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In fact, she felt like she’d been run over by a coach and four.

  She stared down into the misty street, blinking to clear her blurred vision as she searched for the familiar landmarks of Heaven’s Court. Her gaze lit on a man in a dark cloak and cleric’s collar standing by the gate.

  She frowned, drawing back slightly. Who on earth had cleaned up all the mess, the broken-down carriages, the wheelbarrows, the barricade of whisky kegs while she slept? The Chief would have a conniption. He believed criminals should keep up criminal appearances.

  “Be sober!” the man shouted. “Be vigilant, because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour!”

  The man noticed Maggie in the window. He stopped, apparently satisfied he had dragged at least one sinner from her bed. He stomped forward until he stood directly beneath her, banging his Bible with his fist.

  “There is no peace for the wicked!”

  Maggie glanced down in bewilderment at the unfamiliar nightdress that had twisted around her bare feet. “There’s no peace for anyone, you old windbag, spouting Scripture at this hour,” she shouted back in annoyance.

  “Who is this that gives counsel by words without knowledge?” the man quoted, his voice rising into a bellow. “Gird up now your loins, like a man, for I will demand it of you, and answer thou me!”

  A turnip came flying through the air from the side of the house, followed by the irate order to, “Belt up, you silly sod!”

  Maggie brought the window down with a satisfying bang, muttering under her breath, “Gird up my—”

  “Loins,” said a tired and disturbingly familiar voice from the opposite corner of the room. “The Reverend Abernathy has taken a rather perplexing interest lately in more than just the state of my immortal soul.”

  She pivoted, staring in amazement at the long, shadowed figure unfolding from an armchair to loom over her. A sick feeling washed over her as flashes of memory flooded her mind from the previous evening. It had been real.

  Connor Buchanan, the legend, larger than life, her captor, her victim. Her unwilling ally against an enemy neither of them could name. She took a step back, frightened by the intensity of emotion in his eyes.

  Disoriented, disbelieving, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the cheval glass on the other side of the room.

  There was a bandage on her head. She looked as grim as death herself. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, hoping the horrifying image would disappear. It didn’t.

  “Perhaps you ought to lie back down, lass,” he said gruffly.

  She turned slowly. She felt unsteady and faint, tiny flashes of light dancing before her eyes. “How long have you been here?” she asked in a dry voice.

  He stretched his muscular arms over his head before answering, straining as if to ease the tension that gripped him. With athletic grace he advanced across the room until he stood before her in the glow of the dying coals.

  She took another instinctive step back toward the window. With his harsh, unshaven face and rumpled evening clothes, he looked as if he’d spent the better part of the night living up to his bad reputation.

  “When I wasn’t following false leads to my sister’s disappearance, I was watching over you.” His voice sounded thick with overuse and discouragement. “Ardath and I took turns. The doctor was afraid you might slip into a coma.”

  She lifted her hand to her head, still stunned that it all was real. “You didn’t find your sister?” she said hesitantly.

  “No. Apparently a black coach was spotted on the way to the Highlands during the night.”

  “Was there a ransom note?”

  “Yes. Ten of them, actually,” he said in a hard voice. “There was also an anonymous letter threatening that my sister Rebecca will be the kidnappers’ next victim.”

  “Could it be a hoax, my lord?”

  “I believe it is. But I’ve been concerned about her anyway and cannot afford to dismiss it. I intend to visit her without delay.”

  His face like flint, he brushed by her to the window. Maggie caught a whiff of whisky as he passed, whisky and bay rum, a potent but not unpleasant combination. The reverend’s rantings grew dimmer in the background. A maidservant in rag curlers had chased him off with a broom.

  The sudden quiet made Maggie aware of the blood thrumming in her ears, of the fact that she’d spent an entire night in this man’s house. A wave of light-headedness swept over her. She couldn’t think of what to do next.

  Connor turned; the grainy light played up the shadowed fatigue on his face. “Do you remember anything more?”

