Claiming His Defiant Miss. Bronwyn Scott

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.’