Scot Under the Covers Page 23

  He took a breath, pulling his temper back in again. Yes, he’d indulged in fantasies of taking Miranda Harris’s virginity. Yes, in them she’d been initially resistant and her eyes had widened in surprise when he’d shoved his cock into her and rammed her again and again until he filled her high Society cunt with his dirty common seed. Well, he could still do that. Because he still owned her. And now every time he fucked her, he could remind her that pretty Highlanders with aristocratic families might turn her head, but they would never beat him.

  “I’ll go collect your damned horse for you then, shall I, cousin?” George commented, stepping back from the railing. “Five hundred fifty bloody pounds.”

  There. Everything remained on the path he’d carved. A few pebbles were easily kicked aside, once they had been identified. “MacTaggert has a plan to take your sister back from me, I presume?”

  Matthew flinched like a puppet whose string had been pulled. “I don’t—I mean, we didn’t actually discuss anything in particular.”

  Vale put an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “You don’t want to take a side. I understand.”

  “Good, because—”

  “And yet, you’ve already chosen where you stand. The point where you had a choice was fifty thousand pounds ago. You owe me your sister. What, then, is the barbarian’s plan?” He took half a step back. “Wait. Allow me to guess. He intends to win your debt back from me at the table.”

  Matthew blinked. “How—”

  “You’ve told me several times that he’s a wagerer. You’ve carried some impressive tales, and yet you’re the only one who seems to know them. These stories, therefore, came from either his admiring younger sister or from the man himself, neither of which source overly impresses me. So. Am I to be surprised, or does he want me to know I’m about to be challenged?”

  “I…” His shoulders slumped. “He said I should tell you that he’s coming for you.”

  “Ah, Matthew, don’t look so dejected. You’ve done as he asked, and you’ve more or less done as I asked. Now. Come see my new hunter, and then you may purchase me luncheon at Boodle’s. I am quite looking forward to dinner with your family tomorrow evening.”

  Hopefully Aden MacTaggert would come after him soon; he could be exceedingly patient, of course, but he’d never owned a Highlander before, much less destroyed one. He did look forward to it.

  * * *

  “Miss Harris,” Billings said, stepping into the morning room, “I thought you might wish to know that Mr. MacTaggert is in the kitchen.”

  Miranda put a hole through the middle of her embroidery. Well, the red blooming rose would now have to sport a strategically placed thorn. The electricity shooting through her at the very sound of the word “MacTaggert” surprised her a little; after all, she’d been hearing it in connection with Eloise MacTaggert for months. Setting aside her hoop, she stood.

  Then the rest of what the butler had said sank in. “Why is Aden MacTaggert in our kitchen?”

  “Perhaps he’s emptied the Oswell House pantry,” Millie suggested, putting aside her own mending, “and he’s come here looking for food.”

  “He’s brought us a treat,” Billings returned with an uncharacteristic smile, then cleared his throat and bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, I still have some preparations for dinner this evening.”

  With that sentence, the cold claws that had been digging at Miranda tightened their grip again. Her mother, at least, had chatted all during breakfast about how delighted she was to finally have an opportunity to exchange more than a sentence or two with Captain Vale.

  Miranda managed a nod, and then, barely, to keep from running down the hallway to the servants’ quarters and the kitchen. In the narrow corridor just outside, she stopped at the sound of Aden’s deep-voiced brogue and took a breath, her tense shoulders lowering again. She wasn’t alone in this. She had an ally. A partner.

  She knew his plans now, or at least the part he’d risked telling Matthew yesterday, but he’d dressed and slipped out the window before she could tell him just how little she liked the idea of yet another man wagering his future against the formidable skills of Captain Vale. And she knew—she knew—that he hadn’t told her everything.

  “I reckon if I’d meant these only for the shiny folk tonight, I’d nae have brought three baskets, lass,” he drawled, and Mrs. Landry, their longtime cook, giggled in return.

