Claiming His Defiant Miss

  Seduced by her bodyguard!

  Aristocrat’s daughter May Worth is beautiful, headstrong...and in trouble. There’s only one man who can protect her: Liam Casek, her brother’s best friend, a government agent and the man whose sinfully seductive touch she’s never forgotten.

  Rakish Liam always knew May’s wild beauty would be the death of him, but if he’s to protect her with his life, he’s damned if he’ll deny their still-sizzling chemistry! May is everything Liam wants—if only he dares claim this defiant miss for his own.

  Wallflowers to Wives

  Out of the shadows, into the marriage bed!

  In Regency England, young women were defined by their prospects in the marriage market. But what of the girls who were presented to Society...and not snapped up?

  Bronwyn Scott invites you to

  The Left Behind Girls Club

  Three years after their debut and still without rings on their fingers, Claire Welton, Evie Milham, May Worth and Beatrice Penrose are ready to leave the shadows and step into the light. Now London will have to prepare itself...because these overlooked girls are about to take the ton by storm!

  Read Claire’s story in

  Unbuttoning the Innocent Miss

  Read Evie’s story in

  Awakening the Shy Miss

  Read May’s story in

  Claiming His Defiant Miss

  Available now!

  And watch for Bea’s story

  Marrying the Rebellious Miss—

  coming soon!

  Author Note

  May and Liam’s tale is a coming-of-age story at its core, which makes it a very relatable story line. It explores the practicalities of what it takes for love to survive. Is physical passion enough? There’s young love thwarted by the ‘wisdom’ of older minds—May’s father and by a healthy dose of caution on May’s part. There’s the issue of surviving change. We are not who we were at seventeen—how does love survive when we change? These are the issues May and Liam deal with as former sweethearts who are reunited under unexpected circumstances.

  These were interesting aspects to explore not only against a Regency backdrop, where family and reputation are everything, but also a timeless issue to explore in today’s world, where we are beset with technologies that make reconnection more possible than ever. One marketing site points out modern high school sweethearts who marry in their teens only have a 54% chance of that marriage lasting ten years. Only 2% of high schoolers who marry their sweetheart go on to get a college education. I think that’s what would have happened to May and Liam, Regency-style, if she had married him the first time he asked. May recognizes that while she loves him, there are things like family and her own sense of independence she has to sort out first before she can be a successful partner. Only when May and Liam know themselves can they fully engage the love they have for one another.

  I hope you enjoy their journey. I invite you to come post your thoughts about first love and your own love journeys at bronwynswriting.blogspot.com.

  Claiming His

  Defiant Miss

  Bronwyn Scott is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children—one boy and two girls. When she’s not teaching or writing, she enjoys playing the piano, traveling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages. Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, bronwynnscott.com, or at her blog, bronwynswriting.blogspot.com. She loves to hear from readers.

  Books by Bronwyn Scott

  Harlequin Historical

  and Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks

  Wallflowers to Wives

  Unbuttoning the Innocent Miss

  Awakening the Shy Miss

  Claiming His Defiant Miss

  Rakes on Tour

  Rake Most Likely to Rebel

  Rake Most Likely to Thrill

  Rake Most Likely to Seduce

  Rake Most Likely to Sin

  Rakes of the Caribbean

  Playing the Rake’s Game

  Breaking the Rake’s Rules

  Craving the Rake’s Touch (Undone!)

  Rakes Who Make Husbands Jealous

  Secrets of a Gentleman Escort

  London’s Most Wanted Rake

  An Officer But No Gentleman (Undone!)

  A Most Indecent Gentleman (Undone!)

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002

  For Catie, Tonia and my Brony who came up with the name for this hero. Thanks for helping me create a memorable hero. And to all the girls out there, if there’s one lesson I want you to have from this story, it’s that love will find you—sometimes you just have to wait.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Secret Marriage Pact by Georgie Lee

  Chapter One

  Preston Worth might very well die this time. Liam Casek stripped off his shirt and tore away a wide strip with an efficiency born of too much experience—he’d patched up Preston more than once. But tonight might be the last time. He pressed the wad of cloth to the gash in Preston’s chest, alarmed by its location so near a lung and alarmed by the size of the crimson spread. It was too much for a mere strip of linen to staunch.

  ‘Case!’ Preston groaned with hoarse urgency, frantically grabbing at his arm to make him listen. ‘Leave me, they might be back.’ ‘They’ being the ambushers who’d come upon them on the road at dusk. There’d simply been too many to fight off, yet they had succeeded, at the price of Preston’s wound. It might have been Preston’s wound that saved them. The ambushers had retreated, perhaps convinced the natural course of events would finish off their prey.

