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  “I want everyone else out of the room,” he said unexpectedly, cutting off the treacherous tendril of sympathy before it strangled his ability to think. “I want to be alone with Miss Saunders.”

  Everyone started to protest at once, except for Maggie, who was suddenly too exhausted to worry about the ramifications of surviving a private interrogation with the most powerful man in Scotland. She felt a stab of understanding at the stark emotion in his eyes. He wanted everything to make sense. So did she. Yet some force beyond their control had begun to weave the threads of their lives together whether they wished it or not. The image of the medieval tapestry took shape in her mind. The elements of danger and physical attraction, the lion and his lady in their unguarded intimacy.

  Did that tapestry somehow foreshadow the future?

  “I don’t think this is wise, Connor,” Ardath said in a quiet voice. “Not in your current frame of mind.”

  “We want the lass to regain her memory,” the earl said, rising from his stool as if to protect the small figure in the bed. “We don’t want you frightening her out of her wits.”

  Dr. Sinclair opened his mouth to add another objection, but apparently changed his mind at the rigid determination on Connor’s face.

  “Out,” Connor said, pointing to the door. “Everyone—now.”

  One didn’t argue with Connor Buchanan when he used that tone of voice, his Lord Advocate’s voice, the voice that condemned murderers and vindicated the innocent. Not even Ardath dared cross him when his voice dropped to that deceptively even baritone, when that hint of a Highlander’s deep Scottish burr crept into the cultured inflection. The few who’d been foolish enough to challenge Connor at such a time had learned to regret it.

  They scurried from the room, mice escaping as the lion stirred, a victim trapped in his lair.

  Slowly he turned to stare at Maggie.

  Candlelight caught the deep hollows in his face, emphasized the masculine elegance of his frame. With an impatient gesture he loosened his starched collar and pulled off his cravat. For countless moments he stood at the foot of the bed, his blond hair loose on his wide shoulders as he surveyed the unmoving figure below him. Again he felt that annoying pull of attraction, the spell of sexual and emotional magic that he could not explain. This time he fought it, refusing to acknowledge that she stirred something dangerous inside him.

  His face reflected none of his inner conflict; with a practiced detachment that had become second nature, he allowed nothing to soften his expression. In his considerable experience, he could intimidate most of the criminals he handled with a deliberate silence, a look, a few well-chosen words.

  It would be child’s play to break down this girl.

  Maggie wished with all her heart that she were anywhere but in this room. Electricity crackled in the air, a primal force that mirrored the dark energy of the man who confronted her. She had seen the disdain in his eyes when she’d dared to eat his food, but she had lived in deprivation for too long to let pride overcome temptation, and she hadn’t wanted to hurt the others’ feelings. His family was kind.

  He was not.

  He loomed at the foot of the bed in condemning silence, as if he were looking through her. A stab of fear pierced her exhaustion, but she willed herself not to show it. Her head ached so badly that she could barely focus on his face. She wanted to close her eyes and pretend—

  “You will look at me when I address you, Miss Saunders,” he said in a voice that compelled her to obey.

  Her heart gave an apprehensive lurch as he moved to the side of the bed. Then he sat down, and all of a sudden she didn’t have to struggle to stay awake. Her senses started to clamor like a fire brigade. Alarming thoughts and impressions clanged like bells through her mind. What should she believe about him? Somewhere amidst all the horrifying rumors there must be at least a grain of truth.

  “What have you done with Hugh?” she asked suddenly, making a futile effort to balance her tray and scoot to the other side of the bed.

  Connor stretched out across the comforter, deliberately holding her captive with the weight of his body. “Your partner in crime is downstairs with my sister’s husband and the constable. The last I heard he was trying to convince them that he’d wandered into my house by mistake looking for a lost cat.”

  “Which is the absolute truth.” Maggie pounced on the alibi without blinking an eye. “That stupid tomcat is always running off, and poor granny so attached to the ugly old thing. He must have hidden in your house to escape the storm.”

