their doorstep with him. There was no question of him allowing her to travel without him, he’d made that plain today. Of course, that was assuming she went to Edinburgh at all.

She had almost a month. Anything could happen. There could be a storm. The Forth could be too choppy to cross, the alternate road route impaired from winter weather. Perhaps Cabot Roan would actually kidnap her! Her parents could learn of Preston’s injury and cancel their journey. Maybe they already had. This letter would have been posted before they’d have had news of Preston. Then again, if Preston was working secretly, they wouldn’t know at all. Still, it was possible one disaster could play against another to her benefit.

The news would devastate Beatrice. May wouldn’t say anything until she had to. If she actually left, it would most likely mean she wasn’t coming back. She didn’t see how she’d escape Edinburgh. The baby would be born by then and her original argument for coming here would be gone. Her parents would insist she’d done what she’d come to do and make her go home with them, back to ‘real’ life.

May folded the letter into squares. Just this afternoon, she’d been looking ahead to spring, making plans for the greenhouse, imagining raising a baby here. In a matter of hours, that fantasy had been shot to hell. She fought back tears. The past was closing in on her from all sides. She couldn’t go to Edinburgh. It would be the end of her life as she knew it. There was only one solution. She just wouldn’t go. One disaster was enough.

* * *

One disaster was one too many as far as Cabot Roan was concerned. He drummed his fingers on the polished surface of his desk and stared down the two men standing before him, caps twisting in their hands nervously. ‘How is it that you cannot find Preston Worth? He is severely wounded, likely suffering from loss of blood and unable to travel. He’s a rabbit gone to ground, and you two...’ he made an up-and-down gesture with his hand ‘...you two are certainly more than rabbits. You are foxes! You are hounds to the hunt. Surely you should be able to find one wounded man.’ No one who knew him would be fooled by the incredulity in his voice. It was done with the intent of overt sarcasm.

The taller of the two ventured to speak. ‘With all due respect, we questioned the local doctors in every town within a five-mile radius, sir. We offered gold for information. We asked innkeepers, we asked patrons at coaching inns if anyone had passed through.’

Cabot Roan nodded. Preston Worth was a slippery customer. He had managed to disappear and it didn’t matter whether he’d done it with or without help. It only mattered that Preston was gone and he’d ripped sheets out of his ledger. In the hands of the wrong people—Worth’s people—the information on those sheets would lead to unearthing his entire operation.

Under other circumstances he and Worth would have been friends. Worth’s break-in had been simple but bold. The man had wanted the information so he’d come and taken it. Few men would dare to invade his well-guarded domain. But Worth had braved the fences and the dogs and the guards. His window with its long crack and the broken lock still bore the mark of Worth’s presence. Cabot admired the man’s skill and his bravery. But that skill was going to put his head in a noose if Worth wasn’t caught before the information reached its destination.

Roan reached into his desk drawer and threw two pages on the desk. ‘Do you see these? They were “recovered” from the mail bag before it left on the mail coach.’ He’d paid a handsome fee to the postmaster for the right to look through the mail. Only a man as bold as Worth would trust damning evidence to the London mail coach. Hiding in plain sight as it were. That had been three days ago.

‘You have the proof back, then. It doesn’t matter if we find Worth,’ the shorter man said cheerily.

Roan slammed a hand down on the desk and half-rose. ‘No, you fool, it matters more than ever. Can’t you see, these are copies? The originals are still out there.’ With luck they were on Worth himself and his need to convalesce would slow down their arrival in London, but Roan didn’t feel that lucky. Worth would want the papers to travel with all haste even if he couldn’t. He would not hesitate to separate himself from the ledger sheets as his attempt at the London mails indicated.

‘Pack your bags, gentlemen. You are going to London.’

‘But the papers are here.’ The short one still didn’t quite comprehend.

Roan smiled tightly. ‘You’re not going for the papers. You’re going for his sister. If we can’t go to Worth, we’ll just have to bring him to us. I have it on good authority the family lives nearly year-round in the city and should be in residence.’

The short one knit his brow. ‘Forgive me, sir, but how will Worth know we kidnapped his sister if we don’t know where to send the ransom note?’

Heaven save him from fools, but apparently this man was the best at his job that could be found. Roan scowled. ‘The family will know how to reach him. Send the ransom note to them. They’ll set our little game in motion.’ He blew out a breath and silenced any further questions. ‘How hard can it be, gentlemen, to kidnap one spoiled debutante when she goes out shopping?’