  She rubbed one foot against her ankle, feeling a shiver ripple through her. “Nothing helpful.” She decided it was his penetrating gaze that made her feel so cold. “I swear I’d tell you if I could remember.”

  “Would you?” he asked wearily.

  “Of course,” she said, bristling. “What do you think I am?”

  “That seems to be quite the mystery. According to everyone else, you’ve achieved nothing less than angel status during your short but amazingly eventful life. Deposed aristocrat turns street urchin. Isn’t that the story?”

  “You still don’t believe me?”

  He gave her a noncommittal shrug. “Don’t take it to heart. All I have are your criminal tendencies to go on. As far as I know, you’re nothing more than a thief and a housebreaker.”

  She was also beautiful, he thought irrelevantly, admiring her in the ghostly light. Even Norah’s unflattering flannel nightrail couldn’t prevent the damage her softly alluring shape did to his male libido. She looked young and vulnerable, her face frightened and appealingly fragile. Connor might have stirred up a measure of sympathy for her if she had broken into anyone else’s house. He couldn’t remember a time he’d been more attracted to a woman, or a time when attraction had been more inappropriate.

  “I don’t care if you’re the most powerful man in the world,” she said suddenly, surprising him with her boldness. “I’m twenty-three years old. You can’t keep me locked in this room forever.”

  “That old? How interesting. I told you I could have you put in Carlton Jail if you’d prefer. Somehow I don’t think you’d get much pampering there, though. No roast turkeys, no flowers or champagne.”

  Expelling her breath in an irate huff, she pushed around him to examine herself in the mirror. “What have you done with my dress?”

  He propped his elbow back against the windowsill, his features drawn. “I believe the laundress is trying to remove the chocolate stains—chocolate from the éclairs you were stealing. Anyway, lass, you’re in no condition to be leaving this house.”

  A look of panic crossed her face. “But I can’t wait for the laundress. I’ve just remembered—”

  He straightened, his fatigue lifting. “You’ve remembered—”

  “Help me.” she cried shakily, pulling at the bandage. “Help me find some other clothes. It’s almost dawn. There isn’t much time left.”

  Connor assumed she was talking about Sheena’s abduction, that she remembered some crucial detail. Speechless with relief, he started to rush around the room, throwing open the doors to the wardrobe before he realized that they were empty, and besides, he had no intention of allowing her to set foot outside this room. He wheeled, half afraid she would forget what she wanted to tell him.

  “I can’t find anything here,” he said impatiently. “Sit down, for God’s sake, and I’ll ask Ardath—”

  He broke off as he noticed that her eyes had fluttered shut and the blood seemed to be draining from her face, her head lolling forward onto her chest.

  “Miss Saunders,” he said in alarm, reaching out to catch her a split second before she slumped to the floor in an untidy heap.

  Chapter

  10

  “I swear I never laid a hand on her. We were having a rational conversation. She got upset because she’d remembered something important. I was trying to find her clothes. Then all of a sudden sh
e passed out on the floor.”

  “You intimidated her, Connor,” Ardath said in an admonishing voice. “You always do that to people. Imagine telling a duke’s daughter you were going to put her in prison. The shock could have killed her on the spot.”

  Connor frowned down at the still woman on the bed, more concerned by her pale appearance than he could admit. He’d nearly had a heart attack himself when she had collapsed in his arms. Despite what she’d put him through, he still felt that irrational sense of responsibility toward her. Watching her during the night had been a trial. He’d checked her repeatedly to make sure she hadn’t lapsed into a coma. He’d laid his head on her chest to listen to her heartbeat, ignoring the sweet scent of roses on her skin, the soft female curves that aroused him on a fundamental level.

  He had studied her classical features, her slender neck and shoulders, wondering about her past, about what part she would play in his future. He’d been tempted more than once to touch her, not only to tread the dangerous waters of attraction between them, but to reassure himself she wasn’t slipping away from him. And he’d smiled ruefully as he remembered their absurd conversation in the parlor, that only a few hours ago he’d offered to walk with her in the rain.