  Connor’s voice was tart. “I believe your partner claimed it was a pregnant cat that belonged to his crippled sister.”

  “His sister’s cat ran off too?” Maggie said in feigned astonishment. “That old tomcat must have lured her away with him. Male cats are just like that, my lord. Totally amoral and—”

  “On furthering questioning, your friend admitted there was no cat, amoral or otherwise. It was Jamie Munro’s confession he was after.”

  Maggie’s face crumpled under his unwavering stare. “I knew I should have come alone,” she whispered, looking down at her lap in surrender.

  Connor’s gaze flickered over her downbent head. “You mentioned Munro yourself in the courtyard.”

  “I wanted to get the confession you forced out of helpless Daft Jamie yesterday morning.” Temper darkened her eyes to indigo as she raised her face to his. “It wasn’t right, making a helpless old man admit to a murder he didn’t have either the wits or wherewithal to commit.”

  “What,” he asked, enunciating each word like the crack of a bullwhip, “were you going to do with that confession once you got hold of it?”

  Maggie’s fingers tightened around the drumstick. She was taken aback by the absolute lack of understanding in his eyes. “Well, I’m not absolutely sure. I think the plan was to convince an honest criminal lawyer to take on Jamie’s case out of the goodness of his heart.”

  “And why was a girl sent to execute such a brilliant plan?” he asked with mild contempt.

  Maggie felt her temper rising again. “Because I was the only one in Heaven’s Court with the aristocratic background to blend into your party, in the event Hugh needed a distraction.”

  Connor studied her with unnerving intensity. “You were a distraction, all right,” he said crisply. “You distracted me into making a damned fool of myself from the moment I met you. Furthermore, that confession was never meant to fall into anyone else’s hands.”

  Maggie sat forward, gesturing with the drumstick to make her point. “Look, I don’t care if you are the Lord Advocate. Just because Jamie was found at the scene of the crime with the murder weapon in his hand doesn’t mean he stabbed two people to death.”

  “Do you mind not waving that turkey leg in my face while I question you, Miss Saunders? I feel like I’m talking to Henry the Eighth.”

  “Turkey—” Embarrassed, Maggie carefully placed the drumstick on the tray between them. “I didn’t even realize. I’m not at all myself tonight.”

  He gave her a droll look. “And who precisely are you— when you’re being yourself, that is?”

  “I told you before.”

  “You claim to be French, but you do not have any discernible accent. How can this be?”

  “My mother was Scottish,” Maggie said. “And when I came here, my aunt forbade me to speak any French for fear I’d be recognized.” Her voice sounded suddenly thin and unconvincing. The beast was making her doubt her own identity. He intimidated her, sitting there on the bed in all his riveting masculinity and using the courtroom demeanor that had won so many cases before his rivals could strike a blow at his strategy.

  “My name is Marguerite Marie-Antoinette de Saint-Evremond, but everyone calls me Maggie Saunders. Saunders was my mother’s maiden name. She was from Inverness, actually.”

  An infuriating smile played across Connor’s face. “Let’s try again. We’re all alone now. I’m not going to eat you. I probably won’t even press ch
arges, as long as you cooperate. In fact, to those who trust me I can be a very good friend.”

  “That isn’t what I’ve heard,” she muttered, trying covertly to tug the comforter out from under his massive thigh.

  “Did you know my sister?”

  “Which one?”

  “Sheena, the one you allegedly tried to rescue. Would you please stop putting your hand under my leg, Miss Saunders?”

  “I’d never seen her before in my life. I wish I’d never seen you either. This is a nightmare.”

  “We’ll try again,” Connor said patiently. “What exactly did the carriage driver say to you during the abduction?”

  “I’m not exactly sure.” She subsided back against the pillows, surrendering the comforter with a belligerent sniff. “I think he asked the man in the carriage what he was supposed to do with me. It all happened so fast. The man inside the carriage called you a devil—”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that would indicate to me he knew who you were.”

  “An act of revenge against me,” he said as if reluctant to admit the possibility aloud.

