Chapter Eight #2
Colin had been a soldier, fighting in the war against France. He’d returned to Dundee to find his family murdered and his home burned to the ground. He and Ewan had met when he came to petition the McCloud to help him find and punish the men responsible.
They’d worked together to do just that. Ewan had been so impressed by the man’s sharp wit and strategic mind, he’d tried to hire him.
But Colin had resisted. He had no intention of becoming a career criminal.
But when Ewan shared his plan to turn his enterprise to legitimate pursuits, Colin had jumped on board.
Many of their most profitable businesses flourished under his command. And Colin worked hard to make sure the activities stayed on the right side of the law.
They usually held their weekly meetings in his offices in Perth but since Ewan had moved his household to the Cloud—for the time being—Colin had come here.
Ewan sat through the report, only half attending the usual update about the mills, the shipping companies and, yes, the occasional gaming hell.
Gaming hells were fairly profitable concerns. But their true purpose on his slates was to make and strengthen valuable relationships in the ton—the connections he would need when Sophia made her debut. Personally, he despised gambling. Unless it was on business.
Because of those hells, he now had close personal friends who were barristers and lords. Powerful men owed him money and favors. He held them in abeyance. He would need them soon. The London social season began in January...
His brow furrowed, his belly clenched at the thought.
He would be married to Kaitlin by then.
Violet would be a fading memory.
He recalled their latest romp and a smile curled his lips. Well, that memory would never fade. It would be difficult letting her go when the time came. He didn’t want to contemplate how difficult.
But her cousin was a duke. He would surely demand her return—
His brain seized.
Her cousin was a duke.
What if...
The ridiculous hope died a nasty death. What duke in his right mind—who did not owe him a very large sum of money—would hand over his virginal cousin to a man with Ewan’s reputation?
It would hardly matter that his reputation had been very carefully cultivated, that most of the sins attributed to him were bold-faced lies.
Reputations were reputations, regardless of the truth behind them.
That Violet was hardly virginal—anymore—did not signify.
She was Quality. And despite his wealth, his success in nearly every corner of the market, he was not.
He was the illegitimate son of a maid. A disgraced maid at that.
Even if this duke-cousin would allow a union between them, society would not. An association with the notorious Scottish McCloud would only drag Violet’s name and reputation through the mud.
He would ruin her. More than he already had.
No. When the time came to let her go, he would. As much as it would curl the edges of his soul, he would.
“Goddamn it, Ewan. Are you listening?” Colin glowered at him over the account book from which he was reciting.
“Of course.”
“The hell you were.” He slammed the book closed. “I don’t know why I bother to try to keep you informed.”
Ewan sucked his teeth. “Neither do I. You always do well with or without my consent.”
“Well, we’ve covered enough.” He fixed Ewan with an intent stare. Intent enough to make Ewan fidget.
“What?”
“You had me wait quite a while for you.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t. Not in the least.
“I had a chance to chat with the lads.”
“And?” This wasn’t small talk, not quite. He wished Colin would get to the point. He wanted to finish up this meeting and find Violet. Maybe steal a kiss.
“This girl? This prisoner you’re holding here?”
“Aye?” His voice became suddenly clipped.
“The boys are saying, well...word is you’re fucking her.”
Ewan glared at Colin. The man was his best friend, his confidant. He didn’t care for the glint in his eye. Or his tone. “Who I’m fucking is my own business.”
“She’s a lady. Of Quality.”
She hadn’t been much of a lady this morning, warbling in his ear. Clenching his cock with that tight, warm—
He scuttled the thought. She was a lady. She deserved to be treated like one.
He would. Tonight...
“They feel, if you’re fucking her, they should be able to as well.”
His gut seized. The hell! He glared through the open door into the great room.
Who was it? Was it Rory? Tavish? Craig? He’d string them up by the apples.
Unable to sit still, he pushed back his chair and paced.
“This is hardly a democracy,” he snapped.
And Ewan St. Andrews McCloud did not fucking share.
Colin sighed. “I’m just saying, if you want them to keep their distance, you’d better stake a public claim. Let them know she’s off-limits. You know these men. They would follow you into hell. But they’re not exactly gentlemen. If they see her as free game, they’ll take her.”
Rage sizzled, prickled his skin. “If any one of them touches her, I’ll skin him alive.”
“Tell them that.” Colin sat back and laced his fingers over his belly and studied Ewan with a steady gaze. “I thought she—what’s her name?”
“Violet.” Violet. And she was his.
“I thought this girl was just a means to an end.”
“She is,” Ewan snapped. He didn’t mean to snap. Hell, he didn’t mean the words. But he was furious. She had been a means to an end at first—nothing more. But that had changed. Last night everything had changed. And he—
A small, strangled sound at the door captured his attention. He spun around and froze. Violet, with a tray in her hands, stood there rooted in place, staring at him. Her eyes were wide, beautiful, flooded with an emotion he couldn’t bear to define.
“Y-your breakfast,” she whispered. She made her way into the office, walking stiffly, slowly, as though she had to will her muscles to move.
Ah, fuck. She’d heard. She’d heard everything. It would be hell talking his way out of this. She set the tray on the table and, without meeting his simmering stare, fled.
Shit.
Ewan glared at Colin, who chuckled. “Go on,” he said. “You’d better go after her.”
Raking his hair—though it hardly helped—Ewan did.