  ‘Be still,’ Liam growled, all gruffness as he tied another strip around Preston’s chest to hold the bandage in place. ‘We have to get you stitched up.’ But the bleeding had to stop first. He racked his brain for a plan. The nearest town was two miles back. ‘Cover the bandage with your hand and press hard.’ Liam got his hands under Preston’s armpits. ‘We’re going to get you to the verge.’ He hated moving Preston, but the middle of the road was no place for a wounded man in the dark. It made an easy target for careless carriages and returning thugs.

  Preston grunted against the pain as Liam hauled him to the side, no easy feat considering Preston was as tall as he was—a few inches over six foot, and nearly a dead weight—hopefully not about to become more dead. Liam propped his friend against a sturdy tree trunk and examined the
bandage as best he could in the fading light. It would be entirely dark soon. Damn winter! There was never enough daylight and Liam desperately needed some now. He could feel rather than see the blood soaking the bandage.

  ‘I hurt, Case,’ Preston admitted and there was the briefest flicker of fear in his eyes.

  ‘Pain is good,’ Liam offered encouragingly. ‘You’re doing great. You’re conscious, you’re talking, you’re not numb.’ Numbness was what Liam feared most, a sure sign of impending death. He’d seen it too often in the wars. He was no doctor, but he was a veteran of battlefields.

  ‘Those men,’ Preston ground out, ‘Cabot Roan sent them.’

  Liam nodded, too busy with his triage. He was not surprised. The attack tonight confirmed what they’d feared. Cabot Roan was a wealthy businessman suspected by important men in both the Home and Foreign Offices of leading an arms cartel. The cartel was made up of wealthy, private citizens who had manufactured arms for England during the recent wars and were missing their incomes now that the wars were over and there was no need for arms contracts. Now, those businessmen were selling arms to various revolutionary efforts across Europe. It went without saying that many of those efforts did not necessarily align with the British Empire’s own foreign-policy aims, which made these men traitors. But proof was needed that Cabot Roan was behind the arms deals. That was Preston’s job. If the ringleader was indeed Roan, the man was to be discreetly stopped. That was Liam’s job.

  ‘The hunches must be right, then. That’s good news. Roan wouldn’t have sent his thugs if there was nothing to hide.’ Liam kept talking, kept smiling. He didn’t want Preston to panic. He thought the bleeding might be slowing down at last. There was still too damn much of it, though. He couldn’t wait any longer to get help. ‘Do you think you can ride? Just a couple of miles?’

  Preston nodded. ‘Even if I can’t, we have to try. We can’t stay here and this is serious. You’re going to need light to work by, Case.’ As opposed to the other times Preston had been shot, knifed or otherwise needed his attentions, Liam thought wryly. If the situation wasn’t dire, he would have laughed. As it was, Liam thought he needed a sight more than light to make Preston right again.

  Liam moved to help him rise, but Preston stayed him with a hand. ‘Wait, before you do that I have to tell you something.’ Liam heard the unspoken message. In case I become unconscious because moving hurts too bloody much. Which was better than the other unspoken message: In case I become unconscious and don’t wake up. Ever.

  ‘You can tell me after the doctor has you stitched up and you’re resting.’ Liam didn’t like Preston thinking in those terms. It was always bad when the patient recognised how serious the situation was.

  Preston grabbed for his arm. ‘No doctor, Case. No inn. Promise me.’ He was breathing hard with the force of his words. ‘It’s too public. Inns are the first places Roan will look for us and doctors will be the first people he’ll question.’

  Liam nodded in understanding. He had a plan now. He’d remembered something. ‘There’s a farmhouse not far back. But you have to let me go for a doctor.’

  Preston shook his head, adamant. ‘You can be my doctor. You’ve stitched me up enough to know how to do it right.’ He tried to laugh and grimaced against the pain.

  ‘None of that now.’ Liam held him upright until the spasm passed. ‘We’ll laugh about this later.’ He doubted he’d laugh about this ever. But it was just like Preston to offer reassurance even when he was the one bleeding on the roadside.

  The spasm over, Preston drew a shaky breath. ‘Now, will you listen to me? I found proof about Cabot Roan and the cartel yesterday, before you joined me.’

  This was good news. ‘Where is it?’ If anyone had thought Preston had the information was on him the thugs would never have left him alive. Liam hoped it wasn’t in the saddlebags of the horse that had bolted.

  ‘I mailed two copies of the proof. One, straight to London and another to my sister in case the London mail is intercepted.’ Preston continued to grip his arm. ‘She’s in Scotland, outside Edinburgh in a small village with a friend. You need to go to her and keep her safe until the information can be used to bring Cabot in.’

  Liam didn’t like the sound of that at all. He didn’t like the sound of anything that involved May Worth. ‘Why would Roan even think to go after your sister?’ After all these years, it was still difficult to speak her name.

  ‘Because...’ Preston was growing agitated ‘...Cabot Roan knows I’m the one who broke into his house. I was sloppy, he saw my face. He’ll go after May, Case, and I can’t be there to protect her.’

