“No.” Her soft mouth trembled slightly, and the liquid in her glass sloshed toward the rim. “It’s been nearly a year. There is little doubt in my mind that he’s dead as well.”
“Who profits from their deaths?” It seemed a logical question.
“My cousin Adain.” The conviction in her voice was soft but lethal. She took a quick sip from her glass and swallowed with a choked cough. “He denies any part in either crime, but I know he must be the one. He controls everything with Randal gone. At one time”—her slim throat worked—“I actually was fond of him, but I cannot ignore the stark truth. Adain is a criminal, slaughtering innocent men for gain. I mean to thwart him, and—for a few weeks, at least—it is still in my power to do so. I foolishly kept hoping Randal would return, but time is running out. That is why I am here.”
Considering it was the wee hours of the morning, and the amount of hock and claret he had ingested, not to mention his pleasant but strenuous interlude with a certain young courtesan famous for her inventive sex play, Robbie was damned tired. He said with ungentlemanly bluntness, “How the devil can I help you, Miss Cameron? It seems to me this matter is something you should take up with the proper authorities. Besides, other than the fact that our fathers knew each other, pardon my honesty when I say your problems are none of my business.”
“What about ships? They are necessary to your business, correct?”
She spoke so quietly, it took him a moment to register the words. Ships? Blast it, yes, they were necessary to his business, and two of his precious three ships had been recently seized by the English navy while on their way back from Rotterdam full of wine and silks. His attempts to haggle for their return had been useless so far, and since the alternative to too much protest was to be charged formally as a privateer, he’d had to grit his teeth and let the confounded Sassenach have their booty. All his efforts, all the frugality of the past years, for naught . . .
His unexpected guest went on. “I’m rich. The two ships could be replaced, free and clear, as payment for your aid. All outfitted with crew and captains, ready to take your wool anywhere in the world, and bring back wine, ivory, silk, whatever you wish to trade.”
Since he had been working diligently to rebuild his family’s fortunes, partially lost when an English blackguard named Baron Frankton had falsely accused his father of murder and had him arrested, Robbie froze in the act of taking a drink. Frankton was dead now, but the money and land confiscated by the English courts were lost forever. He asked in an even voice, “How do you know I need ships?”
The young woman gazed up at him, her dark skirts damp and pooled around her feet, those glimmering emerald eyes direct. “People talk about you. In the Borders, you are somewhat famous . . . or perhaps I should say infamous, both for your skillful sword arm and your . . . amorous exploits. Word is that you were expanding your shipping business until the English interfered.”
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered.
Bloody bastards
. To his credit, he didn’t say it out loud.
“I wouldn’t, but it is pertinent to this conversation, McCray.”
“Call me Robbie,” he bade her again, slightly amused at her girlish blush when referring to his reputation with the fairer sex, but still infinitely puzzled. “And I admit the bribe intrigues me, but what is it for? I am not a magistrate who can convict your cousin of his crimes.”
“No, but you are a . . . dangerous man. Legendary, almost, when it comes to duels and raids on the English. Your skill with a sword is supposedly unsurpassed.”
His eyes narrowed. “I am not an assassin.”
“Nor do I wish you to be. As much as I have grown to distrust and despise Adain, I don’t seek his death. What I need is protection for the fortune my father left me, and perhaps the same for even my life.”
“Hire a guard.” His glass was empty and Robbie moved restively to refill it, a vague headache throbbing behind his temples.
She shook her head. “Once Randal has been gone a year, he will be declared dead by the courts and my cousin will be laird; there is nothing I can do about that. However, my father left it in his will that I would become heir to half his wealth and some land, but only if wedded.” Miss Cameron paused and her voice quavered. “He was pleased over my engagement to Adain and fond of him. I think it was his way of leaving some of his fortune to my cousin, who, even though I detest him now, I admit would manage it better than Randal. As it stands, if I married him, Adain would inherit it all now. If I
don’t
marry at all, he still inherits everything.”
“I can see how the situation would be a dilemma.” Still a little mystified, Robbie added, “Someone who looks like you is probably vulnerable with or without a fortune if she is unwed, Miss Cameron.”
