Page 39

Her turbulent umber eyes rounded impossibly wider, vulnerability and an unspoken question in their depths at the endearment. “I canna help but fret.”

She was his sweetheart. Aye, and more. Much more, despite his determination otherwise. He started to turn away, but she clasped his forearm. “Liam?”

He turned back, eyebrows taut.

To his utter astonishment and delight, she scooted across the seat and pressed a soft kiss to his scarred cheek. The puckered flesh throbbed where her sweet mouth had touched the bunched flesh. She laid a hand on his other clean-shaven cheek.

“I couldna bear it if somethin’ happened to ye. Nothin’ in there,” she gestured toward the quaint shop entrance, “is worth ye riskin’ yer life for. Nothin’.” Her grip on his forearm tightened.

His heart was so full, he wanted to shout his jubilation from Eytone Hall’s gables. Instead, he slid an arm around her slender shoulders, drawing her near, and kissed her deeply and thoroughly. She collapsed into him, returning the kiss with inexperienced enthusiasm.

The blood rushing in his ears, he harnessed his passion. Caution and common sense demanded they stop. When he finally raised his head, he gritted his teeth against the lust surging through his loins.

Emeline’s eyelids fluttered open, and she gifted him a radiant smile. The luster of her sweetly curved lips toppled his resolve. As always, her loveliness clobbered him with the force of a bludgeon, but it was the unguarded affection shimmering in her innocent gaze that shook his foundation.

Now wasn’t the time to contemplate the revelation, however. Retrieving the documents and whatever else she deemed necessary, as well as keeping her safe, were his primary concerns. He would consider this unexpected, but highly prized, discovery later. When he’d completed this self-appointed mission.

Unbeknownst to her, he and his six friends had set a trap for her assailants. If all went as anticipated, she’d be freed from the fear that had dogged her since that fateful afternoon she’d almost been murdered.

He recalled, again, how brave and majestic she’d been facing down her attackers that day. A seasoned battlefield warrior couldn’t have been more courageous.

Whoever the scoundrel was hunting her, he had resources and money. Besides the drivers Liam had killed, there had also been the two men who’d been snooping around Killeaggian Tower. God only knew how many others were in his employ and undoubtedly, watching Le Chic Modiste even now.

The carriage door swung open, and canting his head to the driver—also armed—Liam descended. He deliberately stood in the opening, blocking any curious passersby or would-be assassins’ view of the interior. With indolent casualness, he yawned and through hooded eyes, scrutinized the area.

“Stay alert,” he advised the coachmen. “And be in your seat, ready to leave the instant we emerge from the shop.”

“Aye, sir,” the driver said, his sharp-eyed gaze scanning the area.

Liam wrinkled his nose. Edinburgh stank.

Overpopulated and crowded, the city was a cesspool of excrement, rodents, and refuse. Nonetheless, pedestrian strolled along, occasionally picking their way around or stepping neatly over rubbish or horse manure.

Equestrians clattered past atop their mounts. A variety of conveyances rumbled up and down the busy street, and grubby, thin-faced urchins darted here and there.

Making a show of examining the sullen clouds for signs of rain, he tilted his head upward. He took note of the rooftops, some stacked six stories high in the distance. Whomever spied upon Jeneva LeClaire’s shop did so discreetly. At least thus far.

Armed in much the same manner as he, except they also bore firearms, Graeme and Camden Kennedy sauntered forward. Every one of the Highlanders he’d asked to assist him had done so without hesitation.

After exchanging a casual greeting for the benefit of anyone spying upon them, the threesome formed a semi-circle before the open coach door.

The coachman assumed a position halfway between the shop and the conveyance while the other driver, atop his seat, swept his keen gaze back and forth, focused and alert.

“Come, Emeline.” Liam reached his hand inside the equipage, and she placed her palm in his, permitting him to assist her to the ground. The trio immediately closed ranks around her, making it impossible for anyone to approach. The men boasted large frames, and while Emeline wasn’t petite, they dwarfed her as they moved as one to the entrance.

“Berget sends her greetin’, Miss LeClaire,” Graeme said with a kind quirk of his mouth. “She hopes ye’ll pay a visit soon.”

Leave it to him to try to put Emeline at ease.

Face pinched and appearing as if she might cast up her breakfast, she fashioned a small smile in response.

Inserting the key into the brass lock, Liam’s brows crashed together. The catch had been forced. He cast Graeme a sidelong look, saying out the side of his mouth, “The lock is broken. Someone’s been here before us.”