Laird of Longing: Regency Romance Read online

  Ewan’s breath held in his chest. Her hair curled around her face like a halo. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. She could have been from a painting or sent from Heaven itself.

  “She is the Duchess of Devonhall.”

  Sophie gasped then, her hands covering her face. “Oh, she’s so beautiful. I met her once not long ago.”

  Not as beautiful as you. “As it happens, she also kens what it means to be in a desperate situation. I think she’ll help ye.”

  And then Sophie did the very thing she ought not to have done. She threw herself at him, winding her arms about his neck as her body molded to his.

  While her new attire hid her feminine figure from view, it did very little to hide how her curves felt as she pressed against him. Every soft swell of her body was his to experience. She molded to him, her breasts pushing against his chest, her pelvis to his. He’d never held a woman of her height in his arms and damned if he didn’t enjoy it. But her words pulled him back from his thoughts.

  “Thank you,” she gushed in his ear. “Thank you so much.”

  He reached for her waist to push her away, but somehow, when he grabbed the narrowest part of her body, he found himself pulling her closer rather than doing as he ought. “Ye’re welcome,” he answered gruffly. Or he tried to be gruff. But her hair was tickling his nose, smelling of fresh soap and a hint of lilac. How was that possible? There was surely nothing lilac-scented on a ship full of men.

  She leaned back then, her arms still about his neck, her chin tipped up to his. “I’ll find a way to repay you, Laird Ewan McLaren. I don’t know how but I know I will.”

  “Ye don’t need to repay—”

  “Oh but I do,” she said quickly, tightening her arms about his neck. “Fate brought me to this ship. I’m sure of it. And fate will show me how I need to help you.”

  Help him? His hands were still at her waist, the slender curve of it filling his large palms. He should push her away. But she was achingly warm and soft… “I don’t need any help.”

  She blinked then, her face cocking a bit to the side. “Everyone needs help sometimes. It’s just a matter of knowing what to give.”

  He closed his eyes. He had to get away from Lady Sophie Everclear. Quickly.

  Ewan had a plan for his future. He’d take that nice trip to France or Barbados after the hell of the last six months. He’d come back and run his business and then he’d marry when he had one foot close to the grave. If he were dying anyhow, it wouldn’t matter that the marriage was miserable.

  But looking down into Sophie’s gaze, other ideas started dancing in his mind.

  Stupid ideas about marrying her himself. Tucking her in his bed and keeping her safe from that ass of a father as he pummeled the man who’d dared to mar such perfection.

  “Sophie,” he rumbled. “What is the name of yer intended?”

  She jerked away from him, the open happiness in her eyes, dimming the way one might blow out a lit candle. “He’s not my intended.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Fair point. Who is the man who attacked ye?”

  “Mr. Maxwell Hughes,” she said, wrapping her arms about her waist.

  He reached out a hand, and without thought, began rubbing her arm in light comfort. Even though inside, he wanted to hit things hard, breaking them with his fist. Because he actually knew the man who’d done this to her.

  In fact, if he weren’t mistaken, Hughes had been on the list of potential thieves. Not one of the men Ewan had investigated but his partner, Dishonor, had been working to root out the people stealing from them as well and Dishonor had compiled a list of names. The names had been given to the crown and the Prince Regent had rounded up any men he could prove were involved.

  But Hughes was clearly still free.

  He drew in a deep breath as he looked down at Sophie.

  “Why do you ask?” she whispered, worrying her lip once again. He had the urge to brush his thumb along the plump flesh. Partially to brush away her worries but also because he wished to feel the supple skin under his rougher skin. “About Mr. Hughes?”

  “No reason.” This time he lied. He was far better at the act than she was. Six months of living under a false identity in order to infiltrate a criminal network made a man good at deception. He’d lied for months on end that he was a criminal, and not one of the outlaws had suspected his true identity.

  So when he said no reason, what he actually meant was that if he ever found Maxwell Hughes, he’d make certain the man paid for what he’d done. In fact, Ewan just might seek out the wretch on his very next trip to London.