Chapter Five (#u9ef7eef6-3ea4-5bab-83d2-0fcdcee2957a)

She had gone shopping. And she hadn’t told him. Of course she hadn’t. She was mad at him; mad at him for showing up, mad at him because she couldn’t be mad at Preston for getting hurt, for putting her in this situation, mad at having her freedom curtailed, at being told what to do after running wild for months with no one to answer to but herself. He understood this was no more than a knee-jerk reaction to having her freedom limited by him, of all people. But understanding her reasons didn’t make the situation better. Anger was no excuse for irresponsible behaviour. This kind of action put everything in danger!

Liam pounded his fist in frustration against the side of the barn. The stubborn little fool! Didn’t she understand this wasn’t a game? What if Roan was out there right now? That man was a real foe who would do her real harm. Roan would not be intimidated by May’s sharp tongue or her pistol. Liam scanned the horizon. May was out there, somewhere, on foot, exposed to whoever might happen along. He had to think along those dangerous lines even if May wouldn’t. She’d made it clear last night she was willing to believe the remote location would protect her. He could not afford that luxury. He had to see danger everywhere.

He strode into the stable to saddle his black. He had to go after her, there was no choice. He’d promised Preston. Even if he hadn’t, his own conscience demanded it. He’d been here a scant twenty-four hours and he already knew May Worth was going to be the death of him. That hadn’t changed, although much else had. May had grown up from a seventeen-year-old on the verge of wild beauty into her full potential. She’d been stunning in the front parlour yesterday, dark hair down about her shoulders, eyes blazing as she aimed a gun at his chest.

Liam swung up on Charon and set off down the road. Presumably, he’d find her in town. It would be best for her if he did. He couldn’t scold her publicly there. That would have to wait until they were alone and, if she was lucky, his anger would have cooled into something more rational. But heaven help her if he overtook her on the road with his temper still seething.

Liam pushed Charon into a fast canter, hoping his estimates were accurate and there was no way Cabot Roan could be in Scotland yet. By his calculations, he had approximately a two-week margin give or take a few days before the threat became real; five of those days were already spent in travel. He was banking on London. Roan would look for May there first, which would slow him down, but which would also ultimately reveal her location. Someone in London would know where she was. Despite what May believed, Roan was coming, it was just a matter of when. If his calculations were wrong, however, Roan and his men could be here any day.

He wasn’t willing to chance it by letting May roam free and unprotected. It infuriated him she was willing to take that chance. She had blatantly chosen to ignore him just for spite. He knew very well why she’d done it; to prove to him she didn’t need him, had never needed him, that he hadn’t hurt her, that indeed, he had been nothing more than a speck of dust on her noble sleeve, easily brushed off and forgotten. But that wasn’t quite the truth. He had hurt her, just as she had hurt him. They were both realising the past wasn’t buried as deeply as either of them hoped.

To get through the next few weeks or months they would have to confront that past and find a way to truly put it behind them if they had any chance of having an objective association. The task would not be an easy one. Their minds might wish it, but their bodies had other ideas. He’d seen the stunned response in her eyes yesterday when she’d recognised him, the leap of her pulse at her neck even as she demanded he take his hand off her. Not, perhaps, because he repulsed her, but because he didn’t.

Goodness knew his body had reacted, too. His body hadn’t forgotten what it was to touch her, to feel her. Standing behind her in the yard, watching the doctor leave had been enlightening in that regard. He wasn’t immune. He hadn’t thought he was. He had known how difficult this assignment would be. His anger this morning at finding her gone proved it.

Anger. Lust. Want. These emotions couldn’t last. A bodyguard, a man who did dirty things for the Crown, couldn’t afford feelings. Emotions would ruin him. Once he started to care, deeply and personally, it would all be over. He thought about the rules he’d attempted to put in place, definitely fragile and already under attack. He chastised himself for making basic, careless mistakes. He’d charged out of the stables, thinking only to get to May as soon as possible. He’d not taken time to consider the road where the land was hidden from view behind tall bushes or around corners or up an incline.

If anyone had been lying in ambush, he would have been an easy target. The man on the passing wagon could have simply picked him off. If he was going to be successful, he had to treat May as he would any other assignment and that meant with a firm hand and objective detachment. She was a job, nothing more, not his past, not his future. Just his job.