“With
you
as my husband, no one would think to threaten me. Adain couldn’t force me into marrying him, and he would think twice about attempting murder a third time if you were the potential victim.”
Perhaps his confusion was due to the late hour and his slight inebriation, but Robbie wasn’t sure he quite understood. “You wish
me
to marry you?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded, her green eyes as mesmerizing and as lovely as wind on rippling grass. “Think of the ships, Mr. McCray, and land, and flocks of sheep to subsidize your wool trading. All I ask in return is your sword arm.” Julia Cameron lowered her long lashes slightly, veiling those verdant depths. “I think you would be very hard to . . . kill. Stay alive long enough for me to inherit, and you can see your shipping business prosper. It would be pointless to murder me if all I have is yours.”
The fire snapped and gnawed at the logs, the clock on the mantel ticked, and the brandy in his hand emitted a heady fragrance. All those things he registered only absently, staring at the gorgeous young woman sitting so upright in the chair only a few paces away.
Marriage?
She was undeniably very beautiful, but . . . marriage?
“You don’t know me,” he finally managed to say.
“My father liked you. He would laugh over the tales of your exploits, and said more than once in my hearing that when you settled down, you would make some woman a fine husband. I think he would approve.”
“I would think it more important if
you
liked me.”
“Most women seem to, don’t they?” She gazed at him from under the veil of her dark lashes.
God spare him from illogical, innocent young ladies. Robbie rubbed his jaw, not sure if he’d ever been so confounded in his life.
He struggled to add some sanity to the conversation. “Be that as it may, Miss Cameron, are you truly willing to turn over every coin and your personal well-being to my care on the unproven assumption that your cousin is a villain? It isn’t prudent. Isn’t there someone else, a friend, a lover, who can fulfill the role of husband?”
“It isn’t unproven, I’m afraid. I tried to deny Adain was the culprit but I can no longer. And if there were another man I felt strongly enough about to wed, would I willingly put him in danger?” She spoke with an almost chilling practicality. “Rest assured, this offer is not made lightly. I have pondered long and hard over who might be a suitable husband. Adain has still tried to pressure me for marriage, which would nicely wrap up his ill-gotten fortune, but I have resisted and will continue to resist. For months, I have prayed Randal is alive and will return, but I need to face the awful fact that he is gone. I will not allow my cousin to control my life, and I most certainly refuse to become his wife. Marrying someone else not only gives me my father’s wealth, but it protects me from being forced to share the bed of a murderer. Yours is infinitely preferable.”
Yours is infinitely preferable. . . .
His bed. Julia Cameron in it, her glossy ebony hair spread over the linens, her luscious lips damp from his kisses, her breasts in his hands . . .
No, this is not the time to think with your cock, Robbie, my lad. . . . She is a delicious piece, but there are plenty of those to be had without the permanence of a wedding
.
Except for two ships. The loss had set him back years. Besides, a part of him knew his father, who had never fully recovered from his unfair imprisonment and died a few years ago, would want him to help his old friend’s daughter.
Damnation.
Still off balance, Robbie muttered, “I have been propositioned before, but this is unique. I congratulate you on the distinctive approach.”
Julia Cameron twirled her half-empty glass. “I will do whatever you wish if you will help me.”
“Don’t say that,” he protested darkly, unwillingly picturing again her lovely, slim body beneath him, her legs spread open to accommodate his need as he pushed inside her delectable warmth. . . . Would she be restrained and ladylike in bed, or sensual and responsive?
“Why not?” She frowned, too innocent, obviously, to understand the lascivious direction of his thoughts.
“Take my word.”
“Do you not find me attractive?”
That delicately asked question exacted an unwanted laugh. Hell, yes, he did, unfortunately, and it was currently clouding his thinking. “That isn’t the issue.”
“The issue being, I suppose, that you have a celebrated aversion to marriage.”