  That very unlikely sound all in itself would have been enough to pique her curiosity. Squaring her shoulders, she moved into the middle of the hallway and then stepped into the kitchen. The cook continued tittering over three large baskets of what had to be hothouse strawberries, since the weather had been too cloudy and cool for anything but scrawny, pale berries in the house garden. These were bright red and plump and juicy looking—and almost as mouthwatering as the tall, lean man presently standing beside the old, scarred kitchen table.

  At that moment he looked up and his gaze met hers. He took half a step in her direction before he smoothly altered course and continued with his conversation about wild berries in Scotland. That motion, though—it was the first time she’d seen him make a misstep in … well, in anything. And it had been in reaction to her. Delicious.

  “Did I hear that you’ve brought us strawberries, Aden?” she said, sweeping into the room amid bows and curtsies from the kitchen staff and half the house staff. “My goodness! I doubt there’s another strawberry to be found in all of London today!”

  “He said he wanted to be sure he had enough for your dinner and for the entire household, miss,” Meg, the cook’s young assistant, chirped. Immediately she flushed bright red and ducked behind Mrs. Landry’s sizable shoulders.

  “I should think he accomplished that,” Miranda agreed. “In fact, I vote that we all have one immediately.” With a grin she picked up a berry, noting that everyone else crowded into the room dove in after her, and took a big, juicy bite. Heaven.

  “God’s sake, lass,” Aden murmured, somehow directly in front of her, “ye make me wish to be a strawberry.”

  The place between her legs, the place where he’d spent a great deal of time night before last, went damp. “I found another book about London life for you,” she said aloud. “Come along and I’ll fetch it for you, as long as you’re here.” Miranda glanced over her shoulder at Millie, to see the maid looking longingly at the strawberries. “Millie, stay here and eat strawberries, for heaven’s sake. It’s just a book. I’ll be back in a trice.”

  “If you insist, Miss Miranda.”

  “Aye, she does insist,” Aden whispered as he trailed her back into the main part of the house.

  She could practically feel his warm, solid presence behind her, tugging at her senses, her emotions, and making her want to reach back and touch him. “Strawberries?” she queried, stepping into the library.

  Aden moved past her, searching the nooks and crannies of the long room, before he returned and closed the door behind her. In the same motion he turned, swept her into his arms, and kissed her. “Hello, lass,” he murmured, before claiming her mouth again.

  The way he said those two simple words … She’d never heard anything so seductive and full of longing and promises. Miranda wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him as close as she could. Oh, she wanted more, especially now that she knew what that entailed. Her, longing for a man. This man. Six months ago—six weeks ago—she would have laughed at the notion.

  With a regretful sigh she tore her mouth from his. “Everyone in the house knows you’re courting me. We can’t remain here alone.”

  “Nae, that’d leave ye compromised, aye? And yer da would point a weapon at me and force me to wed ye. We cannae have that.”

  His tone was so dry that she had no idea whether he was jesting or not. She had every reason to believe he cared for her, enjoyed her company, but then he’d also suggested she spend more time being improper, at least in private. Well, he’d certainly been a splendid instructor. If there was more to i
t than that … This was more than likely not the time for her to be considering forever afters. Not when the man trying to force a forever after on her would be dining tonight with her and her family.

  “Why would you bring fresh strawberries for a table where my family will be dining with … that man?” she asked, as the lunacy of that idea belatedly occurred to her.

  “They’re nae for him. He just happens to be dining here tonight.”

  They were for her? She did adore strawberries, but gifting them now, today, seemed ill timed. Vale would be impressed by the opulence, and even less likely—if that were possible—to give her up. In fact, even if her family owned orchards or fields or whatever they were of strawberries, or even if they didn’t, Vale’s plans wouldn’t alter.

  “They’re for the servants,” she said aloud. “You want them on your side.”

  At that, his mouth curved in a faint grin. “Ye’re learning to be sly, lass.”

  “Yes, I think your lessons to me are going much more swimmingly than mine to you on proper behavior.”

  “Well, I’m a Highlands barbarian, so ye’ve quite a task before ye.”