  “It’s a distinct possibility,” she said. “It’s a widely known fact that quite a few people dislike you.”

  “Thank you for the reminder, Miss Saunders.” His voice was cynical. “It does go with the profession.”

  “Some of them really hate you,” she added innocently.

  “Obviously.”

  “Quite frankly, my lord, if you treat others in the same fashion you have treated me tonight, I’m not surprised.”

  “Neither am I.”

  The grim resignation in his voice aroused her compassion. She realized suddenly how hard it was for him to admit he was helpless.

  “Could the abduction—could it have anything to do with the murderer?”

  He frowned as if he regretted having revealed even this small facet of his feelings. He narrowed his gaze on her face, reminding himself she couldn’t be trusted. “More to the point—did my sister’s abduction have anything to do with you and Jamie Munro?”

  Maggie’s face looked endearingly earnest beneath the top-heavy bandage. “Not as far as I know. How could it? I know Jamie confessed, but he didn’t understand what he was saying. He’s a bit dicked in the nob, as they say.”

  The nightrail she’d borrowed from Norah was several sizes too large for her slight frame. Connor stared in unwilling absorption at the curve of her shoulder where the end of the bandage had entangled in her hair. She had such a pale creamy complexion. He resisted the urge to run his hand up her arm, to learn the texture of her skin. He imagined that she would bruise easily. Her delicacy, however, hid an astonishingly forceful personality. Did it also hide a deceitful heart?

  He noticed the tiny purple-blue vein that fluttered in the base of her throat. She was agitated, afraid of him. In fascination he traced the path of her pulsebeat with his gaze until it disappeared between the cleft of her breasts. She had generous curves for a slender woman. She was made for seduction, not thievery.

  “Dicked in the nob?” he said, forcing his gaze back to her face.

  Maggie stared down into her cleavage as if she wondered what he’d found so interesting. “Jamie shouldn’t even have been allowed to confess until the court appointed a lawyer to defend him,” she said passionately. “At least that’s what the Chief said, and Lord knows his lodgers have been in prison for every crime under the sun.”

  Connor leaned another inch closer only to put his elbow down on the tray between them. The turkey drumstick rolled across the bed. They both pretended not to notice.

  “The Chief.” Connor looked incredulous, suddenly realizing what she had said. “Don’t tell me you work for Arthur Ogilvie.”

  Maggie hesitated, unsure of how to explain her peculiar association with Arthur. “I don’t exactly work for him. I live with him. In his house, that is. I’m one of his boarders. Actually, he’s been like a godfather to me.”

  Connor didn’t know how to react as he struggled to forge a connection between a tapestry princess and the clanless Highland chief whose old town sanctuary housed the bulk of Edinburgh’s criminal underworld. Heaven’s Court, as it was known, provided a haven for both retired and working criminals who had pledged their allegiance to Arthur Ogilvie. Connor battled the old rascal in court on a regular basis—he as a prosecutor, Arthur as either a heckler or hostile witness; the Chief was too crafty to get caught himself.

  The two men were always trying to outwit each other. They were both the best at what they did, icons of influence and power, on opposite sides of the law. Now they had this unusual girl in common, a guttersnipe who claimed she was the daughter of a duke. His mouth twisted into a faint smile at the irony of it.

  “Are you all right, my lord?” Maggie asked, watching him as warily as you would a wild animal that might attack at any moment.

  He could only shake his head. Dear God, he’d met the woman less than two hours ago. Yes, he had wanted her on sight—he had wanted her badly, in his bed, to be blunt. But not like this. Not with her lying before him injured, under a cloud of suspicion, and his sister stolen on the night he hoped to celebrate his success with his closest friends.

  His friends.

  A spark of realization broke his reverie.

  His friends. His friends, the silly bastards, must have done this to him. They had been threatening to pull a trick on him ever since he’d made the news of his appointment public.