“I am only seven and twenty. Just because I am not wed does not mean I have an aversion to marriage, Miss Cameron. It’s just that I haven’t met the right . . .” He trailed off abruptly, having already said more than he intended, feeling a slight chagrin that was no doubt due to too much drink and too little sleep.
Her ebony brows rose above her lovely eyes. “Don’t tell me you are a romantic, Mr. McCray. Were you just about to tell me you haven’t met the right woman?”
“Hell,” he muttered, sipping his brandy, giving her a dark look. “Forget I said anything, will you?”
Julia Cameron laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. “This is just my luck. I offer myself, body and soul, to the most notorious rogue in Scotland and he refuses because he is secretly a sensitive, idealistic man who yearns for true love.”
She was being sarcastic, but it was close enough to the truth that Robbie growled defensively, “What of it? Marriage is supposed to be a holy union, and I, for one, have seen firsthand how happy it can make two people who are truly in love, not just lovers. My cousin Ian and his wife, Leanna, are a perfect example of actual wedded bliss. If I can find that for myself, I will grab it with both hands. Forgive me for not living up to your expectations of jaded indifference.”
The firelight shaded the hollows of her lovely face. With bitter humor, she responded, “This heretofore unknown facet of your personality is inconvenient to my purposes. Rumor has you seducing women, fighting duels, and drinking till dawn, all with legendary prowess.”
Considering his activities on this particular evening, that assessment was close enough to the truth. Robbie said neutrally, “Sometimes things are exaggerated.”
Her soft mouth thinned stubbornly. “What can I do to make you consider my bargain? Can you not imagine trading your illusion of a love match for financial stability and the opportunity to expand your family fortunes, not to mention acquiring more grazing land?”
“I would also acquire a wife,” he said pointedly, gazing at her with deliberate scrutiny. “And while your physical appearance is appealing, Miss Cameron, I know little else about you.”
“What do you need to know?” she countered coolly. “It is not as if I am asking you to live with me for any longer than it takes to settle things. A month or two and we can go our separate ways. You can have your ships and land, and I will be rid of Adain. I intend to build a house somewhere quiet, and as long as I have enough to live on comfortably, I don’t care if you take the rest.”
A month or two. Ships, and a month or two in her bed
. . .
“But we will be wed forever,” Robbie objected as he fought for a rational argument, his shoulder hard against the mantel. “It is not a matter to dismiss lightly. I am very fond of Ian and Leanna’s babes and want children of my own. What do you say to that?”
For the first time, her pale cheeks took on color. “I am surprised you don’t already have children.”
“The rumors aside, I am a careful man. I do not run around siring bastards.”
Obviously, she didn’t quite understand how one avoided such a thing, and her flush intensified with charming innocence. “You want . . . babies?”
“Absolutely.” If this was leverage to dissuade the very tempting but unrealistic Miss Cameron and deflect his own carnal urges, he’d press the point. Besides, it wasn’t a lie. He
did
want children someday. “I want a nursery full. Perhaps I stand as accused and am truly romantic down deep, but I do wish to have a large family.”
Her green eyes were luminous as she stared up at him. She stammered, “I—I suppose we could. . . . That is . . . I anticipated you would expect—”
“Often,” Robbie said flatly, taking silent pleasure in so flustering the determined young woman who had the audacity to come to him with such an unusual offer. He added softly, “Some things are
not
exaggerated. I have a very healthy sexual appetite. As my wife, I would expect you to accommodate me frequently.”
That should take care of the laird’s winsome daughter.
He was wrong.
Lifting her chin, she swallowed visibly, but said with unerringly firm conviction, “Fine, McCray. Do we have a deal?”
Hell and blast
. The truth was, he was tempted. Even without the ships . . .
she
was temptation incarnate. He’d always been partial to dark-haired lasses. His gaze traveled over her slender, shapely body once more, inspecting the tempting curve of her full bosom, the narrowness of her waist, the glorious contrast of her pale, perfect complexion to the raven silk of her hair. Taking his time, he studied her mouth, so soft and rosy, and pictured himself plundering inside, twining his tongue with hers, looking into those green eyes as he moved inside her wet heat when he took her.