  She grinned back at him. “You want my mother to gush over the lovely strawberries you brought us, and have her urge Vale to try one because Aden MacTaggert is so generous.” She poked him in the chest. “I may not be naturally sly, but I have navigated the drawing rooms of Mayfair for the past five years. I know just how cutting even a compliment can be, when it’s delivered at the right time.”

  Aden flicked a finger down her cheek. “Ye’ve nae idea how much I want ye lass, here and now.”

  A swift look down at the front of his kilt backed up that statement quite nicely. “Put that away, Aden, before someone walks in on us,” she said beneath her breath, reaching out to smooth down the front of his tartan.

  He took a quick step backward, batting at her hand. “Dunnae touch it, woman. Ye’d be setting it loose, and all sorts of mayhem could result.”

  That made her laugh, and he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Miranda lifted up on her toes and kissed him again. Whatever lay between them, whatever word she’d been avoiding whenever it danced through her thoughts over the past few days because it was horribly ill timed and inconvenient and would make things even more difficult under the likely circumstance that their resistance was unsuccessful, she did enjoy him. Immensely. Enjoyment was much easier, and much safer, to acknowledge than that other pesky, danger-fraught word.

  Aden kissed her throat, with that soft, slow touch that made her inner thighs want to melt. Her body certainly remembered the pleasures of two nights ago. Goodness gracious. “Aden…”

  With a sigh he lifted his head again, wavy dark hair framing his face and brushing his shoulders. “I know. We cannae. I need to see to a few things tonight, anyway. If ye need a word with me, though, send a note to Eloise. I’ll see that it comes to me.”

  She nodded, unable to keep from plucking at his lapels. “My one fear is that he’ll produce a special license tonight and announce to my parents that we’re to marry.”

  “He’ll nae do that, Miranda. He wants a grand Society wedding with all the trimmings. A special license stinks like bad gossip. That’s according to Eloise, anyway.” He took her hand, twining her fingers with his. “My worry is that he’ll propose to ye tonight, in front of yer parents.”

  Her heart shivered. “That’s almost worse. I can’t precisely turn him down, Aden.”

  “Dunnae allow it, then. When he first comes in, if ye get the chance to introduce him, ye call him Matthew’s friend. Ye call him a retired boat captain, and nae a ship’s captain.”

  “Damn him with faint praise, you mean. So if he were to propose, it would sound like he’s too eager, or that he’s infatuated while I’m not.”

  It might be enough to stop him this once, but it wouldn’t work twice. Vale would make certain she knew not to insult him in public again. But she did have a little leverage: He wanted a certain appearance of propriety, and she knew it. It would be a delicate balance between pushing too hard and not doing enough, but luckily she was a practiced and skilled dancer.

  “What ‘things’ will you be seeing to tonight, then?” She pursued.

  “He might ask ye where I am, so I’ll be earning a bit of blunt, hopefully. But only from those who can afford it, boireannach gaisgeil, I swear. And if ye need a distraction, mention that my older brother, Coll, took himself down to Cornwall to have a look about, likely for property or someaught, even though he’s supposed to be in London finding himself a bride.”

  Miranda put a hand over her mouth. “You sent him to look for Vale’s family.”

  “I asked him to go, and he agreed. I doubt there’s a thing for him to find, but the fact of him looking might shake Vale’s spine a wee bit.”

  The door bumped open behind her. In the same heartbeat Aden took a long step sideways, turned away from her, and lifted a book off one of the shelves he’d perused … goodness, how long ago had it been? A week? Two weeks? It seemed like both yesterday and ages ago, all at the same time.

  “Miss Miranda,” Millie said, eyeing the two of them suspiciously, “Mrs. Harris inquires what color you mean to wear tonight, so she won’t clash.”

  “I dunnae, lass,” Aden drawled, the book held loosely half across the front of his kilt, “but if ye say Samuel Johnson’s got a good eye for more than dictionary words, I’ll believe ye.”

