Page 80 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
“Last-minute addition.” Planting a boot under the brute’s chin, Duncan spat, “Robbery? That’s what this was all about?”
“Iknowthis man,” Mr. Atherton said, coming forward. “Rickland? You’ve plenty of blunt—no need to rob me.”
Rickland snarled, “Nothing wrong with wanting more.”
“There’s plenty wrong,” Duncan replied flatly, “when there was every chance you could have killed someone.”
“The hell with you,” Rickland spat.
Duncan pressed his boot against the man’s head. “Shut it.” Turning to Mr. Atherton, he clipped, “Servants are all in the kitchen. We already have someone running to fetch the constabulary, but better send your fastest rider, too.”
“Yes, Major,” Mr. Atherton said, starting for the door. He paused on the threshold. “Never have I been more glad to have a military man beneath my roof.”
Then Mr. Atherton disappeared, and his fast footsteps could be heard down the corridor above the wounded man’s groans of pain. Duncan grabbed the robber’s knife, before glancing back toward Beatrice.
The guests also seemed to be recovering from their shock. Some laughed wildly, while others wept.
Beatrice knew exactly how they felt. She wanted to weep and laugh, too. But she’d wait for a slightly more private time. Instead, she eased close to Duncan, and her hand intuitively sought his. When his fingers wove with hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze, something shifted into its rightful place.
“You did it,” Beatrice said in wonderment.
“Wedid it, love,” he answered, giving her a tiny smile.
“If you two are going to moon at each other,” Rickland gasped from beneath Duncan’s foot, “could you at least do me the favor of knocking me out, too?”
“Happy to oblige.” Duncan leaned down and, with a neat proficiency, punched the man square in the face so that he blacked out.
Mr. Atherton jogged into the ballroom, though he looked winded by the effort. “Rider’s been sent to the village. We should have the law here within the hour.”
“Excellent.” Duncan faced the guests. “I’ll do reconnaissance outside to make certain that there aren’tany more of them. Then, we’ll drag the villains into a horse stall, secure them, and keep them there until the constabulary arrives.”
“How are you so good at this?” Mrs. Atherton asked, her tone both awed and baffled.
“Because he’s him,” Beatrice said as she smiled at Duncan. It was primal and not very evolved of her, but seeing him in action, ruthlessly dispatching enemies and issuing commands... it did something to her. Something that affected her in a very animalistic way.
“Becauseweareus,” he said, his gaze warm.
She knew she looked at him with girlish adoration but couldn’t stop herself. It had nothing to do with his training as a soldier and all to do with who he was, at his very heart. And facing off with him against an enemy had felt so utterly perfect. They’d workedtogether. Never before had she experienced such a faultless partnership.
She wanted to cling to that, to hold him as tightly as she’d ever held anyone or anything. Yet she’d fought so hard for her freedom, and giving that up went against her every instinct.
Chapter 19
Duncan seethed with emotion and hunger. After a patrol of the house’s interior and exterior to make certain he’d taken care of all of the villains, he returned to the second floor room to find Beatrice packing their bags.
The moment the door closed behind him, he stalked to her and wrapped his arms around her. “Need you. Now.”
Desire was instant and stark in her face. “Yes.”
They sank to the floor together.
It was a fast, fierce coupling, almost a battle as they clawed at each other. She was tight and hot and flawless around him, and though he wanted to last as long as he could, it was impossible. But he made certain that he didn’t permit himself release until she came with a sharp cry. Groaning, he only just managed to pull from her as his seed shot from him.
They lay together on the floor, panting.
He dropped his head to the curve between her neckand her shoulder. A faint trace of honey soap clung to her skin, with the tang of perspiration beneath—no scent had ever been more exquisite, and he drew it into his lungs as deeply as possible as if he could tuck all of her away inside of himself.
Only now did he permit himself a shudder of fear.