  Obviously. Wounded, Preston could do nothing to protect anyone. But even hale, Preston would be a beacon leading Roan straight to May if he tried to reach her. Roan would be watching Preston’s every move...if he lived through the night. ‘Give me your word, Case. You will protect May.’

  ‘With my life,’ Liam promised, because he would have promised Preston Worth anything, even if it was walking into the special hell that was May Worth. ‘Now, let’s get you up on that horse.’ He owed Preston more than he could repay. He just wished he didn’t owe Preston that.

  He had a thousand questions. What was May really doing in Scotland? It seemed an unlikely place for the daughter of an influential Englishman like Preston’s father. Which village? Preston hadn’t given him a name. But questions would have to wait. There was no chance for them now. Preston was unconscious before they’d even gone a quarter-mile, his body sagging against Liam’s as they rode, exhausted from the fight, the pain, the loss of blood. It was probably better for him this way, but it sure made it deuced hard to get off the horse with an unconscious man.

  ‘I need help! I have a wounded man!’ Liam called out as he nudged his horse cautiously into the farmyard. It was full dark now and strangers at this hour would make an isolated farmer wary. ‘I come peacefully!’ But he slid a hand over the smooth comfort of his pistol butt even as he spoke. A man could never be too careful.

  He waited several long moments before the farmhouse door opened and a man emerged, lamp in hand. ‘Please, help us. He’s hurt badly. I need to stitch him up.’ Liam struggled to keep the panic out of his voice. Preston Worth would not die on him. But if he was going to be any help to Preston, he had to remain calm, had to take charge. People didn’t question authority, they responded to it. The man hurried forward, calling for others to come and help. Two tall, gangly boys spilled out of the house behind him, followed by a woman who came and silently held the lamp.

  Hands reached for Preston as Liam eased him down. ‘Careful, he’s been stabbed,’ Liam ordered more sharply than necessary, but the family took it in their stride. His best friend was bleeding out right before his eyes and he’d never felt so helpless. What if his skill wasn’t enough? What if he should risk a doctor after all? Liam swung off the horse and tossed the reins to the other boy. ‘Take care of him, I’ll need him rested.’ The movement, the command, was enough to regain his focus. He couldn’t think about what he couldn’t do. He had to focus on what he could do. That was the trick to surviving disaster. He’d survived enough of those to know. Just think about the next thing that needs to happen.

  He caught the woman’s eye and issued another set of instructions. ‘I need compresses, bandages and hot water heating.’ She gave a sharp nod and led everyone inside.

  Liam scanned the room. ‘Clear the table and let’s get him laid out.’ It would be the best place to work, near the fire with plenty of heat and light. Liam took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, finding a basin of hot water ready at his elbow.

  ‘Leftover from cooking dinner,’ the woman explained with a kind smile. ‘It will do until fresh is ready and you’ll be wanting these.’ She produced a needle and thread.

  ‘And a candle, some whisky, too, if you have it.’ Liam pulled back Preston’s shirt, able to see
the wound clearly for the first time.

  ‘You’re a doctor, then?’ The woman passed him a brown bottle.

  ‘Something like that.’ What he did could hardly be called doctoring. Doctors were wealthy men who went to schools and universities and had white lace-curtained offices. The only schooling Liam had was what Preston had given him and the only doctoring he’d acquired was on a Serbian battlefield. He prayed tonight it would be enough.

  Liam pulled out the stopper, taking a deep sniff. It was good whisky, strong whisky, and it was going to hurt like hell. He nodded to the older boy. ‘Take him by the shoulders and hold him firm. He’s going to want to jerk when this firewater hits him.’ The boy was pale, but he did what he was told.

  Liam bent over Preston and offered the explanation out of habit, the words more for himself than Preston, who remained unconscious. ‘I’m sorry to do it, old friend, but it’ll clean out the wound and cut down your chances of inflammation.’ He poured the whisky on Preston’s chest, lending his own weight when Preston roared and bucked. Good, good, Liam thought. Preston could still be roused, he still had some strength. ‘Be still, Pres, we’re at the farmhouse and I’m stitching you up just like you wanted,’ he murmured the reassuring words.

  ‘No doctors.’ Preston’s voice was hoarse and insistent.

  ‘No doctors.’ Liam smiled, his face close to his friend’s so Preston could see his eyes. ‘We’re safe here.’ He hoped that was true. He hoped Roan’s men wouldn’t come barging through the door any minute. He hoped they wouldn’t come and harass this kind family tomorrow. He’d been careful with his trail even in the dark, but there was only so much care one could take with a wounded man who needed speed more than he needed discretion. Discretion took time and Preston hadn’t any of that to spare.

  ‘Here’s the items you wanted.’ The woman held up a needle, already threaded. She offered a friendly smile. ‘I have to be prepared with these three around. There’s always cuts and bruises on a farm.’ She sobered. ‘How bad is it?’