  “I thought she remembered something about the abduction,” he said defensively.

  “Anybody would faint, waking up to see you hovering over them. You look like a… a scoundrel. You really ought to shave and change those clothes.”

  Maggie opened her eyes at that moment, her attention drifting from Ardath to Connor. “What happened?” she whispered dryly.

  “Go back to sleep, dear,” Ardath said.

  “I can’t sleep,” Maggie said in panic, her gaze still transfixed to the forbidding male figure who stood before her. “I have to go to work in a half hour. I’m very dependable.”

  “Work?” Ardath pronounced the word as if Maggie had just confessed she had a terminal illness. “Did you hear that, Connor? On top of everything else she’s endured, the poor girl thinks she has to work.”

  “It happens to the best of us,” he retorted, folding his arms over his broad chest. “Besides, that’s why she fainted. On top of the concussion, she worked herself into a state over being late. I told you it wasn’t my fault.”

  Ardath bent to tuck the covers around Maggie, her face a study in concern. “Gracious, she’s as cold as ice. Help me get her settled in and stop behaving like such a beast.”

  He looked anything but pleased as he moved to the other side of the bed. “I don’t have time for this,” he said in a gravelly voice, dragging the comforter over Maggie with all the enthusiasm of an undertaker arranging a shroud. “I have two more ransom notes to investigate, and briefs to review, not to mention getting ready to leave for the Highlands after court tomorrow.”

  Maggie pushed the comforter off her nose, piqued by his indifference. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Did you hear that?” Connor scowled at Ardath. “Concussion or not, there isn’t a damn thing wrong with her mind.”

  “You’ve offended her,” Ardath said in a stage whisper, which Maggie was obviously to pretend she didn’t hear. “You do it all the time. It’s your way of talking down as if the other person is either dense or deceitful.”

  “Unfortunately in my experience one or the other is usually true.”

  “Listen to you.” Ardath released a rueful sigh. “Perhaps all that power has gone to your head. My mother warned me, but did I believe her?”

  “When have I ever talked down to you?” Connor demanded, glancing at Maggie from the corner of his eye. She was watching him with unabashed interest. It unnerved him. He never knew what the girl was thinking, but the glint in her pretty blue eyes assured him she didn’t miss a thing.

  “When haven’t you?” Ardath replied, clearly miffed.

  “I suppose your professor treats you like a doctor of philosophy, does he?” Connor dragged his attention away from Maggie, annoyed that she was witnessing yet another private scene from his life. “I suppose you sit around all the time playing chess and translating Greek tragedies into English.”

  Connor and Ardath started to argue in earnest. Maggie sighed, glancing from one to the other as if she were watching a tennis match. Did he care for Ardath? she wondered. Did he really dislike the professor, or was his male pride only piqued? She couldn’t imagine Ardath choosing another man over Lord Buchanan. He was breath-catchingly handsome, and for a few wonderful moments last night, before he’d realized she was a housebreaker, he had stolen a piece of Maggie’s heart with his unabashed charm.

  He wasn’t as mean as everyone said he was, either. More than once during the night she had felt him watching over her. She’d felt his hand brush her face. She’d sensed his worry, the inner struggle of a man who wasn’t used to a situation he could not control, who wasn’t used to showing his weaknesses to the world. She hadn’t been sure at first whether or not she was dreaming.

  In the midst of the argument, the Earl of Glenbrodie popped into the room. “And how is our little patient doing today?”

  Ardath stopped scolding Connor long enough to answer. “She thinks she’s going to work. Of course Connor isn’t allowing it.”

  “Work? The daughter of a duke going to work?” This horrifying prospect brought the earl right into the room. “She must mean charity work. Dr. Sinclair said she’s a regular angel of mercy at the Infant Pauper Asylum. I’m surprised you’ve never met her before, Ardath.”

  “Actually,” Maggie said, struggling to sit up, “I give French and deportment lessons to old women and impolite children. It doesn’t pay well, but it’s decent employment. You see, I’m saving to have the family name and chateau restored. You wouldn’t believe the cost of legal counsel and court complications back and forth across the Channel.”