  Chapter Four

  Sophie woke, stretching in the bed. The mattress was thick and comfortable, a real luxury after two nights of sleeping on the floor between crates.

  Her head popped up at the thought. Because Laird McLaren had opted to stay in the cabin but sleep on the floor.

  He’d claimed after the stir she’d caused among the men, he didn’t wish to leave her alone.

  He’d left already, his blankets neatly folded in a corner. He’d been a perfect gentleman the night before, setting up a makeshift bed on the other side of the room.

  Blinking, she realized the sun was already high in the sky; clearly she’d slept away a fair bit of the morning. Truth be told, she’d been exhausted.

  A tray of food sat on the table, and she squinted at it, surprised it hadn’t slid from the surface. Scrubbing her face, she noted the boat had slowed to a very gentle rocking, no longer pitching wildly.

  She tossed the covers back, crossing to the toast and porridge. Despite what she’d eaten last night, she was famished this morning and she reached for the toast, taking a large bite.

  Even cold, she crunched through the entire piece and picked up another before she turned toward one of the portholes in the captain’s quarters.

  But it wasn’t blue sky and water that met her gaze as she’d expected. Instead, several buildings packed tightly together filled her view. They were in port.

  Which one she couldn’t say.

  But it was a place. And that place wasn’t London. Her brows rose as she trained her ears. While voices filtered into the cabin, she realized they were from the docks, not the deck. Was anyone still on board? Was she alone?

  She dropped her hand from her face, still clutching the toast.

  She could disappear here.

  Leave the ship and blend into the crowd and…

  What?

  She’d done this once already. Run without thinking. She’d been fortunate, she had to confess. While Ewan McLaren might not have been the friendliest man—in fact, he’d been rather surly and grumpy—he’d also been a perfect gentleman.

  Kind even. She’d been fed, clothed, and placed in a warm comfortable bed.

  Still, how long would that last and could she trust his plan to send her to his cousin? What if they just returned her to father?

  That thought made her muscles twitch with the need to run.

  Not even a duke could take away her father’s rights.

  And if she married another, could her father have the match annulled?

  Her heart beat faster and faster in her chest.

  She set the toast back on the plate, her appetite gone as she paced to the porthole. Where were they? Were they in England still?

  Closing her eyes, she tried to discern words from the babble of voices. Were their accents Scottish or English?

  The door opened and she spun around, a gasp falling from her lips.

  Ewan stood in the doorway, a large parcel in his hands.

  “I didnae mean to frighten ye, lass.” Ewan said as he closed the door behind him.

  She drew in a deep breath, slowly releasing it again, in an attempt to slow her thrumming pulse. “The fault is mine. I let…” She’d been about to say she’d allowed her thoughts to run wild. But she didn’t need to share more of her fear with him. Instead, she should try and learn something from this conversation. “I slept so late,
I’ve lost all track of time or place.”

  “It’s nearly midday.” He looked over at the tray of food, nearly untouched. “And ye’ve yet to eat.”

  Her shoulders dropped a notch. Clearly, this man was looking out for her wellbeing. She reached down and picked up another piece of toast, then took a large bite. “I was tired,” she said by way of answer. “Thank you for allowing me the use of the bed. Tonight, I will happily sleep on the floor.”

  “Ye will not,” he answered with a grimace. “Ye’ll sleep in the bed. I am used to sleeping in less-than-ideal conditions.”

  Gratitude flooded through her. She’d been so fortunate to happen upon this ship. Had she been contemplating leaving? This was likely the best place for her, at least until they arrived in Scotland. She’d like an entire country between her and Hughes. “That is most generous.”

  He made a single-sound acceptance, somewhere between a grunt and a snort. “I’m not generous. Part of me still thinks I ought to have tossed ye over. I’m going to have a terrible time with stowaways after this.”

