Page 1 of Utterly Dauntless

CHAPTER ONE

The hour was late. Grey reckoned he ought to let the lass sleep, but he wouldn't. The chase was finally at an end, and though he was weary himself and would like nothing more than a bracing drink and a quick scoot off to a bed of his own, he couldn't risk it. She might slink away again.

Nae. It has to be now.

She'd made a mistake, had used a credit card this time. After years of evading him, she must have assumed he'd given up the hunt. The more fool she.

He studied the hotel through the rain-streaked window of his hired car while he gathered his gumption. The Grand stood majestically along Brighton's seafront. Her massive pale facade stretched up seven floors into the dark sky. Row upon row of tall windows marched symmetrically across her face, most of it dark except for a few scattered lights that glowed behind closed curtains.

The ornate Victorian architecture spoke of an era when buildings were meant to impress with detailed stonework, widebay windows, and decorative wrought iron on the balconies. The entrance commanded attention with its strange front of green glass and the illuminated sign that simply read, "Grand."

When Grey finally crossed the street and pushed through the revolving door, the lobby hit him with both a warmth and welcome he hadn't expected at such an hour. His boots clicked across the polished marble floor that led to an impressive reception desk. Behind it, a sleepy clerk eyed him warily. The soaring ceiling and crystal chandeliers spoke of old-world luxury, though the lights had been dimmed in respect for the time of night.

The walls were adorned with elegant moldings and ornate wallpaper. But his attention was caught by the grand staircase that swept upward, its elaborate railings gleaming softly in the low light. Had the lass chosen this place for its historic grandeur or its location beside the sea?

Wide-girthed columns rose from floor to ceiling, and though the massive fireplaces stood cold and dark at that hour, their marble mantles still impressed. The sound of rain on the tall windows was broken only by the quiet hum of modern climate control and the gentle snoring of an elderly man who'd fallen asleep in one of the plush chairs scattered about the space.

Grey caught the subtle scent of polish and leather as he approached the desk with a friendly smile. "Went fer a wee walk and forgot to take a key along. Room 420. Dinnae wish to wake m' wife, ye ken."

The man blinked himself awake. "A walk? In this?" He pointed to the closest window, the view through which was blocked by a million dots of rain.

"Aye, and why not. Fine Scottish weather clears the mind."

The bloke made a face, typed in the number, and squinted at his screen. "Mr. Davies, is it?"

Davies? Why would she use a different name than on her card? But he had to trust the information he'd been given, and that the captain of Wickham Muir's guard, Kitchens, knew what he was about. "Davies, Aye."

The man ran a card through his wee machine and handed it over. "We hope you and Mrs. Davies are enjoying your honeymoon."

Grey smiled harder. "We are and thank ye."

He took the staircase, determined to work off some of his boiling rage. Better to be winded before laying his hands on the real Mr. Davies. If Aries was truly there on honeymoon, Grey would make good and certain there was neither sweetness nor honey to it—at least not that night.

Unfortunately for the man on the other side of the door, Grey reached #420 with plenty of breath in his chest and plenty of vice in his grip as he slid the card smoothly through the slot. The lock beeped, and the light turned green. He depressed the handle and pushed inside like a North Sea wave. A light in the loo showed a clear path to the bedside. Better that way. He wouldn't want to throttle the wrong body—at least not yet.

He leaned over the bed and breathed down on the man. No, it was a lad. A mere lad! A poor excuse for a beard barely cast a shadow on the pimpled jaw. What had Aries been thinking?

How does one drag a laddie out of bed? Well, by the ear, of course.

With half his attention on the womanly form on the far side, Grey grabbed the man-child's ear and, with a suitable amount of pressure and lift, insisted he stand forthwith.

The nuisance yowled and sucked wind through his flappy, overused lips whilst he tried to see out the back of his head to find who dared assault him.

"Aries, awake. Find me a sack to stuff this pup into, there's a good lass."

The woman—or child, rather—gasped once, sat up, and began to scream. Clearly, she was not Aries, for Aries couldn't have hit those high notes had she been tossed into an icy sea. In addition, there were a few things missing. Besides her remarkable dark hair that found its way into Grey's dreams far too often, there were a pair of things that couldn't possibly be hidden beneath the sheet now smashed flat against the young lassie's chest.

"Ye're not Aries," He barked, when the lass took a breath.

She started another scream but stopped suddenly to glare at the lad dancing nude while trying to free his ear. "Whooois Aries?"

Grey lost interest immediately upon realizing that his prey wasn't anywhere inside the room. But he could still find answers.

Since the lad looked as if he might pass out, he took hold of the other ear and released the first. "Tell me who let the room for the night."

The pup bit his bottom lip.

"I'll advise ye to tell the truth."

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