Page 1 of Utterly Dauntless (Return to Culloden Moor #3)

CHAPTER ONE

T he hour was late. Grey reckoned he ought to let the lass sleep, but he wouldn't. The chase was finally at an end, and though he was weary himself and would like nothing more than a bracing drink and a quick scoot off to a bed of his own, he couldn't risk it. She might slink away again.

Nae. It has to be now.

She'd made a mistake, had used a credit card this time. After years of evading him, she must have assumed he'd given up the hunt. The more fool she.

He studied the hotel through the rain-streaked window of his hired car while he gathered his gumption. The Grand stood majestically along Brighton's seafront. Her massive pale facade stretched up seven floors into the dark sky. Row upon row of tall windows marched symmetrically across her face, most of it dark except for a few scattered lights that glowed behind closed curtains.

The ornate Victorian architecture spoke of an era when buildings were meant to impress with detailed stonework, wide bay windows, and decorative wrought iron on the balconies. The entrance commanded attention with its strange front of green glass and the illuminated sign that simply read, "Grand."

When Grey finally crossed the street and pushed through the revolving door, the lobby hit him with both a warmth and welcome he hadn't expected at such an hour. His boots clicked across the polished marble floor that led to an impressive reception desk. Behind it, a sleepy clerk eyed him warily. The soaring ceiling and crystal chandeliers spoke of old-world luxury, though the lights had been dimmed in respect for the time of night.

The walls were adorned with elegant moldings and ornate wallpaper. But his attention was caught by the grand staircase that swept upward, its elaborate railings gleaming softly in the low light. Had the lass chosen this place for its historic grandeur or its location beside the sea?

Wide-girthed columns rose from floor to ceiling, and though the massive fireplaces stood cold and dark at that hour, their marble mantles still impressed. The sound of rain on the tall windows was broken only by the quiet hum of modern climate control and the gentle snoring of an elderly man who'd fallen asleep in one of the plush chairs scattered about the space.

Grey caught the subtle scent of polish and leather as he approached the desk with a friendly smile. "Went fer a wee walk and forgot to take a key along. Room 420. Dinnae wish to wake m' wife, ye ken."

The man blinked himself awake. "A walk? In this?" He pointed to the closest window, the view through which was blocked by a million dots of rain.

"Aye, and why not. Fine Scottish weather clears the mind."

The bloke made a face, typed in the number, and squinted at his screen. "Mr. Davies, is it?"

Davies? Why would she use a different name than on her card? But he had to trust the information he'd been given, and that the captain of Wickham Muir's guard, Kitchens, knew what he was about. "Davies, Aye."

The man ran a card through his wee machine and handed it over. "We hope you and Mrs. Davies are enjoying your honeymoon."

Grey smiled harder. "We are and thank ye."

He took the staircase, determined to work off some of his boiling rage. Better to be winded before laying his hands on the real Mr. Davies. If Aries was truly there on honeymoon, Grey would make good and certain there was neither sweetness nor honey to it—at least not that night.

Unfortunately for the man on the other side of the door, Grey reached #420 with plenty of breath in his chest and plenty of vice in his grip as he slid the card smoothly through the slot. The lock beeped, and the light turned green. He depressed the handle and pushed inside like a North Sea wave. A light in the loo showed a clear path to the bedside. Better that way. He wouldn't want to throttle the wrong body—at least not yet.

He leaned over the bed and breathed down on the man. No, it was a lad. A mere lad! A poor excuse for a beard barely cast a shadow on the pimpled jaw. What had Aries been thinking?

How does one drag a laddie out of bed? Well, by the ear, of course.

With half his attention on the womanly form on the far side, Grey grabbed the man-child's ear and, with a suitable amount of pressure and lift, insisted he stand forthwith.

The nuisance yowled and sucked wind through his flappy, overused lips whilst he tried to see out the back of his head to find who dared assault him.

"Aries, awake. Find me a sack to stuff this pup into, there's a good lass."