  She smiled. Even after a day, she knew without a doubt this man wouldn’t hurt her. But as she depended upon him completely, it was foolish to point that out. Instead, she placed a hand over her chest. “I swear never to tell a soul that you are honorable and kind.”

  “Ridiculous,” he muttered but she could have sworn that the corners of his mouth tugged a bit. He set the parcel down on the bed and tapped the top of the wrapped bundle. “I brought ye some more appropriate clothing.”

  She raised her brows, but didn’t speak. Was he actually attempting to argue he was not generous and upstanding in the same breath that he’d brought supplies for her? “Thank you most kindly.” And despite her sailor’s clothing, she dipped into a curtsy. “I shall find a way to repay your kindness.”

  He gave her a long look. “It is not my kindness ye should be thanking. I watched my cousins act with a generosity that left me perplexed. I do believe they’ve rubbed off on me.” His frown deepened as though he weren’t sure he was happy about this turn of events.

  The smallest laugh escaped her lips. “Whatever the reason, I am sincerely grateful.” Then she took a breath. “These are the cousins you mean to ask to help me?”

  He canted his head. “We’ve not time to drop ye on the way to Scotland. We’re due in Edinburgh in two days’ time, and I’ve got a schedule to keep. But on the return trip, we’ll stop.”

  “Where are we now?” she asked, fiddling with the hem of her rough-hewn shirt. Her chin dropped and her braid fell over her shoulder. She nearly huffed at herself. Even the most basic of deceptions seemed to plague her. She was unlikely to leave the ship at this point, but she wanted to know their location in case…

  In case it was time for her to find a new path to freedom.

  He looked at her. Her chin, which had been high their entire conversation, was now tucked into her chest.

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. The woman could not speak falsely to save her life. Literally. Her very life was in the balance and she could not let out a single falsehood without a tell.

  He shook his head. He wasn’t judging her overly much. In fact, he liked her honesty. He found it endearing to a fault. He knew what he should do in this situation. Toss her over the side, or at the very least, send her into town without a backward glance. What had he done instead? Given her his bed, bought her gifts, allowed her to sleep late, insisted that she eat.

  He was the worst sort of fool. Even now he wished to hook a finger under her chin and lift her face. Tell her to hold her head high again because she’d nothing to fear, he’d care for her.

  He scrubbed the back of his neck. Ridiculous. “We’re in a port town called Grimsby.”

  “Grimsby?” she asked, her head lifting and her pert little nose wrinkling. It was sweet and a touch sexy, if he was being honest. “What a dreadful name.”

  He nodded. “It’s about as good as it sounds. I wouldn’t recommend jumping ship here.”

  “I wasn’t. That is to say, I only thought…I…” Her voice tapered off.

  The color drained from her face and he stepped closer, afraid she might faint. “Sophie,” he rumbled, a gentle hand touching her elbow. She flinched despite the gentleness of his touch and he hated the man who’d hurt her even more. “I’m not making an accusation.”

  She gave a tentative nod, her face going paler still. “I appreciate your help so much, but I don’t want to wear out my welcome. You owe me nothing.”

  “Sit,” he said, not wanting to continue to touch her but also afraid she might fall over. “And eat. We’ve clearly got more to discuss.”

  She did as he bid, automatically taking another bite of her toast. He narrowed his gaze. He didn’t know exactly what Hughes had done to her, but he knew it was terrible. She was naturally obedient, sunny, and straightforward. To have run, it must have been awful. A new wave of anger washed over him.

  “Tell me,” he started. “Do ye not like porridge?”

  “I like it just fine,” she answered, setting down the toast and picking up a spoon. She dipped it into the porridge.

  “While ye eat, allow me to list the reasons ye should stay on my boat.”

  The spoon stopped halfway to her mouth and he waved his hand to indicate she should eat more. She did as he bid.

  “First,” he held up a finger. “I’ll keep ye safe. While ye are on this boat, no one will physically hurt ye. Frankly, ye took a large risk boarding a ship full of men.”

  She gave a tentative nod. “I understand.”