* * *

The village was busy, considering today was not market day. Liam would have preferred it to be less so. People milled in and out of shops, or stopped to stand in front of a window and admire a display. Liam quartered all the busyness with his gaze, taking the street in section by section. He was familiar with it now, having travelled it to retrieve the doctor yesterday. His professional’s eye saw the alleys between buildings where someone might lurk undetected. He saw a heavy dray moving down the street slowly and obtrusively, blocking traffic. On purpose? his expert’s mind wondered and his pulse quickened, alert to trouble. Then he saw her.

To the casual observer, she looked like any other countrywoman, dressed as she was in a forest-green wool, a blue-and-green plaid shawl wrapped about her, a basket on her arm, a bonnet on her head. It was remarkable, really, how well she blended in. Who would guess she was the daughter of Albermarle Worth, granddaughter to an earl on her father’s side? But Liam would never take her for just another pretty country miss. The way she walked was unmistakably May. May moved with purpose, with confidence, a step faster than other women.

With grim determination, he strode stealthily through the crowd. At the corner, he made his move, coming up behind her, a strong hand about her waist, trapping her against him, his grip steering her into the dim privacy of the alley. In two steps, before she could even think to scream, he had her alone up against the alley wall, a hand over her mouth, their bodies pressed together. Closeness was a matter of protection for him. The closer May was, the less she could hurt him. May wanted to fight, he could feel her body primed for it. She was furious, wanting to strike out with her fists against his chest, a kick to his knee, but at this distance there was no chance.

‘What are you doing? You scared me!’ To her credit, May was a pale virago. He had succeeded in frightening her and that had been his intention.

‘I’m showing you how easy it would have been to have stolen you away, with no one on the street any the wiser,’ he growled into her face. ‘Did you see how none of your fine villagers noticed you slipped off the street? How none of them thought to come to your assistance?’ He let her go and stepped back out of range.

May glared. ‘How dare you pull such a stunt after everything that has happened? I have my brother on my mind and Beatrice, too.’

‘All the more reason you need me. You’re distracted.’ He would not let her push the blame in his direction. ‘I’m not the one pulling the stunt, May. I’m not the one who left home without an escort.’ Perhaps his lesson was harsh, but it was needed. Mixed with his anger over her disobedience had been a certain amount of fear. ‘What were you thinking to leave without me?’

She didn’t need to answer. He knew what she’d been thinking. Liam took her arm and pulled her out of the alley. ‘Walk with me. We can finish your errands, together.’

Back on the street, Liam inclined his head discreetly towards a man leaning against the wall of the inn. ‘Do you see that man over there, the one with the hat pulled low over his face?’

He felt May stiffen beside him. ‘Is he...?’ She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. But she was worried. Good. He needed her scared. He needed this to become real for her.

‘No, he’s not, but how would you know? Did you even notice him?’ Liam went on, ‘Most people don’t notice anyone out of place until it’s too late.’

‘Most people don’t need to notice,’ May retorted.

Liam slid a sharp glance her direction. ‘Do you think you’re most people, May? Because if you do, that is your first mistake. You are the granddaughter of an earl, the daughter of a wealthy and powerful man in Parliament. Your father is deep in the government with opinions that some men find unpopular at best, dangerous to their own livelihoods at worst. You are in constant threat of being made a target for other men’s ambitions. You cannot afford to think of yourself as “most people”.’ Neither could he. That had been his mistake back when he’d been barely out of adolescence. He’d seen plenty of the world in those days, a slum-raised kid couldn’t help but see it in all its roughness, all its darkness. But he’d never seen a world like hers. Despite what reality had taught him about the gulf between people like the Worths and people like him, he’d been ill-equipped for it and for her. He’d been cocky, full of his street smarts and he’d reached so far above himself he hadn’t even understood how far it was.

May gave a toss of her head. ‘I refuse to live life gaoled by my fears. I cannot spend my days second-guessing the motives of everyone I meet, or seeing danger around every corner.’ Like he did, that was quite obviously implied, just as it was implied that such behaviour was a slur on one’s character.

‘Thank goodness you don’t have to, then. That’s what people like you hire people like me to do for them.’ The careless words slipped out.

May stopped, hands on hips and faced him, studying him until he couldn’t take the silence. ‘What?’