  She paused. The three of them—Maggie, Ardath, and Glenbrodie—stared briefly at Connor as if he, by dint of his elevated position, were somehow personally to blame for the problems of jurisprudence between the two countries.

  “The Chief helps whenever he can,” she added. “But even a man of his stature can’t cut through the bureaucracy. The worst part is that I’ve been unable to trace my older brother and sister. Everyone has to work in Heaven’s Court—it’s really only fair.”

  There was another moment of deep silence as if the others were mourning her loss of dignity and lapse into reduced circumstances. The earl shook his head and sat at her side, taking her hand in a gesture of fond affection.

  “Never mind, my dear. Those degrading days are behind you now.”

  She sneaked a look at the Lion’s face to confirm this statement, but his stern expression wasn’t exactly encouraging. “They are?”

  The earl and Ardath exchanged meaningful looks. “You mean Connor hasn’t explained the Arrangement to you yet?” the earl said, his thick white eyebrows raised in disapproval.

  “No,” Connor said in a testy voice. “Connor hasn’t explained the Arrangement to her yet. Connor hasn’t had a chance. He’s been busy investigating the ransom notes. He hasn’t had any sleep, either.”

  The earl frowned. “Are these outbursts of bad temper quite necessary?”

  “You’re doing it again, Connor,” Ardath said under her breath. “That just goes to prove my point.”

  Connor didn’t bother defending his position; he had to save whatever fight he had left in him to continue looking for Sheena, and to give his final argument in a rape case later this morning. It was a highly publicized trial, the plaintiff a young cleaning woman in a theater.

  The defendant, or panel, a popular actor, was as guilty as they came, the evidence presented against him indisputable. But since rape could be a capital crime, it was a battle to win a conviction from an all-male jury.

  “You are in danger, my dear,” the earl said to Maggie. “Grave danger.”

  Studying Connor’s face, she didn’t doubt that for a moment. His black scowl was the most intimidating thing she’d ever
seen. “May I borrow something to wear to work please?” she asked quietly. “The Kennedy twins are going to Paris at the end of the week, and I’ve taught them just enough French to get them into trouble.”

  “The children can wait,” Ardath said somberly. “Your life is at stake, and it would be irresponsible of Connor to let you leave this house without protection.”

  The Kennedy twins were in their nineties and probably couldn’t wait. But Maggie decided not to point this out in light of Ardath’s alarming revelation about Maggie’s own impending doom. “How could my life be in danger? I admit it was wrong to break into—”

  “She isn’t talking about the housebreaking.” Connor had flung his big frame back into the armchair as if he resented being part of the discussion. “Inspector Davies has convinced everyone that since you were the only one to witness my sister’s abduction, there is a chance the kidnappers will return for you. To stop you from identifying them.”

  Ardath lowered her voice. “To silence you.”

  “You mean—”

  “Permanently,” the earl concluded, drawing his hand across his throat in a grim gesture.

  Maggie stared in horror across the room at Connor, hoping she had misunderstood. “But I don’t remember what they looked like. Why would they want to hurt me? I couldn’t possibly identify them.”

  “Well, they don’t know that, do they?” He stretched out his long legs, his voice sharp with frustration. “After all, you got close enough to the driver to bash him over the head with a bottle. Of my best yellow-label.”

  “And that’s why your life is at stake,” the earl added darkly. “We don’t have any idea what sort of monsters we’re dealing with. Connor has helped convict the worst of them in his day. Cutthroats, murderers, arsonists.”

  Maggie eased up higher against the headboard, her heart thumping against her bruised ribs. Her life wasn’t only in danger—it was literally in Connor Buchanan’s big hands. Unexpectedly his enemies were her enemies, and she’d become a pawn like his sister in their dangerous game. A tingle of primitive fear shot down her spine as she stared across the room at the man who refused to look at her and who held the power to decide her fate.