  She likely did. But he shuddered to think what might have happened to her if he hadn’t intervened. “Second, I’ve told all the men ye are actually a relation of mine and that’s why ye picked this boat. I hadn’t seen ye since childhood, so I didn’t immediately recognize ye. If they’re talking about ye in port right now, ye are a distant Carrington, an English relative, and a natural part of the business.”

  She gasped. “That is very smart.”

  He frowned. “I am far better at subterfuge than ye, so leave the lies to me. Ye should be honest with me from here on out. Ye’ve nothing to fear from me.”

  That sweet smile touched her face again. “Very well.” Then her brows drew together. “Why are you so good at it?”

  He shook his head. “That’s a story fer another time. Now. As my distant cousin, ye are free to move about the boat and dress in a manner becoming of lady of yer station. I’d recommend ye not choose the ballgown.”

  Her soft laugh tickled his ear, sending a ripple of pleasure down his limbs.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then she leaned forward. “You may burn that gown if you like. Throw it overboard. Make a sail from it.”

  He shook his head. “Terrible sail material.” But inside, he sensed the tension under her words. She didn’t like that gown. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask more details about the night she’d boarded his ship, but he let it be. Did he really need to be more emotionally invested in her plight?

  He should have allowed her to slip from his boat today, disappear into the crowd, but he couldn’t. He cared what happened to her. Damn it all to hell.

  “Do ye mind if I gift it to one of the men? Some have wives who could use such fine cloth.”

  She nodded. “That suits me just fine.” Then she looked over at the package on the bed. “Thank you for the gift.”

  “Ye’re welcome,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I’ll leave ye this cabin at night, but I hope ye’ll understand that I need it some during the day…”

  Her spoon dropped into her porridge. “You’ll not sleep here?”

  “It doesn’t seem…” He’d been about to say proper. How very English of him.

  But she shifted in her seat and then leaned forward. “Is it more comfortable for you to sleep elsewhere?”

  “Nay.” Truth be told, he hated the hammocks the sailors used in rotation for beds. “I just thought—”

 
She reached out a hand and touched his arm. Her touch was so light, he barely felt it, and yet his muscles turned to granite under her fingers. “In that case, I’d prefer if you’d stay. I feel safer…” Her voice trailed off from a quiet whisper to nothing.

  That male instinct, the one that would never allow him to hurt a hair on her head but demanded he pummel Hughes into the ground, rose like bile in his throat. She needed protection and, honestly, she was his to protect. At least for the moment. “I’ll stay.”

  Her relief was palpable as her fingers settled more fully on his skin. Her lips spread into a smile even as her shoulders slumped. “Thank you, Laird McLaren. I appreciate it so much.”

  “Ewan,” he replied, his voice rougher than he intended. “We’re family, remember?”

  “Family,” she repeated. “If you were my family, you wouldn’t be nearly so noble.”

  She jested. He knew it. What was more, it wasn’t the first time she’d used humor to deflect discomfort. Color rose in her cheeks as she looked away again. His given name caused her some measure of discomfort. “Surely some of yer family must be good. Ye’re the least capable liar I’ve ever met.”

  Her brows rose at that. “My mother and I are exactly alike, I suppose. But be glad you’re not acquainted with my father.”

  Ewan didn’t respond. Not because he didn’t understand. He did. Far too well. Which was why he needed to deliver Sophie Everclear to the Duke and Duchess of Devonhall posthaste.

  Chapter Five

  Sophie shifted as she stared at Ewan. She’d asked this perfect stranger to continue to share her room. She’d revealed personal information about her family, her fears. What was wrong with her?

  It had to be the situation in which she found herself.

  Or the man himself.

  Ewan had this way of making her feel safe. He was large, and grumbly, but also attractive, kind, and gentlemanly. He made her feel at ease in the most tenuous time in her entire life.

  “Why don’t I give ye time to change and then I can take ye on a walk about the deck?” he asked, his face unreadable. “Exercise and fresh air would be good fer ye.”