Page 40 of Midnight Conquest

Davina’s jaw tightened. She hesitated a moment, then puffed through her nose. “Now my uncle’s back. He found out the truth.”

“So where do I fit into all this?”

“My uncle says I must be married by the end of the month.”

Broderick laughed bitterly. “Sorry, lass, but I’m not suited tomarriage.”

She scoffed. “Nor am I.”

“Then what?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her cloak before she took a breath and straightened her spine. “I need your…abilities.”

Broderick unfurled that wolfish grin. “I’ve been offerin’ them to ye, but ye keep refusin’ me.” His gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering a moment too long. Possessiveness flickered behind the smile he struggled to keep in place.

“My uncle’s bringing suitors,” she said, tone brisk, businesslike, ignoring his thickening desire. “He’s arranging meetings, interviews, whatever you want to call them. I need you to accompany me, pose as an advisor of sorts.”

Broderick tilted his head, his mouth curving with restrained amusement. “An advisor? Ye think I’ve the look of a proper gentleman?”

She shot him a glare, her cheeks flushing faintly. “I don’t care what you look like. I need your skill. I want you in the room when I meet them, listening to their thoughts.”

He smirked. “Och, now there’s a different side to the woman I remember. Cold. Clever. Dangerous.”

Her chin lifted. “I’ll use what you find. Whatever weaknesses you uncover, I’ll exploit them. Make them think I’m the wrong choice. Make them walk away.”

Broderick studied her for a long moment, but her cloak couldn’t hide the tension threading through her frame. The way she stood—rigid, defensive—spoke of a woman cornered, desperate to claw her way free.

“And if it works?” he asked. “If ye scare them all off, what then?”

Davina’s jaw tightened. “My uncle will have no choice but to put the business under his name and let me manage it from Stewart Glen. That’ll keep the land and the wool trade in the family, and I’ll keep my freedom.”

Broderick arched a brow. He doubted any man—least of all her uncle—would truly let her keep her land and independence. Still, he shrugged.

“And if it doesnae work?” His voice softened, but his gaze hardened. “What then, Davina?”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, and her gaze flicked away from him. The silence stretched before she finally spoke, voice quieter now. “It’ll work. It has to.”

“That’s illegal, mistress.” His lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Aye. And you care about that?”

He chuckled, deep and rough. “Perhaps not. But there’s somethin’ ye’re not tellin’ me.”

She stiffened. “I’ve told you everything.”

“Nay, ye haven’t.” His voice dropped, eyes locking onto hers with quiet command. “Take off yer cloak.”

Her hands tightened around the edges of the fabric. “Why?”

“Take it off, Davina.” He left no room for argument.

She held his stare for a moment, pride warring with vulnerability. Then slowly, she complied. The cloak slipped from her shoulders, soft fabric whispering against her gown. Broderick caught it before it hit the ground, draping it over his forearm with practiced ease.

His gaze dropped to her hands. Gloves again. But that scent, faint and buried beneath her perfume, turned his stomach.

Infection.

He reached for her wrist. She tried to pull away.

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