Free Daring by Jillian Hunter Page B

with the aristocratic disdain which reduced him to the social equivalent of a snail, and which, over the past few decades, had gotten most of her ancestors beheaded. “I am Marguerite Marie-Antoinette de Saint-Evremond. In deference to the Scottish side of the family, I go by the name Maggie Saunders. Not,” she added as an afterthought, “that it’s any of your business.”

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter
    6
     
    C onnor squeezed back against the railing to allow the procession of servants to pass him on the stairs. He, the master of the house, had ceased to exist. His staff barely spared him a glance. They were too busy vying for the honor of serving the courageous woman who had single-handedly taken on the kidnappers. It was the talk of the whole street, if not the city. Her brave act had taken on epic proportions.
    Towels, heated water, pots of tea, Norah’s nightclothes. Not a luxury was denied the dubious heroine who, against Connor’s ignored complaints, had been installed in the recently refurbished guest chamber.
    “Oh, sir, would you mind carrying these before I ruin ’em?” a chambermaid said over a mound of pillows, struggling to thrust a bouquet of scraggly Michaelmas daisies at him. “It’s the best we could do at such short notice to brighten the poor mite’s room. You must be so proud of her, sir, trying to save your sister.”
    Stunned, Connor stuffed the flowers under his arm as the maid barreled around him. “This woman has had a very unsettling effect on my entire household,” he explained to the bewildered young Welsh police inspector who tried to follow him up the crowded stairs. “Not that either my family or my staff go out of their way to respect my wishes, but her presence has definitely made things worse.”
    “I can see that, my lord.” The inspector leaned his halberd against the banister. “Were she and your missing sister acquainted by any chance?”
    Connor paused. “Not that I know of, but you’ve brought up a good point. A connection between the housebreaking and Sheena’s abduction did cross my mind. You’ll have to question the girl in depth. I’m afraid my first reaction was impulsive, and probably not wise. I tried to follow the carriage on horseback, but it had already disappeared. No one I questioned on the way had even seen it. I should have kept my head and summoned help right away.”
    “Few of us know how we would react in such circumstances, sir.”
    Connor’s expression was grim. “Perhaps, but I should have known better.”
    He led Inspector Davies to the luxurious suite of interconnecting rooms usually reserved for the families of visiting judges or Members of Parliament. It might have been occupied by a foreign princess for all the excitement buzzing through the house. Connor would have been amused at any other time.
    “Take heart, sir,” Davies said, reassuring him again. “We’re having all the seaports watched and the city gates barricaded. Your colleague Donaldson has already provided us with a list of known criminals and felons with a grudge against you. Your sister will turn up in time.”
    “I hope to God you’re right,” Connor said. “She could be anywhere by now.”
    His face dark with worry, he opened the door. The sight that greeted him briefly wiped every other thought from his mind.
    Maggie reclined amidst a sea of lace-embroidered pillows in the middle of a lofty four-poster bed with feathered finials, accepting all the attention as if she were Cleopatra on her royal barge. She looked perfectly natural in her luxurious surroundings. She looked more at home than Connor had ever felt in this fussy room with its gilt-lacquered wardrobe and flocked wallpaper depicting angels and frolicking shepherdesses.
    His uncle sat at her bedside, discussing his travels. Ardath was arranging a pink silk ribbon around the bandage on the little usurper’s head. Bella and Norah were trying to decide which wrapper Maggie should wear over her nightrail.