  Of course he’d already figured out which book would be appropriate. He likely remembered the title of every book on that shelf. And she’d once thought Highlanders thickheaded and dull. On at least one count, and with at least one man, she’d been very wrong. And under any other circumstances, that would have made her exceedingly happy.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Ye dunnae need to come with me,” Aden rumbled from Loki’s back. “Ye let Coll go off on his own.”

  “Ye sent him on the safer trip,” Niall returned.

  Aden finished off the last strawberry he’d tucked away in a pocket. Whatever he thought of soft Sassenach, he had to give them credit for one thing: They built fine roads. Rutted and muddy in places, aye, but they had them aplenty, and leading everywhere a man could want. Even directly south of London all the way to Portsmouth.

  “I ken ye dunnae like the idea of leaving yer lass unprotected,” his brother went on, “but I dunnae like the idea of ye being killed and yer corpse dumped in the ocean.”

  “I reckon Miranda can defend herself at a dinner table as well as I could. She’s safer there in her own house than she would be out at a soiree where Vale could make a grand gesture and propose before all the haute ton. And she’s nae my lass. Nae yet.”

  His younger brother sent him a sideways glance. “Ye’ve thought it through, at least, nae that I’m surprised by that. It still doesnae answer why ye dunnae want me heading south with ye. Ye ken I’m going to keep asking until ye answer me.”

  The conversation reminded Aden forcefully that he frequently had a damned good reason for keeping his own counsel. His brothers could be helpful, but they weren’t the sort to follow orders without question. At the same time, he couldn’t be everywhere at once. And he had a lass to save, and a shrinking amount of time in which to do it.

  “Coll’s impressive, and he’ll be chatting with farmers and shopkeepers who’ve likely nae seen a Highlander before, much less one who’s a viscount.”

  “And I’m nae impressive enough for Portsmouth?”

  “For Saint Andrew’s sake, Niall, aye. Ye’re impressive. I dunnae need impressive for sailors or officers of His Majesty’s Navy. They’ve seen the world. They’ve had cannons shot at ’em. I need charm, nae fists. I need subtle. Ye’re a might more subtle than Coll, I’ll admit, but ye’re nae as subtle as I am.”

  “That might be, but Portsmouth’s nae just a few farmers and shopkeepers, either. I reckon two of us can cover more ground than the one of ye, however subtle ye are. That’s why I’m here with y
e. Because I’m nae staying in London while ye do someaught heroic.”

  “Fine. I’m glad ye’re here, then.”

  “As ye should be, Aden.”

  “But I’d rather at least one of us was in London making certain that bastard doesnae lay a single scabby finger on my woman.”

  Niall closed his mouth over whatever it was he’d been about to say. “I’m glad ye decided to tell us yer troubles,” he finally ventured.

  “Francesca made me.”

  “She knows?”

  “Nae.” Aden frowned. Gauging by the sun, it was past noon already. By the time they reached the harbor at Portsmouth they’d be pushing against evening, with an unknown number of conversations and the ride back to London still ahead of them. “She wouldnae lend me any blunt unless I at least told the two of ye, so that’s what I did.”

  They—he—needed to be back in Mayfair before Vale knew he’d left. He’d told both his brothers that Coll’s trip to Cornwall was mostly a distraction, a chance for them to rattle Vale a bit, and perhaps come up with something useful. The navy anchored at Portsmouth, and that was where he would find any more recent tales about Robert Vale—short of sailing to India, of course.

  “So ye only told us because she forced ye?” Niall grunted a fairly imaginative curse in Gaelic. “What, did ye reckon we’d tromp all over yer delicate plans like a great pair of oxen?”

  “Dunnae be a nodcock,” Aden retorted. “Aye, at first I reckoned I could rescue a lass in distress and nae have to ask ye for help. This is complicated, Niall. It’s nae a simple kidnapping or two. Vale holds papers proving Matthew’s debt. It’s nae only Miranda I need to rescue, and the Harris parents dunnae even ken they’re in jeopardy.”

  “Coll will flatten Matthew the first chance he gets. Ye know that, aye?”