  It hit him like a thunderbolt, the absurdity of it, so obvious he was embarrassed not to have caught on earlier. A boyish grin broke across his face. The creases in his cheeks deepened in amusement, easing his expression. A joke. The evening must have been one extended joke. What else could it have been? Relief surged through him as he reviewed the events of the past few hours in a humorous light. He’d been duped.

  “God, I should have seen it all along,” he said with a low chuckle of appreciation. “I’m always telling them they have no sense of humor at the courthouse. This was their way of proving me wrong.”

  Maggie smiled uneasily, wondering what on earth had come over him. She was distracted by his change in attitude as much by the seductive warmth of his laughter, and the shock of sensation she felt as he casually began to untangle the bandage from her hair. She looked down suspiciously at the long elegant fingers he laid on her forearm. Then she glanced up again into his face, his chin practically touching her cheek, and a warning tingle shot down her spine.

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” She eased out of his grasp and tried to slide to the other side of the bed. “But I do know that you can’t keep me here by force. It’s against the law.”

  Connor caught her by the wrist before she could disentangle herself from the comforter. “You did a wonderful job, Miss Marguerite Marie-Antoinette Whatever de Saint-Evremond Saunders.” The deep Scots burr had crept back into his voice. “I’m very impressed.”

  “You’re a little unbalanced too, my lord.”

  She pressed herself back against the headboard, preparing to defend herself as he fell backward across her lap in a paroxysm of deep uncontrollable laughter. His big shoulders shook with a rich rumble of uninhibited sound. In fact, the whole bed shook with it. She stared down at him in alarm.

  “Oh, you’re… very good.” He could barely force the words out for laughing to himself. “Chocolate éclairs, confessions, trying to assassinate the Lord Advocate with a champagne cork. You must be a professional.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t look so upset—you’ll start me laughing all over again.” He wiped a tear from his eye, grinning and in good spirits. “This is too clever—I meant professional actress. Ardath and Donaldson put you up to this, didn’t they?”

  Maggie stared past him, judging the distance to the door. The poor man was delusional, cracking under the strain. She felt sorry for him, but who knew what he might take it into his head to do next? “I think we ought to call Dr. Sin
clair in now,” she said carefully.

  Connor wagged his finger under her nose. “Sinclair, you naughty girl. I can’t believe you got that old curmudgeon to play along. I wouldn’t have dreamed he had a humorous bone in his body. No wonder he pretended to know you, and that police inspector.”

  “They do know me,” Maggie said curtly.

  “I want to know you too.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do.” His voice had deepened to a rough baritone. Sensuality smoldered in his eyes like smoke. “In every sense of the word.”

  Maggie’s heart began to pound in panic. “I think you’re sitting on the turkey,” she whispered.

  “I’m going to start by kissing you,” he said, touching his thumb to her lower lip.

  Maggie shivered. “No, you aren’t.”

  He grinned seductively. “Oh, but I am.”

  Chapter

  7

  He slid across the bed, drawing her resistant little body into his arms. “I wanted to kiss you before I found out how talented you are, but now I’m obsessed with the idea. I’ve been thinking about you all night. You have the most tempting mouth in the world.”

  Maggie felt heat flooding her face. “Stop it right now,” she whispered. “Stop this nonsense before I—”

  He brushed his mouth back and forth across hers, his long hair falling across her cheek. He parted her lips before she could order him to stop. A jolt of unadulterated pleasure shot through her as his tongue touched hers, slipping inside her mouth to silence her tiny gasp. This man knew exactly what he was doing. The unexpected power of his kiss stole Maggie’s breath from her body.

  It stilled the clamor of her thoughts. Sinful. Delicious. She resisted the urge to relax deeply into the pillows and enjoy herself as he eased his arms around her, possessively tilting her to him. Kissing him was more decadent than stolen champagne and chocolate éclairs. She felt her eyes drifting shut. She was a feather floating in a storm of sensations, gliding on an air current above the clouds. For a dangerous moment, she lay unmoving, immobilized by terror and temptation, by the shameless assault of his mouth moving down her jaw.