The woman—or child, rather—gasped once, sat up, and began to scream. Clearly, she was not Aries, for Aries couldn't have hit those high notes had she been tossed into an icy sea. In addition, there were a few things missing. Besides her remarkable dark hair that found its way into Grey's dreams far too often, there were a pair of things that couldn't possibly be hidden beneath the sheet now smashed flat against the young lassie's chest.

"Ye're not Aries," He barked, when the lass took a breath.

She started another scream but stopped suddenly to glare at the lad dancing nude while trying to free his ear. " Whooo is Aries?"

Grey lost interest immediately upon realizing that his prey wasn't anywhere inside the room. But he could still find answers.

Since the lad looked as if he might pass out, he took hold of the other ear and released the first. "Tell me who let the room for the night."

The pup bit his bottom lip.

"I'll advise ye to tell the truth."

"Dunno. I entered a draw-ring ...and won."

The girl gasped again. It seemed she'd been led to believe something different. Likely something far more romantic than, "Hey, I've got a free night at The Grand. Are ye up fer it?"

"How did they contact ye?"

A tighter pinch brought another yowl. "How do ye think? All anonymous, yeah?"

Grey turned him loose, gave the lass a quick nod of apology without giving her a second look, and excused himself. They were already arguing before the door closed, so the pup wouldn’t be coming after him. Surely, he wouldn't care to risk one of his sore ears again.

"Damn ye, Aries," Grey grumbled aloud, knowing that somewhere on God's green earth, she would be imagining exactly what had just transpired.

And she would be laughing.

Grey took the lift to the lobby, not wishing to spend another second in that hotel than absolutely necessary.

As he crossed toward the revolving doors, the porter waved at him. "You Mr. Strachan, sir?"

He noticed the phone in the young man's hand. "I am."

"A lady would like a word, sir."

For the length of a heartbeat, he hesitated. But if he had to choose between her mocking laughter and no sound of her voice at all, he'd choose the former every time, damn her.

He closed the distance and took the offered cell phone. "Hello, Aries."

"Grey." The silence was a mix of torture and bliss. At least she wasn't laughing. "Why on earth are you still looking for me?"

"Because I wouldnae wish to disappoint ye." He regretted the whisper instantly and sought for better control of himself. "Had I not come, ye'd have been weepin' in yer tea."

Another long stretch of silence then, during which they breathed in and out...together.

"Let it go," she said quietly. "The woman you want doesn't exist anymore. I've changed. You wouldn't like me like this."

"Like what, exactly."

"I'm not the witch you fell in love with all those years ago. You wouldn't recognize me."

"Not so many years."

He'd found her once, on a beach in Italy. She'd given in then, or so he'd thought. Said she was ready to stop pretending she could ever live without him. Had taken him back into her arms, had held on so tight how could he help but believe her? They'd spent two glorious days and nights together. Just long enough for the pieces of his heart to fall back into place, for the cracks to start filling in...

Then she slipped that heart, still beating, into her bag as she left in the night, quiet as a shadow. Shadow on shadow, there in the dark, and then gone…as if she'd never been there at all.

He'd drunk the bar dry before his friends came to collect him and take him back to Scotland. He'd made a phone call he never remembered making. And by the time they'd reached Inverness, he'd convinced himself the encounter had been nothing more than a dream he'd conjured. His friends still teased him about his powerful imagination.

"No," her voice pulled him out of that memory. "Not so many years, I guess."

And just like that, this web of delusion he'd woven dissolved like candy floss in the rain. He hadn’t imagined Italy, which means she had, in truth, left him a second time.

"Ye picked a pretty place," he said smoothly, hoping to seduce her with his voice as she was seducing him with hers. "I'll tarry a while, if ye'd like to join me..."

She sighed. "I'm a thousand miles away." Then her voice hardened. "But like I said, I'm not her anymore. You're in love with a ghost—" She caught her breath, realizing the irony.

"I suppose that makes two of us."