‘I’m just wondering how you can walk at all. Must be difficult to move while carrying something so heavy around with you all the time. Big chip on the shoulder and all that. Must weigh you down something fierce.’

He probably deserved that. This had always been the sticking point between them, this issue of birth and class and social status, something she had argued didn’t matter...until the end when it suddenly had. Liam said nothing. He reached for her basket and she raised a brow as if to say ‘now you choose to play the gentleman?’ They finished her errands in terse silence and made their way to where Charon was tethered. He cupped his hands, ready to toss her up. But May hesitated.

‘C’mon, May.’ He gave her a grin, daring her, even though it broke his personal promise to remain objective. She was just a job these days. But if that was true, why did he keep tempting himself with pleasurable reminders that it hadn’t always been this way. ‘Surely you remember how well we rode together?’

‘I remember,’ May said tersely, her chin set stubbornly. He could see she wanted to refuse, but she put her foot in his hands and hauled herself up anyway, refusing to be outdared. Liam wisely made no comment and swung up behind her.

* * *

She hated how he could do that. How did he know? Of all the memories she had of him, how was it he could hone in on one of her favourites? May felt him settle into the saddle, his strong legs encasing her in the vee of his thighs. She should have argued to ride behind him. Then she’d be the one wrapping arms around his waist. Now he was the one doing the wrapping with his one arm about her as he held the reins, his thighs about her, her body drawn against him, back to chest, buttocks to groin. Riding before him was far too intimate, although once she’d revelled in stealing such intimacy. It had been her first taste of a man. She didn’t want to remember. She pulled her shawl more tightly about her. It had been summer then, a day far warmer than this chilly November afternoon...

‘Faster!’ she had cried, throwing her arms wide and lifting her face to the sun as they raced across the meadow, Liam’s arm tight about her as the dark stallion surged beneath them.

‘Hold on, May!’ Liam’s voice warned in her ear, but she didn’t care. She was safe with him. He would never let her fall. She had a fast horse beneath her and Liam Casek mounted behind her, what more did she need? This was heaven.

At the edge of the meadow where the flat run gave out to a copse of tall oaks, Liam swung down and held his arms up for her, his hands strong and steady at her waist. May knew what she wanted. She’d barely touched the ground before she grabbed him by the hand, dragging him into the little woods behind her, but it was he who pressed her against the trunk of a sturdy oak and kissed her, hard and open-mouthed, his body pressed to hers, pulsing with life.

She’d not imagined a kiss could be so full-bodied, that it could make a person feel immortal, as though they could take on the world, do anything. Now that she knew, she wanted to feel that way again and again. Her arms were about his neck, holding him close, her hands in his long dark hair, the hair her father hated and had offered to have his valet cut. She was glad Liam had refused. She loved Liam’s hair, loved dragging her hands through it, anchoring her fingers in it as he took her mouth.

His hips moved against her in honest suggestion, the hardness of him evident through breeches and skirts. There was no reason to hide anything they felt from one another, not their feelings, not their bodies. They were one in this burning, consuming passion that made life so much brighter—that brought the edges of slow, lazy summer days into sharper relief. Her hand dropped between them to the source of his hardness, tracing it through his breeches, cupping it in her hand until he groaned.

‘If you keep that up, May, you’ll bring me off in my trousers.’ His mouth was at her neck, his breath coming hard between his words.

She was powerful and coy in her response. ‘I’d like to do that.’ She laughed. He bit her neck in playful retaliation and she yelped.

‘And I’d like to bite you some more, but we don’t dare leave any marks your father will see,’ Liam cautioned with a wicked smile before stealing a short kiss from her lips. ‘One more kiss, May, and then we have to go. The others will be looking for us.’ Only Preston had seen them slip away from the picnic. Her father had settled into a post-picnic nap and her mother and the neighbour’s wife had wandered down to the lake.

‘Only one more?’ Her arms were back around his neck, her tone teasing and light. ‘Make it a good one, then.’ She cocked her head, her tone slightly more serious. ‘Or maybe I should? This time, let me kiss you.’

Liam gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I thought that’s what you had been doing.’

She dropped half-lidded eyes to his mouth. ‘You know what I mean. Let me start it this time. I want to kiss you.’ She brushed her mouth across his, slowly at first, letting her tongue trace the contours of his lips, coaxing his mouth to open. They’d got much better at this since that first kiss in the stables. She liked this slow, languorous kissing as much as she liked the heated madness of the others, the sensual exploration of being in his mouth, of tasting the sweet remnants of lemonade on his tongue. She let her mouth say all the things she didn’t have words for yet in this new heady world of Liam Casek and stolen kisses. Forbidden kisses.

May was not oblivious. If there was one blight in May’s perfect world it was that this had to be hidden. Her father could never know about this. He tolerated Preston bringing this friend along. He even understood this was an opportunity to do some good for a young man with potential who’d been born into poverty. However, he would never condone that young man kissing his daughter, no matter how much potential he had and heaven forbid he find out his daughter had put her hand on an Irishman. She was meant for far greater men...

In retrospect, the beginning had been quite nearly the end as well. Maybe there had never been any hope, their passion ill fated from the start, only they’d been too naïve to see it. But for a while the illusion had been nice. More than nice. There were still nights when she lay awake, wanting to feel that way again, free and immortal, even knowing those feelings were part of an illusion, part of something unsustainable. In the end, he had left her.

Liam brought the horse to a halt in front of the cottage and leapt off, taking her perfunctorily by the waist to help her down. There was no boyish exuberance on his part and there was no grabbing of his hand and dragging him off for a kiss on hers, further proof the wounds they’d given one another had been deep and lasting.

‘I need to check on Beatrice and get supper started or we won’t eat until nine o’clock,’ May excused herself and hurried inside. Those wounds would never go away. They were scabbed over, a thick outer layer of protection. But scabs could be picked, if they weren’t careful, and those wounds could be exposed. The wisest course of action here would be to tread carefully. The afternoon had shown her that much.

Being close to him had conjured up memories best left undisturbed and, oh, how easily they’d been conjured! It was as if they lay just beneath the surface instead of buried deep down. May tied on her apron and reached determinedly for the round of bread dough. She gave it a thorough punch and began kneading. If she was going to survive the next two months, avoidance would be her best policy.


Chapter Six (#u9ef7eef6-3ea4-5bab-83d2-0fcdcee2957a)

That night he dreamed of her. He couldn’t avoid her, not even in his sleep. A mental flashback come to life: May with her hair down, her face shining with mischief, her features softer and more innocent than they were now, before the world had disappointed her for the first time. Or perhaps it was only he who had disappointed her? In the dream, it didn’t matter. The dream was before all of that...

She was tugging him, half-running, half-walking, down the wide aisle of Worth’s summer stables, dust motes dancing in the shafts of sunlight as she laughed over her shoulder. There was something she wanted to show him and apparently it was at the back of the stable—the immaculate stable—Liam noted. There wasn’t a single errant stick of straw about the place. Of course not. Worth hired a boy just for that purpose. Liam caught sight of a young boy with a broom in hand out of the corner of his eye as he and May ducked around a dark corner to her destination.

May leaned against the wall, looking up at him with her dancing eyes. Good lord, those eyes were going to be the undoing of him. They made him want things he had no right to want. ‘I envy him.’ Liam jerked his head towards the sweeping boy moving away from them with his rhythmic push and glide of broom against floor.

‘I don’t,’ May answered bluntly. ‘Doing the same thing every day.’ She shuddered her distaste. And why wouldn’t she? She had access to so much more. ‘He sweeps all day, every day. How boring is that?’ If there was one thing May Worth despised, it was being bored. Preston’s sister was a wild handful. She’d dogged their steps since their arrival, riding with them, fishing, even swimming although he was fairly sure her parents hadn’t known she’d come along.

Liam leaned an arm against the wall just over her head, suddenly aware of how close they were to one another and how alone. ‘I think he’s quite lucky. I’ve done much worse than sweep for a fraction of what he receives in return.’

‘What he receives?’ May queried with an interested cock of her head. ‘A few pennies?’

Liam chuckled. ‘Oh, May, he gets more than pennies from this. He gets good clothes, a warm place to sleep, three meals a day and, yes, a few pennies in his pocket. Then there’s his future and he gets that here, too. He’s not just sweeping. He’s learning about the stables every day, learning the care of horses simply by being around them. He’ll move up the ranks when he’s of age. He won’t sweep for ever. He’ll be a groom. If he reaches high enough, he could be master of horse eventually. He’ll be able to tell his bride he has an honourable, reliable living they can raise a family on. He can build his whole life from this. He’ll never need to worry.’





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/bronwyn-scott/claiming-his-defiant-miss/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.